Traveling Through Those Years Of Farming (Quick Transmigration) - Chapter 4

Lin Rui did not expect to be reborn back to when she was five years old. 

When she wakes up, she stares blankly at the worn-out roof and mottled walls. As her awareness slowly returns, she covers her face and begins to sob in suppressed anguish.

Before her rebirth, Lin Rui was already a mother. Her husband, Zhen Baoli, was a mama’s boy, a granny’s boy, and a sister’s boy. He treated the three women in his family very well—everyone except his own wife and daughter. He constantly chose to wrong Lin Rui and their daughter just to please those three women. Sometimes Lin Rui even suspected that in her husband’s heart, there was never any place for her or their child.

The love they once shared seemed to have been worn thin by the everyday struggles of marriage and life’s trivialities.

In truth, when her parents had first arranged the marriage, Lin Rui was quite satisfied.

The Zhen family only had one male heir. That was both a disadvantage and an advantage. The disadvantage was that the household had few laborers, which in the countryside made them easy targets for bullying. But the Zhen family was a large clan in the area, and the production team leader was even a relative. That alone made up for their lack of manpower. As for the advantage, it was obvious—since there was only one son, there would be no one to fight over the inheritance. Everything in the Zhen household would one day belong to Zhen Baoli.

Zhen Baoli could not read and had always been at the bottom of his class. He only completed elementary school before stopping his education. He was also a bit slow to respond, to the point where villagers once suspected he was mentally challenged.

Xu Panhao, his mother, was a strong-willed woman. When she realized her son wasn’t academically inclined, she promptly sent him to a carpenter to learn a trade. And surprisingly, this slow-witted boy turned out to have exceptional patience—something crucial during the early, monotonous stages of learning a craft.

Zhen Baoli could spend over ten hours carving a decorative piece without food or water. His master kept many of his techniques secret, but Zhen Baoli was determined. After some time, he mastered skills that his master had withheld from him.

By the time he finished his apprenticeship, he had already surpassed his mentor in skill.

Zhen Baoli was especially good at carving Buddha statues. Perhaps it was related to his own personality—the Buddhas he carved always exuded an ancient simplicity and grandeur, their gazes calm and serene, truly reflecting a sense of detachment from the mortal world.

After the reforms and opening up, more and more people began to commission Buddha statues from Zhen Baoli, and his prices steadily increased.

For rural people, being able to read wasn’t as important as having a skill that could generate income. This made Zhen Baoli’s ability a long-term asset.

Even though Zhen Baoli came with many drawbacks—like his infamous grandmother and mother, and a chronically ill sister he might have to support for life—none of that stopped him from becoming a highly sought-after prospective son-in-law in the village.

The Lin family entered the picture at this point.

The connection between the Lin and Zhen families started when the two were very young. Lin Rui’s father, Lin Jianye, was one of the young men who went hunting in the mountains. During one of these hunts, they encountered a blind bear. The men, terrified by its roar, were saved by Zhen Shankun, who managed to wound the bear long enough for other hunting parties to arrive and provide assistance. Zhen Shankun was, in a way, half their benefactor.

When they returned down the mountain, Lin Jianye, moved by the experience, promised Xu Panhao that he would treat Zhen Baoli and any future children as his own. He had a daughter and intended to marry her to Zhen Baoli to repay the favor.

However, the drought had not yet passed, and survival was uncertain. Xu Panhao, seeing their situation, didn’t take Lin Jianye’s words seriously. 

In the following years, the men did help the Zhen family’s widowed mother and orphaned children quite a bit. But due to gender boundaries and Xu Panhao’s status as a young widow, gossip began to stir. Eventually, in order to quiet his own wife’s growing suspicions and silence others’ rumors, their visits and help gradually decreased.

Years later, as Zhen Baoli became successful, Lin Jianye brought up the long-forgotten verbal engagement. People criticized him for his timing, suggesting ulterior motives.

However, Lin Rui was indeed a remarkable match. She was beautiful, generous, and one of the few girls in the village who had completed junior high school.

The Lin family was large, with many children, which meant many burdens. Lin Rui had been helping with the housework since she was young. Every school vacation, she would work in the fields to earn work points. To many people, her hardworking nature and intelligence made her the ideal daughter-in-law.

Liu Sanmei and Xu Panhao were also impressed by Lin Rui. They were especially pleased to hear that Lin Rui had done well in school but was delayed by family obligations. Both the mother-in-law and daughter-in-law hoped that a smart, capable daughter-in-law would balance out their son’s shortcomings.

