Chapter 2: Tiger Cub and Tiger Head

After the siblings had walked some distance, Xing turned to his sister in puzzlement. “Big Sister, I’ve never heard you say that the longevity stone could be completed with a pointed rock from the back slope before.”

“You’re growing up,” Ge replied. “You can’t wait for your sister to tell you everything. Only by observing for yourself will you gain deeper understanding.”

Xing furrowed his little brow, pondering her words, and was so distracted he nearly stumbled. Ge, eager to hurry along, simply set him in her basket again. Along the way, she plucked two wild grasses, and with a few twists and tears, quickly wove them into a little fish.

“How pretty! Big Sister, you’re the best!” Xing whispered their secret sibling language into her ear.

Ge smiled, then cast a glance back. The young man’s back had been as straight as a pine, but after seeing the imperfection in the longevity stone, his shoulders suddenly slumped, as if all his spirit had been drained away.

The tale of the stone from the back mountain that could fill the flaw in the longevity stone was nothing but a story she had invented on the spot. There were many strange rocks on the high mountain behind, and tall trees too; from at least three different positions, the longevity stone’s missing piece could be visually “completed.” She had simply chosen one. She only hoped that the hint about stepping back and seeing the wider world might lift that man’s heart, or at least keep him from sinking into despair over a broken stone.

Ge was no saint. She simply understood despair better than anyone, knew how easy it was to drown in it. If someone in her past life had reached out a hand to save her, perhaps things would not have ended as they did…

Alas.

In her former life, she was Wang Nanxing. Born into a traditional woodcarving family, she became fascinated with bamboo weaving and began with simple grass weaving, gradually moving to the more complex art of bamboo. She had sought out master craftsmen everywhere, shamelessly asking for advice, and spent years laboring in various workshops to hone her skills and dexterity. Gifted as she was, she eventually made a name for herself in the world of bamboo weaving.

With a carving knife in one hand and a bamboo knife in the other, she had inherited the twin crafts of wood and bamboo, and Wang Nanxing was proud of her accomplishments.

But fate is ever capricious. A sudden misfortune left her paralyzed from the chest down. Her career and her love life came to an abrupt halt. She could never forget that humiliating year, when she spent every second of more than twelve months unable to feel her body at all—only her head was alive. The terror of that time she still didn’t dare to recall in detail.

She could not forget how family ties grew cold, how her husband’s love curdled into resentment. Even more painful was how the man she once loved so much came to curse her—why wasn’t she dead yet?

So, in confusion and sorrow, she died—and was reborn.

Her new life began in chaos. Her mother, Lady Wu, had been working in the fields right up to the time of labor, when a tiger from the mountain bit her foot. If not for her brave second uncle and the villagers who banded together to drive the beast away, who knows what would have happened. As the tiger dragged her mother, she gave birth to Ge—hence Ge’s childhood nickname, “Tiger Cub.”

But Wu’s true misfortune came six years later. When she bore Ge’s younger brother, the baby was in a difficult position. Though she survived the birth, a quarrel with her sisters-in-law led to a sudden hemorrhage on the third day, and she died. At that time, Wu was barely clinging to life, her son wailing in hunger, and Father lost in helplessness and regret. Every time Ge recalled it, bitterness stabbed her heart.

From then on, Father never spoke to his two sisters-in-law again.

But pride could not fill empty stomachs.

There were three sons in the family. Ge’s father was the eldest, known kindly by neighbors as Wang the Elder, though those less charitable called him “Blind Wang” or “Widower Wang.” In truth, he was not completely blind. Years ago, during forced labor, a landslide at the riverbank injured his eyes. The wound healed on the surface, but left lasting damage—he could see only vague shadows.

After Wu’s death, with one son crippled and the other still a child, the work in the fields fell to the second and third households. Over time, the bonds of brotherhood wore thin. The grandparents tried not to take sides, and so the days passed with endless squabbling. Now, as the younger brother had reached four, healthy and strong, Ge could finally breathe a sigh of relief.

But the past was best left unremembered.

