by Huina Zheng
During the turbulent years of the Cultural Revolution, Grandma would close the worn wooden door when night fell.
Lying in bed, Grandma and Mom were gently wrapped in darkness. In a soft voice, Grandma told my young mother ancient folktales and historical stories, all of which her own mother had told her: the story of Nuwa, who made humans out of yellow earth and water; the tale of Meng Jiangnu, who wept for her husband, who had died while building the Great Wall. Her tears moved Heaven and Earth, causing a section of the Wall to collapse, revealing her husband’s remains; and the story of Jingwei, who drowned in the Eastern Sea and transformed into a bird, tirelessly bringing stones and twigs to fill the sea, vowing to avenge her drowning.
Grandma’s voice, deep and warm, echoed through the mud walls. Mom nestled beside her, and Grandma patted her back. Mom listened intently, as if each word opened a door to another world. The stories were like the flickering fireflies, bringing a faint glow into their small house, helping them temporarily forget how chaotic and frightening the outside world was.
“Mom, which story is your favorite?”
“Jingwei filling the sea, because it symbolizes perseverance.” Grandma kissed Mom’s forehead.
“Mine too.”
“I also like the story of ‘The Foolish Old Man Moves the Mountain.’ This is the one I’m going to tell you next.”
Later, when faced with many challenges, Mom always remembered the courage and wisdom in those stories. In 1977, when China resumed Gaokao, or the college entrance exam, Mom decided she wanted to attend university. However, her family couldn’t afford a kerosene lamp. She remembered the story of Che Yin from the Jin dynasty. Due to his poverty, Che Yin caught fireflies and placed them in a white silk bag, using their faint glow to read at night, and eventually became a learned scholar. Inspired by this story, Mom caught fireflies, placing them in a bag, and hanging it in front of her desk. The faint, flickering light illuminated her books and accompanied her through long, sleepless nights.
“Did Grandma ever go to university?” Lan blinked under the bedside lamp.
“She took Gaokao three times and finally got into a normal school, becoming a Chinese language teacher.” I kissed her forehead, a pang of regret rising in my chest as I remembered that my mother passed away before my daughter was born.
“Which story do you like best?”
“Che Yin’s.”
“Mine too.”
“Tonight, I will tell you the story of Sun Kang. When their stories come together, they form the idiom ‘náng yíng yìng xuě’ (read by the light of bagged fireflies or the reflected light of snow).”
The stories Grandma told Mom flowed like a small stream, passed down from Grandma’s mother, traveling through the river of time to reach me. And I will pass them on to Lan, and from her, they will flow to future generations.
© Huina Zheng
Huina Zheng, a Distinction M.A. in English Studies holder, works as a college essay coach. Her stories have been published in Baltimore Review, Variant Literature, Midway Journal, and others. Her work has received nominations three times for both the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. She resides in Guangzhou, China with her family.
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