In the twelfth lunar month, dawn in Muyun Town brought a bite of cold. White frost clung to the eaves, and each gust of wind sent it sifting down like grains of salt.
People on the street wrapped themselves tight, their voices sounding brittle as if frozen; each puff of breath vanished instantly. The cries of hawkers carrying loads were muffled by the cold.
In the little courtyard of Willow Alley, the brazier snapped and popped, its warmth seeping through the cracks of the door. Even the cat curled outside to bask in it.
Qingshui stepped out with a basin of water just in time to see Layne staggering back with a bucket, shivering.
"Don't rattle like a sieve! What good's your training if you freeze stupid? Might as well set a begging bowl at the alley corner!"
Nose red, Layne muttered, "Not freezing stupid… but keeping qi out for warmth, and on my arms for strength… if I slip, it all scatters…"
His pace quickened; water sloshed on the stone, freezing thin in moments.
Inside, Bihua counted and recounted a cloth pouch of coins saved over half a month, brows pinched.
"Flour's up two coins, lard too. Vegetables in winter are daylight robbery…"
Helping Layne pour into the water jar, Qingshui drawled,
"It's New Year season—everyone wants to fleece you. Worst comes, we'll eat ice and drink snow. Fine feast, eh?"
Bihua shot her a glare. "Hand over the coins you skimmed on errands."
Qingshui coughed, tucking her hands behind her back, edging toward the door. "What coins? Don't make things up—me, hiding money? Impossible…"
Layne tugged at his mother's sleeve. "Mom, the town's so lively! Stalls with snacks and couplets are out already! Let's skip selling today and go walk the streets!"
Bihua's stern look melted. She softened, nodded gently.
"Year's end—everyone wants a bit of cheer."
—
By morning the busiest place was the twin streets along the river bridge.
Frost still clung to stone, but once the sun struck, the street swelled with voices, the north wind routed by the tide of people.
Stalls lined the way, red couplets and "fortune" scrolls whipping in the wind. Vendors sat bundled behind counters, hand-warmers in palms, calling until their throats cracked:
"Bright red couplets! Fortune, peace, prosperity—choose your blessing!"
Beside them, firecracker sellers hawked bundles of strings, flower rockets, long coils wrapped in scarlet paper. Children's eyes gleamed as they tugged parents, unwilling to move on.
"Don't pick the pricey ones—pick the good ones! Big firecrackers for the grown, sparklers for the kids! New Year's hundred blasts drive out evil, thousand blasts banish filth, ten-thousand blasts call in fortune!"
Layne tugged his mother and Qingshui into the main street.
"Mom… it's even livelier than Youzhen…" He stood dazed, the crowd pressing past, giving him the dizzy sense he was moving backward.
"Yes. More people here, more noise. Stay close, or a trafficker will snatch you." Bihua gripped him tighter.
Qingshui scoffed, "Tch, this is nothing. I've seen far grander. Don't gape like a yokel."
But even as she sneered, her feet drifted toward the clothing stalls.
"New coats! Cloaks! For young and old, keep warm for New Year!"
Near the central bridge a stage had been rigged, red curtains flapping. The troupe was behind, warming voices. In front, men cracked seeds, women chattered with babies in arms.
Town constables shouldered through, ledger in hand, calling, "Don't push! Easy there, ma'am!"
They shouted up to the stage: "Orders from the magistrate—perform free for the people today! Collect your fee at the yamen!"
The troupe leader bowed thanks, promising a good show. The constables turned back to the crowd:
"East and west bridges, north and south markets—free festival cakes for all! No—charge!"
The crowd split into streams. Layne and Bihua were swept east. Qingshui had already vanished.
At the east bridge, a line stretched long, steam rising. The scent of rice porridge, bean curd, and golden cakes with red "fortune" brushed on top filled the air.
People jostled with bowls in hand, laughing:
"Ha! Better than stoking the stove at home!"
"Hmph, only generous once a year—when have they been so free the rest of the time?"
The second voice was familiar. Layne turned—Qingshui had somehow reappeared.
She looked ridiculous: hair tied with red cords, two folded garments under one arm, a bag of snacks perched atop, and two candied haw skewers raised high—one in hand, one in her mouth. Her cheeks were streaked with badly smeared rouge.
Layne squinted, trying to recognize her face. She shouted before he could:
"Bihua! Take these, I'm going in for the free cakes too!"
Bihua sighed, taking the bundle, thinking privately: today Qingshui might be the biggest winner of them all.
But when she asks for an advance on wages, I'll never lend it!
Watching her vanish shouting into the crowd, Bihua could only shake her head.
The hawkers' cries, children's shrieks, parents' scolding, dogs barking—together it all wove the thick fabric of New Year's cheer.
The wind bit cold, breath showed white, yet the street glowed like a row of braziers, warmth spilling into the season's chill.
—
By afternoon, back at the courtyard, Layne was still giddy. It was the happiest day since moving here.
"Auntie Qingshui, you ate so much—still want dinner? Or maybe try those sugar figurines? You looked interested…"
She didn't even lift her lids, just sneered.
"If you want figurines, ask your mom. All I mold are fists."
Layne puffed, cracking peanuts between his teeth. "Hmph, all you do is eat and hit people. Can't even cook."
She yanked his collar, swiped the bag, grabbed a fistful for herself. "What's that? Complaining now? No slacking—training this afternoon!"
The sun mellowed, the cold eased.
Qingshui held a stick, drilling him.
"Steady your qi wrap. Stop scattering. A month in, all you've got is sound and smoke. Can that kill?"
Layne sweated, grinding his teeth. "A month's progress this far, and you're still not satisfied?"
Her eyes sharpened; the stick flicked. He tumbled back in alarm.
"On a normal day, I'd say you're quick. But now? You're too slow."
She looked up at the dimming sky, whispering to herself:
"You don't know what's coming. Weak won't protect your mother."
From inside, Bihua called, "Don't chip the table again—it's shrunk already!"
Stick slung to her shoulder, Qingshui hollered back, "So what! I'll buy another. This one's a teaching aid now!"
That evening, Bihua laid red paper on the desk.
"New Year's couplets. Don't forget to write them."
Layne's eyes shone. "Let me! Let me!"
Qingshui, still clutching her bowl: "Write? Your scrawl will scare gods away."
Bihua swatted her. "Eat. And don't forget Master Shen's calligraphy—you promised before you drank."
Qingshui snorted, shoveling rice while fending Layne's eager grabs for the paper.
Watching the two tussle—one clinging, one blocking, both sneaking food—Bihua's face softened into laughter, hiding the ache beneath.
The first New Year without you… we can still live well. Layne is growing. He can protect me now.