Explore Chapter 1 of '彷徨' with the original Chinese text, English translation, detailed Chinese vocabulary explanations, and audio of the Chinese original. Listen and improve your reading skills.
The end of the lunar year is indeed the very essence of the year's culmination. Not only in the villages and towns, but even the sky betrays the imminence of the New Year. From within the leaden, somber evening clouds, flashes would intermittently appear, followed by dull thuds-firecrackers sending off the Kitchen God. Those set off nearby were even more violent; the deafening roar had scarcely faded before the air was saturated with the faint, pungent scent of gunpowder. It was on this very night that I returned to my hometown, Lu Town. Though called my hometown, I no longer had a home there, and so was compelled to seek temporary lodging in the house of Fourth Uncle Lu. He was a relative of the same clan, a generation senior to me, and thus I addressed him as Fourth Uncle. A former student of the National University, he was a pedant of Neo-Confucianism. He had not changed much since I last saw him, only aged somewhat, but he had not yet grown a beard. Upon meeting, we exchanged polite greetings; after which he remarked that I had "grown stout," and immediately upon saying so, launched into vehement denunciations of the reformists. But I knew this was not a veiled attack on me, for the target of his ire was still Kang Youwei. However, our conversation proved thoroughly uncongenial, and so, before long, I found myself alone in the study.
I rose very late the next day. After lunch, I went out to visit a few relatives and friends; the third day I did the same. None of them had changed much, only aged a little. But their homes were uniformly bustling, all preparing for the "New Year's Sacrifice." This was the grand year-end ceremony in Lu Town, a reverent and elaborate welcome for the God of Fortune, to beseech good luck for the coming year. Chickens were killed, geese slaughtered, pork bought, and everything was scrubbed with meticulous care. The women's arms were red from immersion in the water, some still wearing their spiraled silver bracelets. After cooking, a few chopsticks were stuck haphazardly into the dishes, and these could then be termed "sacrificial offerings." They were laid out before dawn, incense and candles lit, and the gods of fortune respectfully invited to partake. But only the men performed the kowtows; after which, naturally, firecrackers were set off. Thus it was done every year, in every household-provided they could afford the sacrificial offerings and firecrackers-and naturally this year was no exception. The sky grew even gloomier, and in the afternoon it began to snow, flakes as large as plum blossoms swirling in the air amid the smoke and the atmosphere of busyness, throwing Lu Town into utter chaos. By the time I returned to Fourth Uncle's study, the roof tiles were already snow-white, and the room seemed brighter, throwing into sharp relief the large, red-rubbed character for "Longevity" hanging on the wall, written by the ancient sage Chen Tuan. One scroll of the matching couplet had fallen and lay loosely rolled up on the long table; the other was still there, bearing the inscription: "Comprehending reason brings peace of mind." Feeling listless, I went to the desk by the window and leafed through the books. There was a pile, likely an incomplete set of the Kangxi Dictionary, a copy of Reflections on Things at Hand, and a copy of The Four Books. In any event, I had resolved to leave the next day.
Moreover, the encounter with Sister Xianglin the day before had rendered me unable to settle. It was in the afternoon. I had been visiting a friend at the eastern end of the town, and as I was leaving, I met her by the riverside. And from the fixed direction of her staring eyes, I knew she was unmistakably making straight for me. Of all the people I had seen on this visit to Lu Town, none had changed as profoundly as she. Her hair, which had been streaked with grey five years before, was now completely white, making her look nothing like a woman still in her forties. Her face was terribly gaunt, sallow with a dark tinge, and it had completely lost the earlier expression of sorrow, as if carved from wood. Only the occasional flicker of her eyes indicated she was still a living creature. In one hand she carried a bamboo basket containing an empty, broken bowl. In the other she held a bamboo pole, taller than herself, which was split at the bottom. She had clearly become a beggar through and through.
"That's good. You are a scholar who's traveled and seen the world. I was just wanting to ask you something-" Her lackluster eyes suddenly gleamed.
I shuddered. To see her eyes fixed on me was like feeling needles prick my back. I was far more flustered than when surprised by an impromptu examination at school, with the teacher standing beside me. As for the existence of souls, I had never given the matter the slightest thought. But what was I to answer her now? In that brief moment of hesitation, it struck me: here, people conventionally believed in ghosts, but she-she was doubtful. Or rather, she harbored a hope: a hope that there might be, and yet a hope that there might not be… Why increase the sufferings of someone at the end of her tether? For her sake, it would be better to say there was.
