I am not Ximen Qing.

That evening, my second uncle mysteriously dug a large earthenware jar out of the cellar. The jar was sealed tightly, and two Korean copper bowls were placed on the table.

"Second Uncle, what are you going to do?"

"Guess what, child?"

"How could we guess? They even put out those big copper bowls that they usually wouldn't use. Uncle celebrates the New Year in winter, so is it really like it's snowing on a sunny day in summer, or the sun rising in the west?"

"Last autumn, I forgot, I didn't let you eat the wild grapes, and you even cried."

"Grape wine, isn't Second Uncle supposed to wait until the New Year to drink it?"

"You can recite the Spring and Autumn Annals now! This is more joyous than the New Year. If your parents were alive, they would be so happy. Your child has become sensible and knows how to study. Isn't that something to be happy about?"

The thatched house seemed to have been transformed by a golden phoenix, bathed in golden light. The Heavenly Lake Waterfall on Mount Baekdu cascaded down, its waters shimmering with turquoise. Fishermen cast their nets, humming ancient folk songs. Several nests of swallows chirped incessantly under the eaves. The swallows had even built their home inside the house; the willow-woven door, woven from willow branches, remained wide open to facilitate the mother swallow feeding her chicks. The uncle and nephew loved this atmosphere, completely unconcerned about insect bites at night; they dreaded loneliness.

A group of naked children were bathing in the river. How happy they were in the river on a hot summer day! On the other side of the river, children and women were also bathing naked.

Often, bachelors would steal glances at the girls' bare, white bodies; these girls, wild and unrestrained, were completely unconcerned by the provocative stares. Like flowers, these girls bloomed in the sweltering summer, like azaleas in spring. Hypocritical gentlemen would often shake their heads and sigh, their lustful eyes having waited a year for the oppressive heat to finally feast their eyes. The women at home, like sows, gave birth to child after child, their faces turning yellow like cabbage leaves, their breasts withered and flat from breastfeeding, like barren wastelands. At night, they slept like men, shirtless, leaving only two skin-like bags, their nipples like cast iron lumps. Even then, there was no peace; newborns, knowing there was no milk, would suckle at their mothers' last drop of essence. This was the fate of the vast majority of girls.

The preference for sons over daughters at that time had historical roots. Even the mother would shake her head, lamenting the injustice of fate and the lack of choice she had. Their fate was that of breeding machines, their lives and youth dedicated entirely to the cycle of childbirth. Animals only go into heat once a year, but humans are different; they can go into heat at any time. During the peak of their vitality, besides working for survival, the greatest joy was in creating life itself. The surviving able-bodied men and the surviving women continued the cycle of their predecessors—did they have any other choice? No! The ancient curse of "marrying a chicken, following the chicken; marrying a dog, following the dog" was deeply ingrained. A girl's life was far less vibrant than the wildflowers of the mountain village. Even the wild animals in the village would be grateful they weren't born human, enjoying the freedom and joy of nature.

After drinking two large bowls of wine, both men's faces were flushed, and they were lost in their fantasies, moved by the scene before them, as if they could hear the distant rushing of the river.

"Uncle, marry a woman!"

"what would you do?"

"I will find a girl."

"Which girl have you taken a fancy to?"

I won't tell you, you'll find out when the time comes.

"Did you hear the singing?"

"They're dancing..."

The uncle knew perfectly well that finding a woman in his life was utterly delusional. He had long since lost hope of settling down. The heavy burden of making a living and the backbreaking labor had exhausted him completely. He used to harbor some lustful fantasies, but now he was tired, physically and mentally drained, and didn't want any more burdens. Life had emptied his spirit, body, and soul; in his forties, he looked like someone in their fifties or sixties, like a lifelong convict. He knew he was like a lamp in his heart that could be extinguished at any moment. The hardships of his early years had depleted his life's reserves; rather than him caring for his nephew, it was more accurate to say that his nephew had become his life's anchor and hope. Now, he feared that his nephew would settle down and start a family, leaving him without solace, without someone to chat with at night…

The stars twinkled in the night sky, and moonlight spilled across the river flowing towards the Yellow Sea. The croaking of frogs filled the air, and crickets chirped incessantly inside the thatched hut. Swallows, quiet as night fell, remained nestled in their nests. Moonlight streamed into the house; the oil lamp was never used, except in special circumstances. The wine was potent, and he lay lazily on the earthen kang (a heated brick bed), his body glistening with sweat. A thick layer of corn stalks covered the kang, upon which lay a reed mat. Sometimes mosquitoes would bite suddenly, and mice would climb up in the middle of the night, sometimes even suddenly opening their eyes to find a bold mouse right on their face. He'd gotten used to it and wasn't afraid anymore; he'd just yank the mouse away and toss it onto the muddy ground. The non-venomous earth snakes of the north would swallow the mouse whole.

The night was filled with danger, but none of that mattered; it was far better than the biting winter winds. The chimney, hollowed out from dead wood and filled with rotten heartwood, would, even with a fire lit, cause the pressure to shift and fill the house with thick smoke, making eyes water. One advantage of the cold north over the south was that most insects and reptiles were non-toxic. Grasshoppers served as feed for chickens and ducks; there were no locust plagues to sweep away everything. If you were really hungry, you could catch some grasshoppers, roast them over a fire, and fill your stomach—better than eating cod.

The earthenware jar was empty, a catalyst for spiritual revival. Dionysus resided within the wine; as it filled his stomach, his heart felt serene under the moonlight and starlight that filled the night sky. The uncle reminisced about past joys, about his parents, his loving gaze vanishing instantly. What was the nephew thinking? He was thinking of a beautiful girl, his youthful vitality ignited. Unlike his uncle, he wasn't desperate; he only wanted to hold his beloved and savor the pleasures of womanhood. His mindset was remarkably positive; even hardship and toil appeared beautiful to him. His dreams were still filled with this beautiful world: standing atop a high mountain, surrounded by majestic forests, a vibrant, verdant natural world. Most importantly, the ever-flowing Yalu River, its surging waters brimming with the optimistic and positive energy of life. Year after year, it had never changed; the spirit of the river had touched him, and whenever he missed his parents, seeing the river brought him peace again. He started running, panting heavily, and when he saw a mountain spring, he plunged his head into the water, drank his fill, and then lay down on the grass with his eyes half-closed... When he opened his eyes, the cow was looking at him...