Entering the main room, she saw her mother, Mrs. Yang, sitting on a small stool, head bent over a large wooden basin as she scrubbed clothes with all her might.
Dirty water streamed from between her fingers, and the sight made Juhua's heart clench. 'This is exactly how Mom used to wash clothes in my past life. It wasn't until I bought a washing machine for our home that things improved.' She couldn't stop her eyes from welling up.
"Mom, I'm home," Juhua called out to Mrs. Yang.
Mrs. Yang looked up, her expression somber. But when she saw it was her daughter, she quickly forced a smile and said gently, "Juhua, you're back? Go wash your face. Your dad and Qingmu should be home to eat soon."
She was in her early forties, her hair pulled back into a slick bun. Her face was still rather smooth, save for the wrinkles fanning out from the corners of her eyes.
"Okay!" Juhua replied. She changed into a pair of clean cloth shoes, then carried the tattered, dew-soaked pair she'd been wearing outside. She set them on the steps, leaning them against the riser to dry in the sun, before heading to the kitchen under the eaves to wash her face.
Mrs. Yang watched her daughter's slender back, a pang of sorrow making her want to cry. She forced herself to hold it in, sniffling softly.
'My poor girl,' she thought. 'If she hadn't been bitten by something when she was little, causing all those fleshy growths to cover her face, how could anyone look down on her and say no one would ever want her? Just look at my son, Qingmu. Without those growths, my daughter would have been beautiful—it's not like me and her father are ugly!'
'It's all my fault for not taking better care of her. My poor, poor Juhua!'
In the end, she couldn't hold them back. Tears fell, DRIP, DRIP, into the basin, landing on the washboard and splashing dirty water back into the mix.
Once in the kitchen, Juhua ladled some hot water from the kettle on the stove into her personal wooden basin and set it on the washstand.
To conserve firewood, rural families would build a large iron canister into the stove between the two cooking pots, near the firebox opening. They kept it filled with water, so whenever either pot was used, the excess heat would warm or even boil the water in the canister. As a result, there was never a shortage of hot water.
As she washed her face, the moment her hand brushed against the tumors, Juhua felt another wave of misery. 'Being ugly is one thing, but these bizarre growths all over my face make it hard to even wash properly! I have to rinse it so carefully and then gently pat it dry. It's absolute torture!'
After washing her face, she sighed to herself. She then picked up the bamboo broom and swept the three rooms and the kitchen, collecting the debris in a dustpan and emptying it into the compost pit beside the outhouse.
A CLANG, CLANG from the doorway, the sound of a hoe striking the stone steps, told her that her father, Zheng Changhe, and her brother, Zheng Qingmu, were home. The two of them had left early in the morning, hoes over their shoulders, to work the fields at the foot of the mountain, preparing the soil to plant wheat.
She quickly filled another small wooden basin with water, dropped in a worn cotton cloth, and carried it to the washstand, calling out for her father and brother to wash up for dinner.
She then deftly ladled four bowls of cornmeal porridge and placed them, along with a plate of steamed corn buns, on the old, dark-stained table in the main room. She also served some pickled green beans and preserved melon, setting out the bowls and chopsticks before waiting for everyone to eat.
By the time Mrs. Yang finished the laundry, threw out the dirty water, and washed her hands to sit at the table, Zheng Changhe and his son were already seated with their bowls, eating.
Holding her own bowl of porridge, Juhua studied her father and brother as she ate.
Her father was in his late forties, with regular features and a simple, honest face. Her brother was tall and well-built, every bit as handsome as Zhang Huai. 'He's just too reserved,' she thought, 'always so quiet and withdrawn!'
'And don't even get me started on Mom. She must have been quite beautiful in her youth; she still has a certain grace about her!'
'I'm the only oddball in this family. Sigh! Was my karma really that bad?'
Zheng Changhe noticed Juhua looking at him. He glanced up, offering her a fond smile, and said gently, "Your brother caught a few small fish in the ditch with a bamboo trap this morning. We'll make some soup for you at noon. Are you feeling better today?"
He, like his wife, doted on their daughter. It filled him with indignation that such an obedient, gentle, and understanding girl could be so cruelly ridiculed, but there was nothing he could do. People would say what they wanted, and he couldn't stop them.
It wasn't for a lack of trying; they had taken Juhua to see doctors about the growths on her face, but no one had a cure.
All he could do was treat her as well as possible. Sometimes, he would think defiantly, 'So what if I have to support my daughter for the rest of her life? I'll do it!'
Juhua nodded quickly. "Much better."
Seeing her mother and brother both look up at her with concern, her heart warmed. 'At least Heaven wasn't entirely cruel,' she thought. 'It gave me a warm, loving family, unlike some rural households where daughters are constantly beaten and scolded.'
Mrs. Yang chimed in, "Tomorrow, I'll go to the market for some fabric to make clothes for Qingmu. I'll also buy some big soup bones to make a nourishing broth for our girl."
Without looking up, Qingmu kept slurping his porridge. After a moment, he mumbled, "I don't need any. Make them for my sister instead."
Mrs. Yang froze. She opened and closed her mouth, at a loss for words.
It wasn't that she was biased; the family was simply too poor. If she made new clothes for Qingmu, they could be altered for Juhua after he wore them out. But if she made them for Juhua, what would Qingmu wear? He had been shooting up like a weed the last couple of years, growing taller and taller. He couldn't just make do anymore.
Juhua said quietly, "I'm fine with Brother's old clothes. You're so tall now, and Dad's clothes can't be altered to fit you. You have to get new ones."
Zheng Changhe waved his hand, settling the matter. "We'll make clothes for both of you. Once we're past this busy season, I'll go hunting in the mountains to earn some extra income."
Mrs. Yang readily agreed, a smile finally gracing her face.
Juhua, however, did not feel happy at all. 'With a face like this, nice clothes are just a waste of money!' she thought. 'They should save it for something else. Do Mom and Dad actually think they can marry me off just by dressing me up nicely?'