"Well, as to whether they meet or not…" I realized now what an utter fool I was. All my hesitation and prevarication had been useless in the face of three short questions. I immediately took fright and wanted to recant all I had said. "That is… in fact, I really can't say… Actually, I'm not sure about souls either."
Seizing the chance when she paused, I walked off, beating a hasty retreat to Fourth Uncle's house, feeling exceedingly uncomfortable. I thought to myself: my answer might prove dangerous to her. Probably she was feeling lonely because everyone else was celebrating the New Year's Sacrifice, but could there be a deeper meaning to her question? Or had she already had some premonition? If there were a deeper meaning and it led to something else, then my answer would bear a certain responsibility. But then I laughed at myself. Such random events could have no deep significance. Yet I was still reading too much into it; no wonder certain educators called me neurotic. Besides, I had clearly stated, "I can't say," which negated the whole effect of my answer. Even if something did happen, it would have nothing to do with me.
"I can't say" is an extremely useful phrase. Inexperienced and rash young men often take it upon themselves to solve people's problems for them or choose a doctor for them, and if by any chance things turn out badly, they are probably held to blame; whereas by concluding the matter with "I can't say," one can free oneself of all responsibility. At this juncture, I felt even more the usefulness of this phrase: even in speaking with a beggar woman, it was indispensable.
Nevertheless, I still felt uneasy, and even after a night, the incident kept coming back to me, as if I had some ominous presentiment. In this gloomy snowy weather, in the dull confines of the study, this uneasiness of mine increased. I had better leave; tomorrow I would go back to the city. The braised shark's fin at Fuxing Restaurant was only a dollar for a large portion, and I wondered if it had increased in price. Though my friends of former days had scattered, I must still eat shark's fin. Even if I were the only customer left… In any case, I had resolved to leave the next day.
I have often noticed that those things which I most hoped would not happen, and felt probably would not, turn out inevitably to occur exactly as feared. I was afraid this would be another such instance. And, sure enough, the situation began to develop strangely. Towards evening, I heard several people talking in the inner room, but soon the conversation ended, and all I heard was Fourth Uncle saying loudly as he walked out:
My uneasiness, however, was short-lived, for now that what I had anticipated had already happened, I no longer needed to take refuge in my own "I can't say," or his "died of poverty." My heart felt lighter. Only from time to time did I still feel a little guilty. When dinner was served, Fourth Uncle kept me company, his expression stern. I wanted to ask about Sister Xianglin, but knew that although he had read, "Ghosts and spirits are attributes of the two vital forces," he still retained many taboos, and that on the eve of this sacrifice it would be inadvisable to mention anything like death or illness. In case of necessity, one should use veiled allusions, but unfortunately I did not know how, and although this was the moment to ask several questions, I finally held my tongue. From his stern expression I suddenly suspected that he considered me a wretched creature too, who had come at this unlucky hour. To set his mind at ease I told him at once that I intended to leave Lu Town and go back to the city the next day. He made no great effort to keep me. So the dreary meal passed in silence.
Winter days are short, and because it was snowing, darkness already enveloped the whole town. All was bustle under the lamplight, but outside the window it was very quiet. Snowflakes falling on the thick snowdrifts seemed to whisper, heightening the sense of desolation. Seated alone under the yellow gleam of the vegetable-oil lamp, I reflected that this poor woman, abandoned by the world in the dust like a worn-out toy of which its owners have tired, had once left her own imprint in the dust, and that those who enjoyed life must have wondered at her for continuing to live. Now at last she had been swept clear by Impermanence. Whether spirits existed or not I did not know; but in this world, the pointless extinction of a being who no longer wished to live, and the vanishing of one whom others found odious, was just as well-it scarcely mattered to anyone. Listening quietly to the whispering snow outside the window, I gradually felt relaxed and at ease.
She was not a native of Lu Town. One year in early winter, when Fourth Uncle's family wanted a new maidservant, Old Mrs. Wei, who acted as a go-between, brought her along. She had a white mourning band round her hair, was wearing a black skirt, blue jacket, and pale green bodice, and her age was about twenty-six, with a pale face but rosy cheeks. Old Mrs. Wei introduced her as Sister Xianglin, a neighbour of her mother's family, who wanted to go out to work now that her husband had died. Fourth Uncle frowned at this, and Fourth Aunt knew that he disapproved of her because she was a widow. However, seeing how neatly she was dressed and that she had big feet and strong hands, and that she kept her eyes cast down all the time, she looked like a woman who knew her place and was good at hard work, so Fourth Aunt paid no attention to her husband's frown and kept her. During her trial period she worked from morning till night as if she found resting irksome, and proved strong enough to do the work of a man; so on the third day it was settled, and she received a monthly wage of five hundred cash.
