Volume Two: The Path to Glory Chapter 15: Taking Shu Xiaoya Back to Her Hometown (Part One)

My relationship with Shu Xiaoya had grown increasingly steady, gradually reaching the point where we were discussing marriage. It was time to take her back to my hometown to meet my mother. Taking advantage of the New Year holiday, I prepared to return to my hometown with Shu Xiaoya. She was quite curious about going to the countryside, having never truly been to a rural area before. She had always grown up in the provincial capital, at most having been to the suburbs, so she was eager to see the countryside. I cautioned her repeatedly, telling her that my hometown was very backward and poor, and that she might find it hard to adjust. Yet, her curiosity prevailed. She said, “I’m not going to live there permanently, so what’s there to worry about?”

After more than two hours of queuing at the train station, we finally bought our tickets and boarded the train back home. The long wait had already dampened much of Shu Xiaoya’s enthusiasm, and the crowded train with its stifling sweat smell made her even more uncomfortable, though she had a window seat.

After more than six hours on the train, we finally arrived at the county seat of my hometown. As soon as we got off, Shu Xiaoya asked, “How much farther to your house?” Not wanting to discourage her, I reassured her, “Almost there, almost there.”

We then took another ride to the long-distance bus station and bought tickets to Qingle Township, the actual village of my hometown. Seeing that we still had to take a long-distance bus, Shu Xiaoya looked a little downhearted.

After waiting for over half an hour, the bus finally started moving. By regulation, the bus was not allowed to be overloaded, so it wasn’t too crowded. Shu Xiaoya regained some of her spirit, looking out the window and chatting happily with me. But about an hour later, as we entered rural roads, the bus began to bounce. At first, Shu Xiaoya could endure it, but after another half hour, I saw her sweating profusely and looking very uncomfortable. Concerned, I asked, “Are you feeling sick?”

“Yes... I want to vomit,” she barely finished before suddenly vomiting the instant noodles we had eaten on the train onto my leg. I didn’t have time to wipe it off and quickly asked the conductor for a plastic bag. Shu Xiaoya vomited into the bag continuously until she was only dry heaving. I kept gently patting her back to ease her discomfort, but she couldn’t stop retching. After almost another half hour, we finally arrived at Qingle Township. I supported Shu Xiaoya as we got off the bus.

We found a clean stone by the roadside and laid down a newspaper for Shu Xiaoya to rest. She asked, “Are we there yet?”

Not daring to say “almost there,” I replied, “Just hold on a bit longer, maybe another hour or so.” Her head immediately drooped.

It was already past four in the afternoon, so we didn’t dare rest much and set off again. Qingle Township was a small town, mostly old houses, with only a few recently built apartment blocks. It was a non-market day, so the town was quiet. Some shopkeepers set up tables outside to play cards, while many shops were closed. Only one store and a teahouse were open, the latter lively with the sound of mahjong tiles clacking. Mahjong, a national treasure in our country, was especially beloved in my hometown.

Walking along the new street, we soon reached the old street. It felt like stepping back in time. Many houses on the old street were wooden and appeared very old—my mother said they dated back to the Republican era.

The new and old streets together were only a few hundred meters long. Crossing the old street, we reached a riverside by the Qingxi River. The river was narrow but its water was clear and green, flowing gently and peacefully. Even the most tired person would feel relaxed by its side. Seeing the river, Shu Xiaoya brightened up and exclaimed, “It’s so beautiful!”

We waited at the ferry dock by the river, and soon a small boat arrived. We boarded, crossing the river in minutes. Shu Xiaoya said she wished the boat ride could last longer, just drifting along the river.

After crossing, we climbed a slope to a relatively flat earthen hill. Several motorcycle drivers quickly surrounded us, eagerly asking, “Want a ride on a motorcycle?”

Shu Xiaoya looked at me nervously, clearly afraid of riding motorcycles, but I told her, “We should take the motorcycle. It’s too far to walk; you won’t manage it.” She reluctantly nodded. One young man handed his helmet to Shu Xiaoya; I told him our destination and followed on another motorcycle.

The road was a main one but full of potholes and ups and downs, so the ride was bumpy. Shu Xiaoya kept gasping “Ah, ah,” which made both drivers laugh heartily.

Finally, we reached our destination. I helped the shaken Shu Xiaoya off the motorcycle; she seemed completely drained. From then on, it was mountain paths, and motorcycles couldn’t go further. The sun was about to set. We rested briefly before setting off again. Shu Xiaoya was struggling and asked, “We still have to walk?”

“Yes, not far now—just three or four kilometers.”

“Three or four kilometers? That’s so far.” She looked on the verge of tears.

“Do you want me to carry you?”

“No way, that would be embarrassing if others saw.”

