Chapter 8

That was basically the process of rural matchmaking back then.

Engagement-going off to work together-getting pregnant while working-coming home to get married during the New Year.

My mother muttered, “Xiaxia is still so young.”

Grandma rebuked her: “She’ll be eighteen soon, what’s so young about that!”

My father smoked hand-rolled tobacco, keeping silent under Grandma’s fierce gaze.

They were weak-always had been.

If I wanted something, I had to fight for it myself.

With a swish, I overturned the table and glared at Aunt, snapping, “If his family is so well-off, why don’t you marry him yourself!”

“If you force me, I’ll hang myself at your front gate. Let’s see who’ll dare to marry your son then.”

That marriage proposal was dropped.

Aunt spread the news of my terrible behavior throughout the village.

The women all said I was crazy: “She’s just a regular high school student, studies all day and still can’t get into college. What’s a Secondary Vocational School student dreaming about?”

“Does she think getting into college is like growing cabbage-plant a seed and it sprouts?”

Grandma scolded my mother harshly.

She finished by saying, “It’s not up to her whether she marries or not. That’s thirty thousand yuan! With that money, you can fix up your older brother’s house, and Dabao is already twenty-two, it’s high time to find him a wife.”

That night, my mother asked me how a Secondary Vocational School student could get into college.

Hope flared in my eyes as I eagerly shared my plan.

A Cram School would accept me, and there was a rather famous one in the neighboring county.

After a long silence, my mother asked, “How much does it cost?”

“Three thousand per semester.”

Cram Schools are for profit.

With my grades, honestly, they didn’t really want to accept me unless I paid the full fee.

My mother sighed again, “So much money!”

What did three thousand yuan mean back then?

My mother sold fried rice noodles on the street, one portion for just one yuan.

After deducting all costs, she made about thirty cents a serving.

She took out a tin box and, under the dim light, counted the crumpled bills one by one.

“This money was supposed to pay for your little sister’s Math Olympiad Class. Now even if I give it all to you, it’s still not enough!”

Her hands, calloused and dark from years of labor, were wrinkled and rough.

The corners of her eyes were covered in fine lines. She just sat there, quietly looking at me.

More than two years ago, she looked at me the same way, making me back down and go to Secondary Vocational School.

I clenched my fists tightly, fighting the guilt, and knelt in front of my parents.

“Think of it as a loan. I’ll pay it back double, no-five, ten times over. Please, I beg you.”