Everybody called her Sister Xianglin. They did not ask her own name, but since she had been introduced by someone from Weijia Mountain who said she was a neighbour, presumably her name was Wei too. She said very little, only answering questions briefly when they were put to her. Thus it was not until a dozen days or so had passed that they learned bit by bit that she still had a severe mother-in-law at home and a brother-in-law more than ten years old, who could cut wood. Her husband, who had been ten years her junior, had died that spring. He too had earned his living by cutting wood. This was all they could learn.
Time passed quickly. She went on working as hard as ever, not caring what she ate, never sparing herself. The Lu family all declared that in Fourth Master's household they had found a maid more hard-working than a man. She swept the floors, killed the chickens and geese, and sat up to boil the sacrificial offerings at the end of the year, all single-handed, so that they did not need to hire extra help. And she went on contentedly, with a faint smile always on her lips. Her face became plumper and whiter too.
New Year was scarcely over when, returning from washing rice by the river, she looked pale and said that in the distance she had just seen a man prowling on the opposite bank who looked very like a cousin of her husband's, and she was afraid he was looking for her. Fourth Aunt, much alarmed, made detailed inquiries, but she said nothing more about it. As soon as Fourth Uncle learned of it he frowned and said:
Some ten days or so later, just as people were beginning to forget the earlier incident, Old Mrs. Wei suddenly arrived with a woman in her thirties whom she introduced as the mother-in-law of Sister Xianglin. Although the woman looked like a hill-dweller, she behaved with great self-possession and had a ready tongue in her head. After the usual civilities she apologized for coming to take her daughter-in-law home, saying that early spring was a busy time and there were only the old woman and the young boy at home, so they were short-handed.
So her wages were reckoned up. They amounted to one thousand seven hundred and fifty cash, all of which she had left with her mistress without using a single coin. Having received this money and signed for it, the woman picked up Sister Xianglin's clothes, thanked them and went off. By then it was noon.
"Oh, the rice! Didn't Sister Xianglin go to wash the rice?" Fourth Aunt exclaimed some time later. She was probably rather hungry, so she remembered lunch.
Everybody set down what they were doing and began looking for the rice basket. They searched the kitchen, the hall, the bedroom, but not a sign of it was to be seen. Fourth Uncle went outside, but could not find it either. It was only when they went to the riverside that they saw it, set down fair and square on the bank, with a bundle of vegetables beside it.
Somebody who saw what happened told them that a boat with a white awning had moored there in the morning, but since the awning was lowered all round, no one knew who was inside and no one paid any attention to it. But when Sister Xianglin came to wash rice, two men, who looked like hill-dwellers, jumped off the boat just as she was kneeling down. Seizing her, they carried her on board, and the boat promptly pushed off and rowed away. Sister Xianglin gave several cries, but then became silent, as if she had been gagged. Two women, one of them Old Mrs. Wei, came out from the cabin. It was impossible to see clearly into the curtained boat, but she seemed to be lying bound on the floorboards.
"Detestable! Yet…" said Fourth Uncle.
"What do you mean by this? How dare you show your face here again?" Fourth Aunt said angrily, washing the bowls. "You recommended her yourself, then helped to carry her off, causing such a commotion. What will people think? Are you making a laughing stock of our family?"
"Aiya, I was really taken in! I came specially this time to clear the matter up. She came to ask me to find her work, and how was I to know that she had left home without her mother-in-law's consent? I'm sorry, Fourth Master, Fourth Mistress. I'm growing old and stupid. It's entirely my fault for neglecting my duty. However, since your household is always so generous and kind, and won't bear a grudge against a poor old woman like me, I promise to find you someone good to make up for it."
Only Fourth Aunt, because most of the maids taken on afterwards turned out to be lazy or greedy, or both, still often spoke of Sister Xianglin. On such occasions she would say to herself, "I wonder what has become of her now?" meaning that she would like to have her back. But by the next New Year she too gave up hope.
The New Year's holiday was nearly over when Old Mrs. Wei, already half drunk, came to pay her respects, and said that because she had been back to Weijia Mountain to visit her mother's family and stayed a few days, she had come late. During their conversation they naturally came to speak of Sister Xianglin.