They didn’t dwell too much on whether Lin Jianye had an agenda and arranged for the two children to meet. Since their son was also satisfied with her, they agreed to the marriage.

At first, Lin Rui felt confident in her decision to marry Zhen Baoli. Though he was a bit slow and lacked eloquence, he was kind-hearted and had a good temper. Unlike many men in the village who vented their frustrations on their wives, Zhen Baoli treated her well. 

At the start of their marriage, he would even pour her foot washing water, and they would share the same basin to wash their feet together.

But over time, Lin Rui began to feel the pressure from her mother-in-law and sister-in-law.

She had done the math—based on how many carvings her husband completed each month and their selling prices, he should be making at least a hundred yuan monthly. In the early 1980s, when the average worker earned only thirty to forty yuan, this was an extremely high income.

Yet every month, he only handed her sixty yuan. Lin Rui knew the rest went to her mother-in-law.

Though she wasn’t a stingy person, she felt uncomfortable with how much money her mother-in-law took. It planted a seed of resentment in her heart. Since she had just married, Lin Rui was reluctant to bring up the issue with her husband. At the time, she thought: her mother-in-law only had one son and one daughter. Even if the money went to her, it would all come back to them eventually.

The breaking point came after Lin Rui got pregnant.

In the early days of marriage, Lin Rui and her husband had a good relationship. So within the first half-year of living together, she became pregnant. 

Both Liu Sanmei and Xu Panhao were strong-willed women. Because of past conflicts, they rarely communicated directly with their daughter-in-law and instead passed messages through the son/grandson.

“You can’t eat that—it’s bad for the child!”

“You can’t wear that—it’ll constrict the baby!”

Listening to her husband’s endless nagging and orders, Lin Rui feels unbearably irritable. It’s always “the child this” and “the child that,” as if she—the mother of the child—is nothing more than a tool for giving birth.

What frustrates her even more is a word her husband keeps mentioning more and more frequently during her pregnancy: my sister!

It’s clearly the time when she needs the most care during her pregnancy, yet her sickly sister-in-law constantly sends her husband out to buy things for her. Even though the sister-in-law would thoughtfully pass along some of the items to Lin Rui, that doesn’t ease the agitation building up in her heart.

It’s her husband’s time being used, and her husband’s money—given to his mother—that’s being spent, yet somehow, in her husband’s words, she is the one who’s supposed to be grateful to this sister-in-law. Lin Rui feels so stifled she can hardly breathe.

And what she really cannot tolerate is her sister-in-law’s personality.

Lin Rui likes straightforward, bold girls—those who speak and act decisively. But her sister-in-law is a complete crybaby, often tearing up before she even finishes a sentence.

Her mother-in-law and husband have caught the sister-in-law with red eyes in front of her multiple times. Although they’ve never openly blamed her, Lin Rui is sure they’ve kept silent mental accounts, thinking she must have bullied the poor girl.

In Lin Rui’s view, the sister-in-law is doing it all on purpose—putting on a show just to drive a wedge between her and the rest of the family.

Ten months later, Lin Rui gives birth to a daughter. Although she’s slightly disappointed that it isn’t a boy, her heart still fills with joy when she looks at the small bundle of pink flesh. Besides, both she and her husband are registered as rural residents, with no government jobs, so they’ll be allowed a second child in a few years. Judging from how doting her mother-in-law is toward the sister-in-law, Lin Rui assumes neither the older woman nor the grandmother are biased against girls.

But she’s wrong—they only like that frail little one. They couldn’t care less about the child she gave birth to.

Lin Rui can never forget what her husband said on behalf of her mother-in-law, just after her postpartum recovery, when she wanted to start a small business and asked her mother-in-law to help watch the baby.

“I’ll take care of my own daughter. The child you gave birth to is your own responsibility.”

Was this what a grandmother should say? 

When Lin Rui, freshly out of confinement, heard these words, her heart turned cold.

She thought she had been generous enough. She had agreed to let her husband give part of his earnings to support them and to help take care of his sister who lived off them. Throughout her time in the Zhen family, Lin Rui had been respectful and frugal with her elders, while being considerate and caring toward her husband. But no matter what she did, she was still treated like an outsider.

What hurt even more was how her husband seemed blind to her sacrifices. In his eyes, his grandmother, mother, and sister were embodiments of virtue. Whatever they did, whatever they said, was right in his eyes.

Lin Rui began to feel that, in that family, she and her daughter were nothing more than outsiders.

She had a fight with her husband. When he asked, confused, why she was upset, Lin Rui, seething, packed her bags and took her daughter back to her parents’ house. But fate had other plans. On the way, a car accident occurs—and when she wakes up again, she’s back to being five years old.

