Chapter 48: Everyone Has a Scale in Their Heart

Bai Xi shared the fish she caught because she knew that in this village, every household more or less had an elderly person struggling with illness or a child who was unwell. She learned of these matters from Xiaoshunzi and the others, who often spoke of the village’s goings-on. In such a small place, news of any household’s troubles spread quickly.

The people of Niuluo Village had indeed treated her with great kindness, something Bai Xi had not failed to notice during her time here. The food she ate was given by the villagers; everyone, young and old, treated her with deference and always remembered to show her respect. Bai Xi kept this in her heart and naturally wished to give back in some measure.

Aside from Li Laohai, there was another family whose sick child had drunk the fish soup Bai Xi had asked Chen Rui to deliver. The child sweated through the night and was free of chills by morning. When the family came to thank her, Bai Xi could only twitch the corner of her mouth—surely the credit belonged to the old ginger in the soup!

But the family did not see it that way. The fish was a gift from the revered “Auntie,” and the ginger, too, had been dug up from the Bai family’s old plot with her permission—every benefit seemed to have her at its root.

After the grateful visitors left, Chen Zhaodi, who was cooking for Bai Xi, looked at her with even greater awe. Bai Xi was exasperated.

After a long pause, she said, “If I told you it had nothing to do with me, would you believe it?”

Chen Zhaodi shook her head. “Auntie, please don’t be so modest.” She had learned those words from the village chief himself.

“The little girl from Old Aunt’s house had been drinking ginger soup for three or four days without sweating. She was so muddled yesterday that she could barely eat, and her parents were about to hitch up the ox cart to take her to the commune doctor. But after your fish soup, she sweated through the night and was perfectly fine the next day.”

The implication was clear: even if Bai Xi denied having any special ability, no one would believe her.

Bai Xi was at a loss for words. In the past, she might have had such powers, but now, with only the faintest trace of her former divinity left, she was just an ordinary person. Still, she knew that no matter what she said, the villagers would not be convinced otherwise.

So, when yet another family came to thank her—this time because their persistent cough of over two weeks had all but vanished after eating her fish—she was no longer surprised.

What left Bai Xi most helpless was that, after their visit, the lingering cough disappeared entirely in just two days. In the countryside, small ailments were usually endured; people relied on their own resilience to recover, since money for a doctor was not easily spared. The coughs were worst at night, disrupting the household’s sleep, but after enjoying the fish gifted by “Auntie,” the symptoms improved drastically by the next day and were gone within a few more—without spending a single penny or taking any medicine. Who wouldn’t be delighted?

Such happiness must, of course, be shared with anyone willing to listen. At this point, Bai Xi realized that denying any connection to these miraculous recoveries was pointless—no one would believe her anyway.

If not for the fact that both she and Xiao Hei had eaten plenty of fish from the village creek without feeling any particular benefit, Bai Xi herself might have thought the fish of Niuluo Village possessed some mystical property.

She had expected, after all these stories, that more villagers would flock to the creek to catch fish, but things remained as they always had. She did not know that the villagers were fully aware: everyone had fished that creek from time to time, especially when the household was out of vegetables for a few days each month. Yet after years of eating those fish, nothing special had ever happened—only the fish gifted by “Auntie” seemed to bring such fortune, bestowed upon those lucky enough to receive her favor.

Seeing Chen Zhaodi’s envious look, Bai Xi had once offered her a fish to bring home, but Chen Zhaodi refused. After all, Bai Xi was still raising Xiao Hei, and Chen’s family was not suffering illness nor dire poverty—taking more would be greedy, and that was not something she could do.

Late at night, unable to sleep, Bai Xi sat to meditate and mused to Xiao Hei, “It’s a good thing no one choked on a fish bone, or that would have been awkward.”

Xiao Hei blinked in surprise, then whimpered, “Master, that wouldn't happen. Who would choke on a fish bone? No one here is foolish.”

Bai Xi shot Xiao Hei a disgruntled look, closed her eyes, and ignored him, too annoyed to continue.

For the next two days, Xiao Hei could sense that Bai Xi was unhappy, but had no idea why. Bai Xi, of course, would never explain. Though it was the flower spirit who had once choked on a fish bone, she now inhabited this body, so the blame would fall on her. Xiao Hei’s words had implied she was the foolish one, and Bai Xi had no desire to speak to him further.

Today was the day for harvesting sweet potatoes.

In the village, only children under six were spared from working in the fields; even seven- and eight-year-olds went to gather sweet potatoes. The task wasn’t particularly strenuous—children were quicker at it than adults, who could not move as nimbly as the little ones darting here and there.

This year’s sweet potato crop was excellent. After handing over the required quota to the commune, each family could expect a share of seven or eight hundred catties. Such abundance put everyone in high spirits.

The sweet potatoes were washed, sliced into threads or chunks, dried, and stored. Adding them to rice made for a hearty staple. In the city, dried sweet potatoes were impossible to come by; only villages with a good harvest would not go hungry.

Naturally, the conversation turned to other villages. The neighboring villages also grew sweet potatoes, but none could match Niuluo’s yield or size. According to the village chief, those villages were quite envious.

The sweet potato field lay just outside the village, three miles from its entrance. When it was first claimed, many coveted it; the nearby Xiaxin Village and two others had tried to seize it, relying on their greater numbers.

But that very night, the revered Bai Ancestor left the house. No one knew exactly what he did, but upon his return, he proclaimed the field belonged to Niuluo Village, and no one ever dared contest it again.

Indeed, when harvest time came, those three villages could only grumble enviously—none dared try anything. At that time, the Bai Ancestor was just eleven years old.

Years later, the truth came out by chance, overheard from drunken old men of Xiaxin Village. That night, the Bai Ancestor had entered the mountains alone, hunted two wolves, severed their heads, and carried them to the three villages.

In the darkness, he stood at the entrance of their ancestral hall, a torch burning, with two wolf heads dripping blood from his pole, a gleaming knife in hand, and challenged them: whoever could defeat him could have the land.

At just eleven years old, he had dared to hunt wolves alone—and returned unscathed, exuding a fearlessness that cowed all challengers.

To this day, those two wolf heads still hang on the wall of Auntie’s treehouse, though the meat was shared among the villagers. It was thanks to the Bai Ancestor’s courage and sacrifice for the village that, when a severe drought struck the following year, not a single villager starved.

For this, who in Niuluo Village does not hold the Bai Ancestor in the highest esteem?