"That woman?" said Old Mrs. Wei cheerfully. "She is in luck now. When her mother-in-law dragged her home, she had already promised her to the sixth son of the He family in Hejia'ao. A few days after she reached home they put her in the bridal sedan-chair and sent her off."
"Ah, madam, you really talk like a great lady! This is nothing to hill folk like us, who live in the small hinterland. Her young brother-in-law still hasn't got a wife. If they don't marry her off, where will the money come from to get him one? Her mother-in-law is a clever, capable woman, who knows how to drive a good bargain, so she married her into the deep mountains. If she had betrothed her to someone in the same village, she wouldn't have got so much money; but very few women are willing to marry someone living in the depths of the hills, so she got eighty thousand cash. Now the second son has a wife, who cost only fifty thousand; and after paying the wedding expenses she still has over ten thousand left. See there! Now wasn't that a clever scheme?"
"It wasn't a question of being willing or not. Of course any woman would make a fuss about it. They just tied her up, stuffed her into the bridal chair, carried her to the man's house, put on the bridal headdress, performed the ceremony in the hall, and locked them in their room; and that was that. But Sister Xianglin is quite a character. I heard she really put up a great struggle, and everybody said it was because she had worked in a scholar's family that she was different from other people. We go-betweens, madam, see life. Some widows cry and shout when they remarry; some threaten to kill themselves; some refuse to go through the ceremony of bowing to heaven and earth after they've been carried to the man's house; some even smash the wedding candlesticks. But Sister Xianglin was different from the rest. They said she screamed and cursed all the way to Hejia'ao, so that she was completely hoarse by the time they got there. When they dragged her out of the chair, it took two men to hold her, and still she couldn't be forced to go through the ceremony. The moment they were off guard and had loosened their grip-gracious Buddha!-she threw herself against a corner of the table and knocked a big hole in her head. The blood poured out, and although they used two handfuls of incense ashes and bandaged her with two pieces of red cloth, they still couldn't stop the bleeding. It took quite a struggle to get her into the bridal chamber, but even then she went on cursing. Oh, it was really…"
"After that? She got up. At the end of the year she had a baby, a boy, who was two this New Year. These few days when I was at home, some people went to Hejia'ao, and when they came back they said they had seen her and her son, and that both mother and baby are fat. There is no mother-in-law over her, the man is a strong fellow who can earn a living, and the house is their own. Well, well, she is really in luck."
But one autumn, two New Years after they heard how lucky Sister Xianglin had been, she once more reappeared on the threshold of Fourth Uncle's house. On the table she placed a round bulb-shaped basket, and under the eaves a small bedding roll. She was still wearing a white mourning band for her husband, a black skirt, blue jacket and pale green bodice. Her face was sallow, her cheeks had lost their colour, and she kept her eyes cast down, with traces of tears at the corners, her gaze no longer as spirited as before. And it was still Old Mrs. Wei who led her in, assuming a compassionate air as she chattered to Fourth Aunt:
"…This is truly what they call 'the inconstancy of fortune.' Her husband was a sturdy man, but who would have thought he would die young of typhoid fever? He had already recovered, but after eating a bowl of cold rice, he relapsed. Fortunately, she had a son; and she could work, cutting wood, picking tea, raising silkworms-all within her ability. She could have held on, but who would have guessed the child would be carried off by a wolf? As spring was ending, a wolf came to the village; who could have expected that? Now she is left all alone. Her brother-in-law came to take the house, and drove her out. She had no way open to her, so she came to beg her former master for help. Fortunately, she now has no attachments left, and it so happens that your household needs a new maid, so I brought her here. I thought, since she knows the place and the work, she would be much better than a stranger…"
"I was really too foolish, truly," Sister Xianglin said, raising her lackluster eyes. "I only knew that when it snows, wild beasts in the mountain hollows have nothing to eat and may come to the village; I didn't know they could come in spring too. I got up at dawn and opened the door, filled a small basket with beans, and told our Ah Mao to sit on the threshold and shell them. He was a very obedient boy, and always listened to me; he went out. Then I went to the back to chop wood and wash the rice. When the rice was in the pot and I was about to steam the beans, I called Ah Mao, but there was no answer. I went out to look, and saw beans scattered all over the ground, but no Ah Mao. He never went to play at other houses; I asked everywhere, but indeed he wasn't there. I grew anxious and begged people to go search for him. Not until the afternoon, after searching high and low, did they go to the mountain hollow, where they saw one of his little shoes caught on a thorny bush. Everyone said, 'Terrible, he must have met a wolf.' Going further in, they found him lying in a grass nest, his entrails all eaten away, his hand still tightly clutching that little basket…" She then broke into sobs, unable to form complete sentences.
