Chapter 63: Our Family Isn’t Short of Money

Lin Xinsheng looked at the mother and daughter with relief, feeling a lump in his throat. When he left home, his wife had worried that there might be a rift between them, but he had reassured her: “No one from the Lin family is muddle-headed.” Thankfully, this child was broad-minded and generous, holding no grudges against her mother. Now he could finally relax. Looking around, aside from the baby still sleeping, all the women were wiping away tears, and the men weren’t faring much better.

Seeing the atmosphere so heavy and everyone’s eyes brimming with tears, he had to interrupt. Otherwise, their guests would feel too awkward to stay.

“Alright, now that everything’s out in the open, you two can have a good chat in private later. Wipe those tears away. Is this how soldiers behave, all weepy? Jiao Jiao, Grandpa happened to have a mission in the Northern Military District this time, so I came to see you. Now I see your husband’s family is honest and kind, your parents-in-law treat you like their own daughter, and you and your sisters-in-law are as close as real sisters. You should treat the elders well and get along with your family. I have to say, Old Zhou finally did something right for once. That muddle-headed man is muddle-headed no matter what he does.”

Zhou Jiao couldn’t help but laugh, looking at her grandfather who was so much like Old Master Zhang. She didn’t feel the slightest bit of unfamiliarity. In her previous life, even children would cry at the sight of Old Master Zhang, but he had treated her like his own granddaughter. Now, looking at Grandpa Lin, it was as if she was seeing her own grandfather. As long as he had no ulterior motives, she would treat him with sincerity.

Seeing Zhou Jiao’s calm and unresentful gaze, Lin Xinsheng nodded to himself and explained, “Grandpa owes you an apology for letting you suffer in the Zhou family. When your father first had his accident, and your eldest uncle too, your mother lost her two closest family members and nearly broke down. Your grandmother couldn’t bear it and was hospitalized. Your eldest uncle’s two children were just toddlers, and your aunt collapsed as well. Your second uncle’s whole family was out of town, and the house was in chaos, all relying on your fifteen- or sixteen-year-old youngest aunt to manage.

It was in these circumstances that your paternal grandparents came. At the time, I really had no choice. Besides the family matters, I had to lead troops into battle. Your grandparents insisted you had to return to your father’s hometown, saying no one could care for you here, and times were too chaotic. The Lin family already had two young children to look after and couldn’t manage you as well. I was worried your grandfather, who didn’t get along with your father, might not treat you well, but I trusted your grandmother—she’s a good person. Your grandfather agreed to all my conditions and took you away.

We agreed that once things settled down, you’d be sent back to Beijing, where you’d settle down and start your own family. I didn’t let them transfer your household registration, just to prevent them from taking over the courtyard house your father left you. As for your father’s compensation money, your grandfather wrote me a note, promising it was yours and no one else could touch it. As long as you were in your father’s hometown, whether your mother recovered or not, we’d send money for your support.

Before you turned five, we corresponded many times. He said you were doing well and got along lovingly with your cousins. I asked him several times to send me a photo, and finally, when you were almost ten, I received your first picture.

When you turned ten and called your mother saying you wanted to find her, she called me in tears, saying you’d surely sneak off to Beijing and wouldn’t be able to find her since she wasn’t there. She asked me to send someone to fetch you, or you might really get lost. I immediately sent an urgent telegram to your grandfather, telling him to keep an eye on you until someone came.

It was just after liberation, and I was extremely busy, with no one trustworthy to send. I planned to come to the Northern Military District myself and bring you back, but before I could, your grandfather sent a long letter saying you’d changed your mind and wanted to stay and study in your hometown. He said with your father gone, you were the only child left, and he couldn’t bear to let you go. He worried about you, saying your mother was always away for work, and even if you went to Beijing, you couldn’t be with her. He wanted you to finish middle school there, and when you were older and more mature, and they were too old to care for you, you could return to Beijing for high school and university, and then settle down and start your own family.

I read that letter over and over, tried calling your mother several times but couldn’t reach her. I discussed it with your grandmother, and in the end, we agreed. Still, I wasn’t at ease, worried he might be lying and you’d sneak away. A ten-year-old can’t really be considered an adult, no matter how mature. Your mother had asked me to look after you, so I asked someone passing through Zhoujia Village to check on you secretly. Later, a comrade called to say you were fine, and I finally relaxed.

When food coupons came out in 1955, your mother got anxious, saying your household registration was still in Beijing and you had to come back, since you were about to finish middle school and could continue with high school in Beijing. You were old enough to look after yourself, even if she wasn’t there. Your courtyard house also needed you to renew the lease. Both your mother and I wrote to your grandfather explaining, and planned for your mother to fetch you as soon as you graduated. Your grandfather replied that he’d discuss it with you, and if you agreed, there’d be no need for anyone to fetch you—he’d send you to Beijing himself. Your mother was so happy she bought lots of gifts to send to your grandfather.

But just a few months later, your grandfather wrote back saying you were getting married, and refused to change his mind even when pressed. You’d grown up together with the other party, and were very close, so he had no choice but to agree. This letter was just to inform us and tell us not to interfere. He said you were old enough, and there might be some special circumstances, so it was better to let you marry early.

At the time, I couldn’t reach your mother, and didn’t know what “special circumstances” your grandfather was referring to. It wasn’t something we could talk about openly, so I had someone quietly look into Zhang Guoqing’s background. I heard he was a good person. There was nothing I could do. You hadn’t grown up by my side, so I couldn’t stop the marriage. Even my own two daughters chose their own husbands. I could only wait for your mother to return and discuss it then.

When your mother came back from abroad, your grandfather wrote to say your wedding date was already set, and by the time we saw the letter, it had already happened. Your mother was furious, saying your grandfather did it on purpose and should have sent a telegram. None of us expected the wedding to be so rushed. We thought even if you insisted on marrying, you’d need your household registration book to get a marriage certificate, which would mean a trip to Beijing, and we could ask you about it then. We were all stunned when we heard the news.

Later, your grandmother comforted your mother, saying you’d already graduated from middle school, your mother sent money every month, and you could always borrow money for a train ticket if you didn’t want to get married. You could’ve run back to Beijing anytime. You’d all agreed you’d return after graduation, so maybe you were just very close to your fiancé and afraid of being separated. She said your mother hadn’t raised you for a single day, so she shouldn’t make you sad again. She urged your mother to quickly sort out your marriage certificate. Your household registration was still in Beijing, and without it, you couldn’t get the certificate—no more mistakes could be made.

Your mother pulled some strings to get your marriage certificate sorted. She couldn’t get a long leave, so she kept applying. Coincidentally, her old regiment commander was retiring, and she had to compete for the position with others. She wanted to come see you but couldn’t get the time off. She wasn’t high enough in rank to use a military plane. A few months later, your grandfather wrote to say you were pregnant. This time, your mother couldn’t sit still and was desperate to come back. She’d planned to bring you and your husband straight to Beijing to continue your studies—she’d even arranged for you to attend the military dependents’ school. But having a child changed everything. She got five days’ leave, but just as she was about to leave, something big happened and she couldn’t go. After that, she wasn’t in such a hurry to fetch you anymore. You can probably guess what happened?” With that, Grandpa Lin chuckled.

After finishing, he looked at the couple and continued, “Jiao Jiao, Grandpa really regrets not coming to see you in person sooner. If I had, I would’ve realized you were nothing like what your grandfather described in his letters. I believe you’re a good child. Maybe there were other reasons you married Zhang Guoqing back then, but you’re both good kids. Grandpa trusts his own judgment, and I’m very glad to have such an outstanding granddaughter.”"