So we started walking. It was deep autumn. Along the road, scattered houses mostly made of earth walls and tiles appeared, with chimneys from some already emitting thin smoke. The sparse trees on the hillside had shed their leaves, giving a desolate feel. Beside the path, most farmland was covered with sprawling sweet potato vines, their leaves gently swaying in the breeze. Occasionally, vegetable patches grew quietly beside houses, with cabbages, cauliflower, and lettuce standing solitary. Some fields lay barren, overrun by weeds. The few rice paddies, out of season, looked deserted, with some waterlogged and others completely dry, exposing the mud beneath. This was my hometown—typical of a remote rural village in the western region.

My friend, the not widely known poet Duanmu Wuyang, had eloquently depicted such rural scenes in his poem “Small Village” written several years ago:

The small village is very small
Old grandma’s plow turns the bleeding earth
At the village entrance, the old banyan tree was uprooted
By a sudden and inexplicable storm
Scaring away all the magpies
Leaving only the silent tree stump in contemplation
The old village chief
Walks daily from west to east
Repeating the same anemic catchphrase
All the village men have gone away
Only a dream is heard crying alone at the village entrance

His poem captured the village’s sparse population and lack of bustle compared to the city. The sweeping market economy deepened regional disparities. The times changed, and people’s attachment to their homeland shifted. Many young and middle-aged villagers left to work in prosperous coastal areas, leaving behind mostly the elderly and children. The hardships of migrant labor and the loneliness of those left behind are hard for city dwellers to imagine. Duanmu Wuyang’s poem poignantly described this social reality.

Traditionally, farming required strong laborers, but in Duanmu’s poem, it was “old grandma” plowing—the able-bodied young men had all left, even some elderly men capable of work had gone, so heavy farm labor fell to the grandmothers. This bitterness went beyond tears, hence the “bleeding earth” metaphor.

The “old banyan tree” is a common symbol of homeland in literature; the storm uprooting it represented the upheaval of traditional values and the loss of attachment to the land. The “magpies,” symbols of joy, had all fled, suggesting that happiness was scarce.

The “old village chief” was an elderly man lacking the vigor to lead villagers out of poverty, repeating rote duties like tax collection—the “anemic catchphrase.”

“All the village men have gone away” pointed directly to the root problem. The “dream crying at the village entrance” symbolized the enormous sacrifices and heartbreak behind the pursuit of better fortunes.

I must say my friend Duanmu Wuyang’s poem was a deeply insightful and accurate portrayal of rural social change.

Like me, Duanmu Wuyang grew up in the countryside, giving him profound understanding of rural issues that fueled his poetry. Society and the times were changing, and his own life trajectory reflected this transformation.

Born on Poet’s Day, he fancied himself a natural poet and once wrote over a thousand poems. Although born poor, his introverted, somewhat solitary nature suited the poet’s temperament. Many friends believed he was destined to become a great poet.

Yet years later, he became a master of capital operations, handling projects worth tens or even hundreds of millions. This stark contrast surprised many. When I asked if he still wrote poetry, he said he had mostly stopped in his twenties, feeling this was no longer a poet’s era. Everyone had to adapt to the times to thrive. The world had truly changed, and change was inevitable. Though painful and confusing, the tide of transformation was unstoppable.

Returning to my walk home with Shu Xiaoya, although she was exhausted, she was curious and puzzled by many things, asking questions that made me, a native rural boy, smile. For instance: “Why do so many families live so scattered instead of together? Wouldn’t living close together be more convenient and lively?” “Why are so many fields and land left empty and barren?” I patiently explained that clustered living would make farming difficult, as transporting crops like rice and wheat home would require much extra effort. Some land was uncultivated because entire families had gone to work elsewhere, with no labor left to farm. And the fields were fallow because it wasn’t rice planting season.

After a while, Shu Xiaoya spotted a finely built house with white exterior tiles and green glazed roof tiles standing out amid the trees. Surprised, she asked, “Why is there a building like this here when everywhere else is just single-story houses?”

“That house was built by my childhood friend Qin Darong. He was in my elementary class and often failed his exams. He dropped out in middle school and went to work. He started as a construction worker, but though not a good student, he was practical and hardworking, quickly earning the trust of his boss, who subcontracted projects to him. Over the years, he earned some money as a contractor and built this house.”

“Why didn’t he buy a place in the city instead of building here in such a remote spot?”

“He does have a house in the city, but he prefers the hometown, and his parents don’t want to live in the city, so he built it here.”

“So academic success doesn’t necessarily determine future prospects. Our country still overemphasizes grades.”

“Not entirely. Everyone has their strengths. Some may not do well academically but succeed in other ways, like Qin Darong. But not all poor students succeed. And those who only study hard without other skills may also struggle.”

As dusk approached, we finally reached the mountain hollow opposite my home. Shu Xiaoya’s feet were blistered from the mountain path. From afar, I saw my mother looking out in front of the old house.

