The kang (heated brick bed) for left-behind women

Chapter 117 Archway

Before coming, Lin Dachun had rehearsed his words in his mind several times, but when he actually arrived here...

Seeing the empty cave dwelling and the little girl huddled in the corner, the words stuck in my throat, and I couldn't say them.

"It's like this..." Lin Dachun finally spoke, his voice dry, "There's a shop in town that's short-handed and wants to find a few women to work there."

"Really? The workmanship is excellent. The workmanship is very good."

Widow Su sat down on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed) and picked up an unfinished sock to continue sewing:

"Which store?"

"Paradise," Lin Dachun said, not daring to look directly at Widow Su.

The sound of needle and thread stopped for a moment, then started again, a little faster than before.

"Paradise? Scarface's shop? Isn't that...?" Widow Su's voice immediately became unsettled.

"Hmm." Lin Dachun felt his mouth was dry. "He said... the work is easy and the money comes quickly. Three or five dollars a time, which is better than washing clothes for a year."

He himself felt ashamed when he said that.

But he had to speak, he had to make things clear.

Although Scarface's ten dollars were burned, those words, like seeds, quietly sprouted in his heart—yes, some people are willing to do so.

Those families who can't afford to eat, those whose children are sick, those who have been driven to desperation by life.

Isn't Widow Su just that kind of person?

The man has been dead for many years. He has a child, no land, and makes a living by washing clothes and mending clothes for others.

The villagers all said she was "improper"—men often came to her place at night, sometimes bringing half a bag of cornmeal, sometimes giving her a few yuan.

Everyone knew the unspoken truth, but behind her back they all talked behind her back.

Shouldn't a woman like that be excited when she hears about "easy money"?

But Widow Su simply kept her head down, sewing socks with dense and even stitches.

After a long while, she finally spoke, her voice still calm: "Uncle Dachun, do you know what that shop does?"

Lin Dachun remained silent.

"You know," Widow Su looked up at him.

Her eyes shone frighteningly in the dim light. "You already know, so why are you asking me?"

These words were like a slap in the face to Lin Dachun.

He opened his mouth, wanting to say "I'm doing this for your own good," wanting to say "You're having a hard time," but these words seemed so hypocritical and so unbearable in front of Widow Su's eyes.

"I just wanted to ask, is it something I could consider if I'm having financial difficulties?" Lin Dachun tried to offer some advice.

"I'm not that kind of woman," Widow Su said, then lowered her head to sew her socks again.

The needle tip pierced through the coarse cloth, making a soft hissing sound.

"Is this what you came for tonight?" Widow Su asked, looking up.

Lin Dachun nodded, then nodded again, seemingly embarrassed.

He didn't expect to hear those words.

Hearing "I'm not that kind of woman" from the mouth of a "not-so-serious" woman.

"But you..." Lin Dachun started to say, but then swallowed his words.

He wanted to say, "But you accept men's things at night."

But you let men into your home.

But everyone in the village says you are...

"Yes, I'm poor, I'm cheap, I sell my body." Widow Su spoke for him, her voice still calm, but the hand holding the needle was trembling slightly. "I've collected cornmeal at night, for a few dollars, and sometimes I even let people... sleep on the kang (heated brick bed)."

She looked up, her eyes reddening, but she didn't shed a tear: "But I took those things so that Ya Ya wouldn't starve. I let people sit on the kang (heated brick bed) because I had no other choice. But Brother Da Chun, that doesn't mean I'm shameless, or that I can do anything."

"Isn't that how it is? It'll be the same over there," Lin Dachun explained. "It's all so that Yaya won't starve to death."

She threw her socks on the kang (a heated brick bed), stood up, and walked over to Lin Dachun.

She wasn't tall, so she had to look up at him: "What kind of women work at Scarface's shop? They're priced, they just spread their legs and make money. What's the difference between them and prostitutes in a brothel? I won't do that. I'd rather starve to death than let my daughter know that her mother is supported by that kind of money."

She spoke those last words softly, yet they struck like a hammer blow.

This is truly a case of being a prostitute while trying to maintain a virtuous image.

Lin Dachun sat there, unable to utter a single word.

He looked at Widow Su's red eyes, at her chest heaving slightly with emotion, and at the little girl behind her huddled in the corner with wide eyes.

He suddenly understood.

For Widow Su, those men who came at night, those cornmeal and a few dollars, were transactions made when she had no other choice, humiliations she had to swallow with gritted teeth.

But Scarface's shop is a different story—it's about putting a price tag on himself, a complete and open admission: I'm a seller.

Most importantly, her daughter obviously didn't know about her mother's affairs, but once she went to Scarface's shop...

My daughter will definitely find out when she grows up.

His own mother was labeled a prostitute.

This will make it impossible for my daughter to face people in the future.

This is a line she would rather die than cross.

"I'm sorry." Lin Dachun stood up, his voice hoarse. "I shouldn't have come."

Widow Su didn't say anything, but turned around and picked up the socks again to sew them up.

The sound of needle and thread began again, more urgent and heavier than before, as if it were venting something.

Lin Dachun walked to the door and then stopped.

He pulled two crumpled one-yuan bills out of his pocket.

He went back and gently placed the money on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed).

"Buy some candy for Ya Ya." After he finished speaking, he turned and left.

"Brother Dachun," Widow Su called out to him.

He turned around.

"Thank you," she said, tears finally falling, one drop, two drops, landing on the sock in her hand. "But take the money back. I... I can't take it."

Lin Dachun looked at her for a long time before turning around and leaving the cave.

The door closed behind me.

He stood under the gloomy sky and took a deep breath.

The wind carried dampness and felt chilly on my face.

He remembered the ashes of ten yuan in the stove, Li Ruoxue blushing and saying, "No matter how poor we are, we can't do that kind of thing," and Widow Su's red eyes and the words, "I'm not that kind of woman."

These women on the loess slopes.

Poverty, hardship, being trampled underfoot by life, but that little thing in their hearts, that thing called "face" or "backbone," is as hard as stone, impossible to break no matter how much they are trampled.