"Your father," Grandma Cheng Ying choked out, "your father cared only for you and your mother. Such a huge thing, and wounded as he was, he dragged it all the way to the edge of the woods, do you understand, Yingzi? When your eldest uncle and the villagers found your father, he was already gone, still clutching the tiger's head."

In the old woman's telling, she successfully forged a heroic image of her father in Cheng Ying's heart.

The old woman fell deep into memory. "When your maternal grandfather examined your father's wounds, he said that if your father had managed to climb down the mountain on his own, he might have survived. Our entire family, we owe our lives to your father, do you know that, Yingzi? In those years, how many families were ruined by sickness? Don't think your eldest aunt treats you well just because; if it weren't for your father, how would Mingzi have pulled through? She has to remember your father's kindness."

Cheng Ying wept silently for her own father. That was an era of no choice, where a life was gambled for a mouthful of food for the whole extended family.

Some would say he died a meaningful death, leaving behind an orphan and a widow.

Others might say his death was in vain; one life traded for the gratitude of a whole family and a chance at survival for others.

Cheng Ying thought that at least her mother would never forget her father. What a good man he was.

Perhaps life had been too hard, which is why her mother remarried.

It wasn't Cheng Ying speaking up for her own mother, but in that era, a family truly couldn't manage without a man.

Putting aside everything else, just the large water vat in their front hall—that wasn't something a single woman could manage.

Cheng Ying knew this stepfather got up more than an hour earlier than they did, making more than a dozen trips back and forth, just to fill that vat with water.

If there were no man, wouldn't her own mother have to do all that?

Not to mention everything else. This was truly just a trivial matter.

Furthermore, no matter how deep the affection, it couldn't withstand the wearing down of time.

Especially for a woman raising children. She had to live on, didn't she?

Cheng Ying automatically justified her mother's remarriage.

On a related note, could tiger meat actually be eaten? Cheng Ying genuinely didn't know. It was a protected animal, wasn't it?

"Not knowing and asking" was the perfect description for Cheng Ying. "Grandma, could the tiger be exchanged for a lot of food?"

The old woman froze. Why was the child's focus so peculiar?

Cheng Ying felt a little embarrassed. She should, at least, follow the old woman's train of thought, feel sad, or perhaps admire her long-lost father.

Why was she so outspoken? She really treated the old woman like her own grandmother.

The old woman, however, could easily rationalize it for her granddaughter; the child was young, what she worried about was precisely that bit of food. "Although every household struggled to eat back then, that great beast did provide a substantial subsidy to the family. Your eldest uncle traveled over a hundred li to the county town's apothecary and traded it all for grain."

Cheng Ying grasped two pieces of information: whether tiger meat was edible remained unknown, and the county town was more than a hundred li away.

Moreover, she had seen during the day that the paths here were all narrow, winding tracks.

That meant no vehicles could pass. Cheng Ying closed her eyes, feeling a sharp pain in the soles of her feet. A terrible ache.

Even in seclusion, one still needed to trade for tea, rice, oil, and salt. How could one stay in the village forever? How could one never enter the city?

Wouldn't her feet inevitably hurt?

Hearing this news, Cheng Ying bitterly felt tears prick her eyes. It fit perfectly with the tragic atmosphere surrounding her and her mother now.

This was mutual sorrow, each in their own way.

The old woman stroked Cheng Ying's hair at this moment. "Yingzi, Grandma kept that tiger skin for you. It's the only memento your father left you. No one can touch it. When you marry, Grandma will give it to you as part of your dowry."

As she spoke of this, the old woman's voice lost some of its huskiness, carrying a slight note of pride.

After all, it was what her son had died to secure; the tone remained conflicted.

Cheng Ying's eyes widened—this old woman was hiding depths! Tiger skin!

She vaguely remembered a news report from some channel where a woman selling a tiger skin for a high price was arrested by the Public Security Bureau. The woman had claimed the skin was an ancestral heirloom.

Cheng Ying wasn't sure if she should be happy. If she tried to sell the tiger skin now, no one would arrest her.

Because the Animal Protection Law didn't exist yet.

And her tiger skin truly was an ancestral heirloom, passed down from her father.

She decided she wouldn't doubt people so casually next time; it really could be an ancestral item.

Cheng Ying now had two concepts regarding the tiger skin: it was a valuable item, and it was hot potato.

Her understanding of her own father was now complete.

"Grandma, was my father really so tall, so well-liked?" She couldn't bear to watch the old woman sink back into the sorrow of her memories.

Cheng Ying shifted the direction of the conversation.

"Of course! Yingzi, you wouldn't know. Half the women in this hamlet who didn't fancy your mother were just consumed by jealousy," the old woman declared with pride.

Cheng Ying had gathered what she needed: her dead father was a hero; her living mother was not well-regarded in the village.

Her grandmother looked down on her mother, not just because she remarried, but because a life had been lost in the process—her own biological father's life.

Late at night, mother and daughter chatted, and the old woman revealed the hardships of those years from a unique perspective.

This provided Cheng Ying with a deeper understanding of the mountain village at the turn of the late seventies and early eighties.

It somehow fostered a nascent sense of belonging, or perhaps it was the adaptation period kicking in.

Cheng Ying generally summarized one conclusion:

This was an era where life's necessities were exchanged through labor.

This was an era where currency circulated poorly, an era where promises—IOUs—were still common.

This was an era where a family without an adult male couldn't eat well or stay warm.

No wonder her mother had to take in a man through marriage.

Moreover, even though their household seemed small in number, the mouths to feed were many.

Her eldest and second uncles hadn't divided the household yet.

Whatever they earned and exchanged was carefully guarded by the old woman.

The portion earned by her stepfather held absolutely no status; without this extended family clinging on, even Chi Wu's stepfather couldn't support himself.

Cheng Ying sensed a future crisis. No one is a born saint; if one can't support their own children, why keep dragging along others?

As for the eldest aunt, she was generous, as the old woman confirmed, and there was a debt of gratitude involved.

But the second aunt's demeanor was far from generous. It was unlikely she was someone who could tolerate much.

Cheng Ying believed that apart from judging men, she was quite accurate in reading people. Looking at the second aunt, it would be a success if she didn't try to take advantage of things; having the temperament to exploit others was out of the question.

The second aunt was nearly as stingy and self-centered as Cheng Ying herself.

Previously, when her own mother was a widow, the second aunt couldn't openly complain, mostly out of concern for appearances.

But now it was different. They had a stepfather and Chi Wu as well. There would likely be conflict ahead.

It wasn't that Cheng Ying was overthinking; it was just the nature of human hearts.

Cheng Ying could sense that the old woman was barely holding herself up, already exhausted and sleepy.