Chapter 8

With sixty-three wen from her laundry wages, plus the five wen she already had, Yang Manniang clutched sixty-eight wen as she headed to the government salt shop at the alley’s entrance.

Rice could wait, but salt could not; the family’s salt jar was already scraping bottom. She had seen it clearly. This morning, when cooking, Yang Panniang had already rinsed the jar with water to get the last bit of flavor.

It was evening now. The shop was empty, so she didn't have to wait in line. A catty of government salt cost forty wen, so she spent twenty to buy half a catty. With careful usage, this would last a family of three for two or three months.

Clutching the wrapped packet of salt and her remaining change, she headed home. The north wind was howling, biting like a knife against her face. By the time she reached home, the uppers of her cotton shoes were soaked, and the soles were coated in a thick shell of ice. Walking felt like she was on stilts.

The house was dark, with no oil lamp lit. Her younger brother and sister, the second and third in the family, were in the outer room, working by the glow of the stove—one tending the fire, the other cooking. Seeing her return, they both dropped their chores and hurried over.

"Big Sister is back! Did you get the money? Did you buy the salt?" They had known since morning that she was going to collect her laundry wages.

"Yes, I got it." Yang Manniang nodded and handed the salt packet to the youngest, Yang Panniang. She knelt to take off her wet cotton shoes and put on a pair of unlined ones, instinctively using a small shovel to chip the thick ice off the soles.

Dinner tonight was rice soaked in broth made from dried radishes saved from the summer, which had been soaked in water for half a day to soften, then boiled with more water and rice. It wasn't exactly a thick porridge—that would have been too little for everyone—but rather a half-water, half-rice mix, enough to fill their stomachs with liquid.

By the firelight, Yang Manniang chewed on a piece of radish, lost in thought about her plan to make money. Honestly, her biggest wish right now was to earn enough to eat meat whenever she wanted.

"Big Sister, what’s wrong?" The second brother, Yang Shilin, had already finished his bowl, and seeing his sister chewing the same piece of radish for a long time, he couldn't help but worry. "Did someone at the restaurant bully you? Was there trouble collecting the money?"

"Oh." Yang Manniang paused. She hadn't intended to bring up today’s events, but she reconsidered. They were already at the bottom of the social ladder; they couldn't afford to be naive, and knowing a little more wouldn't hurt. She recounted what the old woman, Granny Liu, had suggested.

"Then... Big Sister, are you really going to get married? Are you going to leave us?" Yang Panniang’s bowl dropped from her focus. Her large, hollow eyes, a result of their meager diet, filled with tears. Even Yang Shilin, who was usually worldly and capable of handling things on his own, felt his eyes redden.

Ever since their parents passed away, Yang Manniang had been the pillar of their family. Though she was only fourteen, in their hearts, she was truly "the eldest sister acts as a mother." It wasn't about how much work she did; it was that as long as she was there, the home remained a home.

Seeing Panniang on the verge of tears, Yang Manniang couldn't help but rub her forehead. "When did I say I was going to get married?" Had she explained it poorly? She had clearly said she refused the woman, which might mean no more laundry work for them! How did they jump to marriage?

After a long explanation, she finally convinced them she wasn't going anywhere. Then, she moved to the real issue.

"We have three hundred and five wen in total, including our savings. That was meant for emergencies. With my restaurant wages, what we earn from laundry, and what Shilin earns, we can manage food and fuel. Come spring, we won't need fuel, which will save us some money. But now that we've lost the laundry work, we’ll have to dip into those savings."

"Big Sister, I think we can save more," Yang Panniang said, pursing her lips. Under Yang Manniang’s questioning gaze, she added, "We could just eat two meals a day. That would save on fuel and grain. We could get by on eighty wen a month for food."

Yang Manniang smiled and tapped her forehead. "Silly girl, why do we work so hard if not to live better? We can't put the cart before the horse. There's already no nutrition in our food; if we cut down to two meals and our health breaks, no amount of medicine will fix it." As a modern soul, she knew health was the capital of everything. Food was cheap; medicine was what bankrupted a family.

"Big Sister is right, that won't work," Yang Shilin said. "I'll go deliver newspapers tomorrow and ask around for odd jobs. On days I’m not delivering, I can work to help out."

"No need." Though she was touched by their maturity, she couldn't let them work themselves to the bone. She waved a hand to stop them. "No need to argue. I never intended to do that laundry work for long anyway, so losing it is no great loss."

"Does Big Sister have another way to earn money?" A glimmer of hope appeared in their eyes.

Yang Manniang paused, then nodded. "Actually, I want to write serialized novels for the local gazettes to earn some money."

She had been thinking about this since morning, and the idea had only grown firmer throughout the day. In her modern life, she had been a full-time novelist; stories were her specialty. She didn't believe she couldn't return to her old trade here in the Great Song to improve their lives.

"What is a serialized novel? Is it like the storybooks sold in bookstores?" Yang Shilin was stunned. He never expected his usually quiet and honest sister to come up with such an idea.

Their father had taught them the basics of reading and writing—enough to compose a letter—but writing a book for publication was unthinkable. Printing cost money, and no bookstore would take a risk on a loss. Moreover, he delivered papers every day and had never seen any "serialized novels" in them. He knew struggling scholars wrote folk tales or romances, but that required deep literary knowledge—quoting classics and writing poetry—which he knew he didn't possess, let alone his sister.

Still, he wouldn't crush her spirits. He assumed she was just stressed about money.

"It is that kind of story, but since we need money urgently, I have to serialize it so I can get paid faster." Yang Manniang saw the skepticism in his eyes but didn't mind. Talk was cheap, and she had yet to produce results.

She spent the rest of the time patiently explaining what a serialized novel was and sharing her vision for the future. Writing would require money for paper and ink, as well as time for brainstorming. Once she started, she wouldn't have time for household chores, and they would have to help her with cooking and laundry.

Yang Manniang was a woman of action. Since she had decided to improve their lives, she needed her siblings' support. With everyone pulling in the same direction, she knew they could succeed.