Back at the courtyard, she set down the basket and lifted Xing out. Wang the Elder was seated as ever in the yard, weaving a winnowing basket by touch. The material was a kind of wild bramble common on the mountain; every few days, Grandfather would cut some, Ge would strip the bark, and Wang the Elder would weave.

“Father, watch Tiger Cub for me,” she called quickly, carrying the basket into the kitchen.

“Tiger Cub” was Xing’s childhood name, given because he was so frail as a baby, in hopes that he would grow strong like a little tiger.

The Wang family’s courtyard was square-shaped. There were three main rooms—two large, one small—facing south, with east and west wings. The structure was a typical timber frame, with posts and beams supporting the roof, straight lines and columns, tiles laid directly over the rafters—a solid, handsome house.

Grandfather and Grandmother lived in the central main room. Wang the Elder, as the eldest son, lived at the east end; the second household occupied the smaller west room. The third family lived in the east wing, which had a cowshed attached to the south, though years of family savings spent on the house meant they couldn’t afford a cow. Half the cowshed was now a chicken coop, the rest a woodpile.

The west wing held the kitchen and a storage room. On the east side of the storage room was the outhouse; beyond that, a square earth pit where sheep droppings were stored once they’d dried.

Xing emptied the sheep droppings he’d gathered into the winnowing basket and carried them to the pit. Just as he did, Grandfather, Grandmother, and the uncles returned. “Grandfather, Grandmother, Second Uncle, Third Uncle,” Xing greeted them cheerfully, as usual omitting the aunts.

The third uncle’s wife, Yao, smiled coldly. “Why don’t you greet your aunts? Four years old and still so rude.”

Grandmother Jia set her tools down by the cowshed and barked, “Tiger Cub knows to help around the house. Where’s Peng?”

Yao immediately lost her nerve.

Peng was the third family’s son, a year older than Tiger Cub and loved to sleep. Sure enough, hearing Grandmother call, he yawned and shuffled out of the east wing.

Just then, Xing ran back to help Father put away the baskets and brambles, sweep the trash under the cowshed, neatly arrange the tools, fetch two loads of firewood to the kitchen, and bring over the water jar Ge had cooled, pouring water for Grandfather and Grandmother. “Grandfather, Grandmother, have some water first. My sister will finish supper soon.”

“Tiger Cub, come here. Let Grandfather hold you,” Grandfather said, delighted.

“Aah—” Peng stood in the middle of the yard, yawning again, oblivious.

Yao, furious, twisted Peng’s ear and dragged him back inside. Soon the youngest, three-year-old Ai, was crying from a scolding.

The second uncle’s wife, Little Jia, watched the way her father-in-law doted on Tiger Cub and felt sour. Her own two children could toil all day and still not win as much favor as a few sweet words from the little brat!

Before long, Ge had finished a pot of wild greens and egg noodle soup, along with a few dishes of salted soybeans—supper was ready.

In early spring, meals were eaten in the courtyard. A large reed mat was spread out with three wooden tables: one for Grandfather, Grandmother, and Father; one for the second and third uncle’s families; and one for the seven children, who squeezed together. Everyone knelt to eat, with thick grass mats under their knees for comfort.

It was worth noting that Grandfather, Grandmother, and Wang the Elder each had a small table and a basin for soup. Between their ankles was a special little stool, so they could sit with the stool supporting their hips—much more comfortable than sitting back on their heels.

Clearly, Grandfather did not neglect the eldest branch of the family, despite their hardship.

“Congzhi, why do you always eat like you’re snatching food? We shouldn’t call you Tiger Cub, but Piglet!” He, the second uncle’s eldest son, was a year younger than Ge and a troublemaker. He craned his neck over the table, muttering quietly enough that the elders couldn’t hear.

Xing bristled, but knew better than to shout first, so he glanced at Ge to see how she would respond.

There was no country custom here forbidding talk at meals. Ge smiled and replied softly, “If you can’t eat with your mouth, Cousin, you might as well take it off your face. It’s hot—let your eyes and nose cool off for a while.”

If Ge’s striking looks were a fluke of the Wang family’s genes, He was the opposite: thick lips, an excessively long philtrum, and not a hint of handsomeness.

“Say that again?” He snapped, annoyed.