Lying under the covers, Lin Rui cries and laughs at the same time. Her family is poor, and she shares a room with her two older sisters. She doesn’t even dare make too much noise, stifling her sobs and giggles.

This time, she absolutely won’t marry that man again!

“My dear, show your hand to Grandma.”

Liu Sanmei still can’t believe that her fragile granddaughter manages to break a jujube tree as thick as a child’s waist. She even wonders if her earlier words make sense—that the tree must have been weak, and the girl just happens to knock it down with that one slap.

“Grandma, I think I’m really, really strong.” The little girl stretches out her hand and whispers in her grandmother’s ear.

“Yes, our girl is the strongest of all.” The old lady looks at her granddaughter’s red palm with a mixture of heartache and praise. “Let’s go put some ointment on at Grandma’s place. No more doing such dangerous things from now on. Just look how red your little hands are. Does it hurt?”

The old lady gently blows on Baobao’s palm twice.

Sometimes, children don’t feel pain as strongly, but when adults show concern and sympathy, it makes the pain feel worse.

Baobao’s tear ducts start to swell again.

She gives up. She might not follow the path of a strong, independent woman after all. She might as well embrace being a powerful crybaby instead—a walking contradiction full of charm.

Liu Sanmei leads her grandson and granddaughter back to her little half-yard, while Xu Panhao stands in her own yard, eyeing a plump hen with a knife in hand.

Xu Panhao recalls what the doctor at the health station says earlier that day. Baobao is born premature, with congenital deficiencies. Despite Xu Panhao’s diligent care, her body is still lacking.

The doctor mentions that the illness has severely weakened the child. Although she seems to be recovering on the outside, she still needs nourishment to build strength.

“If you can, try to give her some meat,” the doctor says. “Meat is more nutritious than eggs.”

Xu Panhao feels reluctant to sacrifice the laying hens she’s raised for half a year, but in comparison to her daughter’s health, the chickens don’t matter.

“What a nice smell!” Zhen Baoli brings his sister back from their grandma’s house. As soon as they near the kitchen, the rich aroma of chicken wafts out from the crack of the door.

“Bring it to your grandma.” Xu Panhao opens the door, and a cloud of steam rushes out. The delicious smell of chicken grows stronger. She holds a ceramic bowl with three or four pieces of meat, mostly bones, except for a little chicken breast.

Xu Panhao wouldn’t dream of eating it herself, but she can’t avoid sending some over to her mother-in-law. She’s afraid the old woman might complain about her in the afterlife, making her husband believe she mistreated his mother.

Zhen Baoli swallows his saliva, grabs the bowl, and runs to the yard next door.

“Sweetie, let’s have some soup to warm your tummy.” Xu Panhao scoops up her daughter. She only cooks a small piece of chicken; the rest is hung up to dry in a cool spot. With such limited meat, she has to sneak in a little extra for her daughter while her son’s out.

“What are you bringing chicken for? Once you pluck and gut the whole thing, there’s not much left anyway. I’m perfectly healthy—The meat should go to Baobao.”

The two families live on opposite sides of a wall. The old lady hears the noise of the chicken being slaughtered next door and knows the chicken has been prepared for her granddaughter.

“I don’t like eating things with bones at my age. What if they get stuck? You should take it back to your mother and tell her I don’t want it.” The old lady refuses the bowl of meat.

She’s had meat often when she’s young, but her beloved granddaughter has only tasted it a few times.

“Oh!” Zhen Baoli scratches his head and returns with the bowl.

When he gets home, his mother and sister are already seated at the dining table. In addition to a plate of blanched vegetables, there is a small bowl of chicken soup.

“Mama! Grandma said that if you gave her chicken bones, she’d choke to death, and she didn’t want them!” Zhen Baoli puts the bowl on the table, then sits down, eager to see his mother divide the meat.

Clang!

Xu Panhao slams her chopsticks vertically into the old, decaying table after hearing what her son just says. “Who cares if she eats it or not. If she doesn’t want it, forget it.”

She then takes the bowl of chicken her son brings back and walks to the kitchen. The meat will be saved for Baobao to eat later that evening.

“Big Brother, let me be the one to deliver messages from now on.”

Having seen enough, the little girl is convinced: her grandma definitely doesn’t say it like that.

She looks at her naive big brother helplessly, silently begging him to be a little more careful.

His sloppy message delivery has accidentally ruined so much tenderness between their mother and grandmother.

Author’s Note:

Baoli: Want me to deliver your message? I’m the kind of messenger who can accidentally destroy your whole family.