Seeing us, my mother hurried over with my younger brother Donghai to welcome me. After greeting us, I introduced, “Mom, this is Xiaoya,” then pointed behind her to Shu Xiaoya, “And this is my brother Donghai.”

Donghai blinked mischievously and said, “Hello, sister-in-law.”

I corrected him, “Not sister-in-law yet. Call her Sister Xiaoya.”

“I still think sister-in-law sounds better.” Shu Xiaoya smiled and said, “If he wants to call me that, I like it.”

Donghai looked smugly at me.

My mother took Shu Xiaoya’s hand and said, “Dear, this place is too remote. You must be exhausted from the journey.”

Shu Xiaoya replied, “Auntie, it’s nothing, not tired.”

My mother and Shu Xiaoya walked ahead while Donghai took the luggage I was carrying and quietly said to me, “Brother, you’re really lucky. Your wife is so beautiful.” Shu Xiaoya heard and glanced back with a smile.

At the doorstep, I looked at the stylish clothes on Shu Xiaoya against the backdrop of our dilapidated earth-walled house—a stark, jarring contrast. Yet my heart was filled with happiness and gratitude. I wondered how fate had been so kind to send such a wonderful girl to me.

Inside, my mother seated Shu Xiaoya on the best wooden chair. Too tired to be polite, she sat immediately. My mother said, “Dear, sit here. I’ll cook some dishes quickly for dinner.” I wanted to help, but Donghai stopped me, “Brother, you should stay with sister-in-law.”

Soon the dishes were ready, laid out on the square table in the main room. The meal was quite sumptuous—stir-fried cured meat with cauliflower, fish-flavored shredded pork, shredded potatoes, stir-fried spinach, and stewed chicken soup. It was clear my mother had prepared with care. Back when I lived at home, such a feast was reserved only for honored guests.

My mother eagerly served Shu Xiaoya, but it was clear she didn’t enjoy the food, eating reluctantly and only picking at the spinach. I knew Shu Xiaoya was fastidious and probably thought the dishes cooked in large iron pots looked dirty or unclean. I didn’t want to embarrass my mother, so I said, “Mom, let Xiaoya eat whatever she likes. She’s a bit car sick today; she might not eat much.”

“Oh, car sick? I know that’s tough. I’ll make some plain rice porridge. That’s best for car sickness.” Without waiting for us, my mother immediately set off to cook the porridge.

After the porridge was ready, Shu Xiaoya finally finished a bowl. Only then did I feel relieved.

Before going to bed, a small incident occurred while washing faces. Shu Xiaoya washed first using the basin, but when she saw everyone else using the same basin and towel, her expression changed slightly. Then Donghai poured the wash water into a foot basin, added hot water, and called Shu Xiaoya to soak her feet. She visibly hesitated. I immediately said, “Mom, Donghai, you go first. Xiaoya walked a lot today. I’ll boil some water for her to soak her feet later.”

The next morning, I awoke early to hear my mother busy in the kitchen and hurried to help. Shu Xiaoya was still sleeping in my mother’s room, and Donghai had not yet woken. While adding firewood, my mother quietly said to me, “Mountain boy, this girl you brought home is pretty and stylish, but she seems a bit delicate and too thin.”

I smiled and said, “Mom, delicate and thin? If she were farming here, yes, she’d be too fragile. But she has a job and an income no less than yours, and she’s not a farmer.”

My mother looked worried. “Her income is higher than yours?”

“Yes, so?”

“Nothing, just hearing you say Xiaoya’s family is well off and now that her income is higher than yours, I worry that you’ll have no standing if you marry.”

“Mom, don’t worry. Xiaoya’s not that kind of person. Her parents are good people and won’t look down on me for being from the countryside.”

“Let’s hope so. Anyway, I won’t interfere in your marriage. You decide what’s best.”

Her words moved me deeply, and I was grateful to have such an understanding mother.

It reminded me of what my father once told me about why my mother married him. My mother was born into a landlord family, but after the upheavals, children from landlord families were despised. My mother only managed to study until middle school, which was already a high level for rural times then. To escape such hardship, my grandfather resolutely married her off to my father, who came from a poor peasant background.

At first, my cultured, artistic, musically inclined mother and my plain, hardworking, taciturn father seemed incompatible. But my father was sincere, kind, and skilled at farming, and treated her well. Though life remained poor, it was happy. Perhaps because of this, my mother chooses not to interfere with my marriage and respects my decisions.

Perhaps due to exhaustion, Shu Xiaoya didn’t get up until after eight. My mother hurried to warm breakfast and called Donghai. Since my father died when Donghai was young, my mother had spoiled him excessively, and he had grown lazy and reluctant to do farm work, often sleeping late. My mother had to manage all the household and farm chores alone.