Fourth Aunt had been hesitant at first, but after hearing her story, the rims of her eyes reddened. After a moment's thought, she told her to take the round basket and bedding roll to the servants' quarters. Old Mrs. Wei sighed as if relieved of a heavy burden; Sister Xianglin seemed more at ease than when she first arrived, and without needing guidance, quietly placed her bedding. From then on, she worked again as a maid in Lu Town.
However, this time her circumstances had changed enormously. After two or three days of work, her employers noticed that her hands and feet were no longer as agile as before, her memory was much worse, and her corpse-like face showed no trace of a smile all day. Fourth Aunt's tone already held considerable dissatisfaction. When she first arrived, Fourth Uncle had frowned as usual, but given the difficulty of hiring maids, he did not strongly oppose, only secretly warned Fourth Aunt that such people, pitiful as they might seem, were a blight on morals. She could be used for help, but during sacrifices she must not be allowed to touch anything; all the dishes had to be prepared by themselves, otherwise, if unclean, the ancestors would not partake.
The most important events in Fourth Uncle's household were the ancestral sacrifices, and formerly these had been Sister Xianglin's busiest time, but now she had very little to do. When the table was placed in the centre of the hall and the front curtain fastened, she still remembered how to set out the winecups and chopsticks in the old way.
After wandering about for some time, she would have nothing more to do, and would then go away bewildered. The only thing she was fit for that day was to sit by the stove and feed the fire.
The townspeople still called her Sister Xianglin, but in a different tone from before; and although they still talked to her, their smiles were cold. She paid no attention to these things, just stared straight ahead and told everyone the story she could never forget, day or night-
"I was really too foolish, truly," she would say. "I only knew that in snowy weather wild beasts in the deep mountains have nothing to eat and may come to the village; I didn't know they could come in spring too. I got up early and opened the door, filled a small basket with beans, and told our Ah Mao to sit on the threshold and shell them. He was a very obedient child, and always listened to me; he went out. Then I went to the back to chop wood and wash the rice. When the rice was in the pot and I was about to steam the beans, I called, 'Ah Mao!' but there was no answer. I went out and saw beans scattered all over the ground, but no Ah Mao. I asked everywhere, but no one had seen him. I grew anxious and begged people to go search. Not until the afternoon, when a few people went to the mountain hollow, did they see one of his little shoes caught on a thorny bush. Everyone said, 'It's over, he must have met a wolf.' Going further in, sure enough, he was lying in a grass nest, his entrails all eaten away, pitifully still clutching that little basket in his hand…" She would then shed tears, her voice choking with sobs.
This story was quite effective. When men heard it, they would often stop smiling and walk away disconcerted; but women not only seemed to forgive her, their faces immediately changing from scornful looks to shedding many tears alongside hers. Some old women who had not heard her tale in the streets would specifically seek her out to listen to this tragic story. Until she reached the point of sobbing, they would shed the tears that had gathered in the corners of their eyes, sigh, and leave satisfied, commenting as they went.
She would only repeat her tragic story to people, often drawing three or five listeners. But before long, everyone had heard it so often that even the most compassionate, Buddha-invoking old ladies no longer showed a trace of tears in their eyes. Later, almost everyone in the town could recite her words, and upon hearing them, they would be annoyed to the point of headache.
She would stand there open-mouthed in a daze, staring at them with fixed eyes, then wander off as if she herself felt it was pointless. But she still deluded herself, hoping to lead from other things, such as small baskets, beans, or other people's children, to the story of her Ah Mao. If she saw a two- or three-year-old child, she would say:
Children, seeing the look in her eyes, would take fright and, tugging at their mothers' clothes, urge them to leave. Then she would be left alone again, and finally walk away disheartened. Later, everyone knew her temperament, and whenever a child was present, they would ask her with a half-smile:
She may not have realized that her sorrow, after being chewed over and savored by people for so many days, had long become dregs, only worthy of annoyance and disdain; but from the mockery in their smiles, she seemed to sense something cold and sharp, and found no further need to speak. She would merely glance at them, not uttering a word in reply.
In Lu Town, it was always like New Year's time; after the twentieth of the twelfth lunar month, everything grew busy. Fourth Uncle's household this time had to hire a male temporary helper, but still they were overwhelmed, so they hired Aunt Liu as an additional hand to kill chickens and geese. However, Aunt Liu was a devout woman who abstained from meat and would not kill living things, only willing to wash the utensils. Sister Xianglin, apart from feeding the fire, had nothing else to do and was idle, sitting and watching Aunt Liu wash the utensils. Light snow began to fall.
