The hints of dawn were penetrating the thin paper windows of the Liang family house and flooding the plain kitchen with a soft gray light.
Liang Zhenwu was unobtrusively deliberative, his hands are equally steadfast, as he attends to the wok on the old wood-burning stove. The fire hissed softly, lapping the pan bottom, and the atmosphere started to become filled with the domestic odors of home--homely, warm, and unpretentious.
On the side of the table he had set dishes with which the whole village mornings of these hills had been made: a pot of congee simmering gently, its rice grains growing plump and round in a creamy porridge; a quick-stir fry of greens, the sweet bok choy and garlic chives he had just picked out of the garden; and a pile of mantou, those simple steamed buns which his mother had always formed by hand, and now steaming like white clouds in the bamboo steamer.
But the hand of Zhenwu made them sublime.
In place of the rough salt and fermented bean paste of the market jars, he had used the seasonings. No this was his own creation, based on the recollections of mountains far away where the herbs grew wild under the permanent mists.
He would powder the star anise with a hint of old ginger root--not the knots pawed off the fields, but ones he had impregnated with some unobtrusive aroma that harmonized the other tastes like a lute well-tuned.
The congee was sweetened with a spoonful of it, and what might otherwise have been dull food was made to boil of its own.
It was one little luxury, a passage between the lad that used to burn rice under the eyes of his mother and the man that had sampled delicacies at ball-rooms across the clouds.
Zhenwu smiled to himself somewhat, as he stirred a dollop of light soy sauce, with a slight, floral smell, left to him by forgotten valleys.
This was nothing in the great plan of things--a momentary gesture in a lifelong trial. but here, in this small corner, it was returning to himself.
I thought of the adage: one spark will set off a prairie blaze. What started as a mere meal may stir something warmer in the hearts of his parents, and take the edge off the dark past of those lost years.
Beyond the kitchen door Xiao Hei was lying in the gentle morning air reduced to his usual size of a small black puppy with a special white patch on the forehead in the shape of a diamond.
He was to watch over the chickens and ducks which had now started to scratch and splash every day in the yard--the hens pecking at the wet ground after worms, the ducks rowing lazily in the shallow pond behind the house. But the beast lost track.
His large, floppy, innocent-looking ears twitched inside in response to the sizzle. The smell came out like and invisible hand, pulling his senses in.
What he had begun as a sleepy yawn, had become a burr of hunger in his stomach. His half-closed eyes upon feigned boredom flew open. Drool was gathered at the corner of his mouth and as he got up he padded quietly toward his door, his tail wagging against his will.
Nothing during his ages of consuming mountains and stars had been quite comparable to the tug of the cooking of his master. It was maddening, indeed--how such earthly odours should cause this terror of the ages to become a wailing puppy.
Wu Meifeng wakes up first in the bedroom on the other side of the courtyard. So had the smell sneaked in at the door like a tender intruder, to rouse her out of sleep.
She awoke slowly, and looked in the dim light and at once she saw the difference. The breaths followed without any wheezing as it had plagued her before and without any difficulty.
The soreness in her chest, which was her steady companion, as one of the old debts not yet paid, was gone. She laid a hand upon her forehead--no soreness, no cloudiness of mind. Her body was light as though the burden of endless worries had been relieved during the night.
Lao Liang, she said and shook her husband. "Wake up. Something's... different. My breathing--it is smooth as it was when we were young. And my head is no longer pounding. It's like I've shed a heavy coat."
At first Liang Jianguo complained, and he picked up the cup of water by the bed. He made a swallow, and stopped in mid-swallow. The old, old pang in his back, the ache of the day before in the fields were gone.
His limbs obeyed him, his joints were as supple as those of a youth. Fatigue which had set lines in his face appeared to be washed out.
I see that too, he mumbled and dropped the cup with a clink. Like all those years of hard work it never occurred. My bones are rusty not aching any more. He moved his legs and swung them over the edge of the bed and stood with a relaxedness with which he had not known himself in decades.
The eyes of Wu Meifeng were also opened and there was an expression of wonder and suspicion on her face. "Could it be... Zhenwu? But how?" She grabbed his husband by the arm.
"Quick, get up. I need to see him. So what would happen to last night being a dream? What if he's gone again?" The terror of those four lonely years flew back like a chilly breeze to make her voice tremble.
Jianguo nodded and gripped her hand. "Alright, alright. but do not take yourself riled up. He got up, and tugged his plain tunic, and they padded out of the room, the wooden planking squeaking underfoot.
The morning light had been stiffened in the courtyard so that it defined the forms of the osmanthus tree and the low walls.
