Chapter 2 — Sesame Flatbread
Kou Laosan (a.k.a Uncle Kou) thought for a moment while Xie Jing stood waiting. Every passing second felt like a small flame burning against his heart — hot, anxious, unrelenting.
After a while, Kou Laosan finally spoke.
“This is only something you heard,” he said slowly, “it might not be true. But since your uncle owes you this favor… as for this matter of taking someone’s place—let me think it over. I’ll lend you the two silver dollars first.”
As he spoke, he reached for his half-new sheepskin coat. “Alright then, I’ll go get the doctor first, have him take a look at your grandmother.”
Braving the cold wind, Kou Laosan went out with Xie Jing. He didn’t hand the boy the money directly, unwilling to risk it. Instead, he accompanied him to find the doctor and paid for the consultation himself. Two silver dollars — that was more than a month’s living expenses for his entire family. When he handed them over to the doctor, his heart ached, but he clenched his jaw and did it anyway.
On the way, Xie Jing took the few copper coins left in his pocket and bought a sesame flatbread.
The vendor had a big iron drum filled with glowing coals. The heat crisped the flatbreads, golden and steaming, with sesame seeds that popped and crackled on the surface, filling the air with a rich, toasty aroma.
Xie Jing stopped in front of the stall and asked for one with sesame.
The sesame flatbread was thin and small, slightly smaller than the usual kind, but filled with a layer of sweet syrup, crisp and fragrant. It cost three copper coins. The vendor handed him the flatbread and asked, “Just one? Why not take two plain ones? They’re cheaper by two coins each!”
Most people bought the plain kind — sprinkled with five-spice powder, filling and savory. Only those buying for children chose the sesame kind. It smelled wonderful, but a growing boy couldn’t fill his stomach on that alone.
Xie Jing shook his head and took just one. He wrapped it carefully in oiled paper, pressed it to his chest for warmth, and didn’t take a single bite on the way.
Watching from the side, Kou Laosan couldn’t help but soften a little. The boy clearly meant to bring it home for his sick grandmother. What a thoughtful child, he thought.
Qinghe County wasn’t big. The doctor rode a donkey, and within half an hour they reached the old house where Xie Jing’s grandmother lived.
The old houses on the outskirts of town mostly belonged to laborers. They were damp and cold from the nearby docks. Inside, there was only a low clay bed where the old woman lay, and a small table beside it — nothing else that could be called furniture.
The doctor, bundled in a thick cotton robe, came in and set down his medicine box. He checked the old woman carefully, then said, “Nothing serious, nothing serious. I thought it was tuberculosis, but it’s only a bad cold — exhaustion and chill.…” He wrote out a prescription, adding, “I happen to have the medicine with me, saves me another trip. Give her these first. Watch her tonight — small sips, slow and steady. If she improves, come by my clinic for more. A few doses should do.”
As he wrote, the doctor stamped his feet. “It’s colder in here than outside!”
Kou Laosan quickly said, “Go boil some hot water! Warm up the bed!”
Xie Jing hesitated, still watching his grandmother, until Kou Laosan urged again, “Go on, I’ll stay here.”
So Xie Jing went. Soon the fire in the stove was crackling, and a trace of warmth filled the house. While Kou Laosan poured the doctor some hot water, Xie Jing blew gently on a small half bowl to cool it before carefully feeding it to his grandmother, patient and tender.
“Good,” the doctor said approvingly. “Feed her medicine the same way — small sips, slowly. Even if it takes longer, it’s fine as long as she keeps it down.”
After Kou Laosan saw the doctor out, he came back and found the boy breaking the flatbread into small pieces and feeding them to the old woman, little by little. After she had half, he turned to prepare the medicine.
The small kitchen stove shared a chimney with the bed’s fire pit. There was only one small iron pot, still holding freshly boiled water. Xie Jing moved it aside and replaced it with a cracked black clay jar to simmer the herbal medicine.
Seeing the boy’s pitiful state, Kou Laosan went to fetch some firewood, muttering half-scolding, half-concerned: “Your grandmother’s sick and there wasn’t even a spark in the house? It’s freezing! At least keep the bed warm…”
Xie Jing said nothing, just listened quietly.
Halfway through, as Kou Laosan reached for something, he noticed the blood on the back of Xie Jing’s neck. The fresh wound had clotted, dark in his black hair — easy to miss unless you caught it in the firelight.
The boy’s skin was pale, almost porcelain, too clean, too still. For someone his age, he was strikingly handsome, but much too thin — a narrow neck, fragile limbs, crouched small beside the fire.
These were hard times, and no one had it easy. Kou Laosan sighed to himself and said nothing more.
He didn’t ask what had happened, and Xie Jing didn’t volunteer a word.
After a while, realizing there wasn’t much more he could do, Kou Laosan reminded the boy before leaving — after all, he had spent two silver dollars here.
Seeing the orphaned boy and sick old woman, his heart softened again. He said gently, “Take a few days to rest and take care of your grandmother. I’m waiting for word from the main house — once I hear back, I’ll come find you. It’ll take a few days anyway. Just stay here and wait.”
He wasn’t worried about Xie Jing running off. In a small place like Qinghe County, where could he go?
Xie Jing nodded.
That night, he stayed up entirely, feeding his grandmother medicine twice and keeping watch beside her bed.
When the water ran out near midnight, the buckets outside were frozen solid. He didn’t dare leave her alone, so he gathered snow instead, melted it over the fire, and gave her that to drink.
He also fed her the remaining half of the sesame flatbread.
Perhaps the medicine had started to work — she managed to swallow it, at least.
Sitting beside her, Xie Jing carefully wiped her mouth, reluctant to look away.
She had eaten the whole flatbread. That was good.
In his past life, his grandmother had lasted only a few more days. Feverish and confused, she’d called his childhood name again and again, until in the end, she’d said just one thing: that she wanted a sesame flatbread.
That time, too, Xie Jing had been robbed outside the pawnshop, left penniless. To fulfill her last wish, he had knelt on the street and begged, knocking his head on the ground until someone lent him a few coins. He bought the flatbread, but by the time he returned, she had eaten only half before passing away.
Now, watching her sleep, he thought: This time, Grandmother ate the whole sesame flatbread. She’ll be fine.
As the horizon grew pale, his grandmother stirred. Her fingers twitched slightly, and Xie Jing noticed immediately. He hurried closer, gently touching her face.
“Grandma, Grandma — you’re awake?” he whispered.
Her eyelids fluttered open. She nodded faintly. “I’m awake. What time is it? Why haven’t you gone to school today, Jing’er?”
Xie Jing’s nose burned, his throat tightening. He held her hand against his cheek.
“I’m not going,” he said softly. “I’m staying with you. I’m not going anywhere.”