"I don't believe it. I don't believe you were so weak that you couldn't resist him. You must have been willing in the end, and just blamed it on his strength."
Aunt Liu's wrinkled face also broke into a smile, making it resemble a shriveled walnut; her dry, small eyes glanced at Sister Xianglin's forehead, then fixed on her eyes. Sister Xianglin seemed embarrassed, immediately stopped smiling, averted her gaze, and looked at the snowflakes.
"Sister Xianglin, you really got a bad deal," Aunt Liu said mysteriously. "If you had resisted a bit more, or simply knocked yourself to death, it would have been better. Now, you lived with your second husband for less than two years, yet you've incurred a great sin. Think about it: when you go to the underworld, those two dead husbands will fight over you. To whom will you go? The King of Hell will have no choice but to saw you in two and divide you between them. To my mind, it's really too…"
"I think, you'd better atone for it sooner rather than later. Go to the Earth God Temple and donate a threshold to be trampled by thousands, crossed by tens of thousands, to redeem the sins of this life, so you won't suffer after death."
At the time, she did not reply, but she must have been deeply troubled, for the next morning when she got up, there were dark circles under her eyes. After breakfast, she went to the Earth God Temple at the west end of the town to ask about donating a threshold. The temple keeper initially refused adamantly, but when she grew so anxious that she shed tears, he reluctantly agreed. The price was twelve thousand in big coins.
She had long ceased conversing with people, because the story of Ah Mao had long been despised by everyone; but since her talk with Aunt Liu, it seemed to have spread again, and many people took a fresh interest, coming to tease her into speaking. As for the topic, it naturally changed to a new one, focusing on the scar on her forehead.
She could tell from their smiles and tone that they were mocking her, so she would always glare with wide eyes, not saying a word, and later not even turning her head. She went about all day with her lips tightly sealed, bearing on her head the scar that everyone considered a mark of shame, silently running errands, sweeping, washing vegetables, and preparing rice. After nearly a year, she withdrew her accumulated wages from Fourth Aunt, exchanged them for twelve silver dollars, and asked for leave to go to the west end of town. But in less time than it takes for a meal, she returned, her spirits much comforted, her eyes unusually bright, and said happily to Fourth Aunt that she had already donated a threshold at the Earth God Temple.
During the ancestral sacrifice at the winter solstice, she worked even more diligently. Watching Fourth Aunt arrange the sacrificial offerings, and helping Ah Niu carry the table to the center of the hall, she then calmly went to fetch the winecups and chopsticks.
She withdrew her hand as if scorched by hot metal, her face simultaneously turning ashen-gray. She did not go to fetch the candlesticks either, just stood there in a daze. It was not until Fourth Uncle came to burn incense and told her to leave that she walked away. This time, the change in her was enormous. The next day, not only were her eyes sunken, but her spirit grew even more listless. And she became very timid, not only afraid of the dark and shadows, but even at the sight of people, even her own masters, she would feel apprehensive, like a small mouse venturing out of its hole in daylight. Otherwise, she would sit blankly, exactly like a wooden puppet. In less than half a year, her hair turned gray, her memory grew especially bad, and she even often forgot to go prepare the rice.
Yet she remained like this, showing no hope of becoming clever again. They then thought of sending her away, telling her to go back to Old Mrs. Wei. But while I was still in Lu Town, they only talked about it; judging by the current situation, it seems they eventually carried it out. However, whether she became a beggar right after leaving Fourth Uncle's house, or went first to Old Mrs. Wei's and then became a beggar, I do not know.
I was awakened by the extremely loud firecrackers exploding nearby, saw a yellow lamplight as large as a bean, and then heard the crackling of firecrackers-Fourth Uncle's household was performing the New Year's Sacrifice. I knew it must be nearly dawn. In my drowsiness, I vaguely heard the distant firecrackers continuing incessantly, as if merging into a dense cloud of sound that enveloped the whole town, mingling with the swirling snowflakes. Enveloped in this clamor, I felt lazy and comfortable, and all the doubts that had plagued me from day until early night were swept clean away by the air of the New Year's Sacrifice. I only felt that the holy multitudes of heaven and earth, having enjoyed the sacrificial meat and wine and the incense smoke, were staggering drunkenly in the air, poised to confer boundless blessings upon the people of Lu Town.