When they entered the kitchen doorway their gaze rested upon the picture, Zhenwu at the stove with his back towards them, playing about with the greens in the wok. And there, primly seated before the hearth, like a watchful protector, was a little black puppy with its queer white diamond on his forehead.
Its head was tilted up at them, and the eyes bright and inquiring.
Her hand went to her mouth, and Wu Meifeng froze. "Zhenwu? And... who's this little one?" The puppy seemed to be gazing up at her, as though he knew he was loved, and its tail was waving softly on the dirt floor.
Zhenwu looked round, his face flushing with a wide smile which made the room bright with the morning. "Mother, Father. Good morning." He put aside the spatula, drying his hands on a cloth. Now the scent engulfed them completely--the deep saltiness of the bok choy that was being stir-fried, the slight sweetness of the congee, the warm steam that was emerging out of the mantou.
Wu Meifeng fell into tears. She scrambled to her feet, and threw him in a fierce embrace, the tears streaming down his shirt. "Oh, my boy... I thought it was a dream. You here, cooking like this. But you're real. You're home."
She drew back and clasped his face in her hand, as though to keep him there.
Jianguo cleared his throat by taking a moment to look at him with his own watery eyes. "Son... this smell. When did you know how to cook like that? It is like the feasts in the old stories, except that it is better.
Zhenwu smiled, and led his mother to a stool. "Don't worry, Mother. It's no dream. Concerning the cooking, however, I have learnt a few things in the years. He looked at the puppy, who had gotten up and was now winding in between their feet, rubbing his head against Wu Meifeng and his ankle with a shamelessly loving expression. The small monster even probed at the callus of the hand of Jianguo with its tongue, so warm and insistent.
Wu Meifeng squatted down scratching behind the ears of the puppy. "And this one? Where did he come from? I never met a puppy in the village with so much a mark on him.
Zhenwu got on his knees to pick out some congee in a small bowl to give the dog. I discovered him on the river last night. He was standing on the verge, and was just about to fall in. Could not leave him stand.
Wu Meifeng's face paled. "The river? Zhenwu! That damned place--it's where you... Her tone was broken and she struck Jianguo on the arm rather than on the son, but the impact made a gentle thump. "You hear that, Lao Liang? And here our boy comes past that death trap once more!
Jianguo felt his shoulder, winced. "Why hit me? I didn't do anything!" But he was light in tone, and the old joking was like an old tune.
Zhenwu threw up his hands of surrender. "Mother, Father, I was careful. No more risks like before. I promise." He gave Xiao Hei a reproving scowl--the dog was now unashamedly rubbing himself against the leg of Wu Meifeng, and its eyes were beseeching him to be given scraps.
In his head, Zhenwu almost heard the smuggle of thoughts of the beast: Bao zhu da tui--at the thick thigh dang. The ancient proverb suited very well; Xiao Hei was well informed on whose goodwill to seek a full belly.
As the village was opening out--doors opening, creaking, to give the sun its welcome, roosters greeting him like a rooster greeting the sun--the Liang family sat down to the plain wooden table in the courtyard.
The food was ready: Bowls of hot congee with green onions sliced in and a touch of pickled radish; the stir-fried greens shining with that unidentifiable seasoning; mantou cracked open and awaiting to mop up the flavours.
Wu Meifeng swallowed the first spoon of congee, and her eyes grew large. This... it is such as nothing that I have tried. So rich, yet light. My appetite--it is like I was a girl.
Jianguo shook his head furiously and swallowed a mantou in three bites. Yea the greens a kick I have never seen. And my stomach does not grumble as last time. They were dining with a savour, the years of softened food forgotten. His death had darkened their mood, and made their food but fuel. Today, however, with Zhenwu opposite them the tastes were like the life again. There was empting of plates at an unusual rate, and laughter with the clink of chopsticks.
Xiao Hei pawed his feet impatiently under the table, and whined. He had tried the work of Zhenwu on previous occasions, in those distant times, and it was more than a grand banquet.
His yip of dismay was a wretched yip: Don't forget me! Zhenwu sighed looking down at the pup and giving him a slight push with his foot. "Away with you. You'll get your share later."
When the food was finished Jianguo reclined, rubbing his belly. Son, whatever decoys you have mastered, they are a blessing. It is that kind of thing when, as the old saying goes, when the tree is cut the shade is lost; and when you put in a seed, you get more branches. Thou hast restored the colour which was lost.
The empty bowls were stacked by Zhenwu smiling. All the time in his heart he had been aware that this was peace--A moment or two before the oriole would come on the rear-side, and the mantis would be staring in his direction. But at this moment in this courtyard in the morning sun it sufficed.