Want to split the inheritance?

When Wei Jiancheng left, Wei Anmin was just over a year old, and Wei Anjie had only just reached his first month, so the two children felt no attachment to him at all. Their sorrow was fleeting, overshadowed by their worry that without a father, life at home would become even more difficult.

"Mom, did anyone from the commune say anything? How did Dad die? Did he leave anything behind?" Wei Anmin, brow furrowed with concern, asked anxiously.

"They said it was illness," Ye Qingzhi replied, glancing at Wei Anjie. "There’s only a farewell letter. As for anything else, I don't know. I’ll go to the commune and ask tomorrow."

The children were too young to keep secrets, so Ye Qingzhi decided not to mention the hundred yuan remittance from Wei Jiancheng, at least for now.

The countryside was no poetic paradise, nor a tranquil haven. On the contrary, it was even more a world where the strong preyed on the weak. With Wei Jiancheng gone, they were now a widow and orphans, the most vulnerable people in the village—anyone could take advantage of them. If word got out that they had money, even before outsiders, Wei Youliang would be the first to come after them.

Just as this thought crossed her mind, she heard Wei Youliang calling outside.

“Jiancheng’s wife, I heard something happened to Jiancheng?”

The two children looked at Ye Qingzhi in confusion upon hearing Wei Youliang’s voice, not understanding why their grandfather would be at their home.

Ye Qingzhi patted Wei Anmin’s little head and told him to take his brother into the backyard to pick vegetables. “It’s nothing, I’m here.”

Whether by intention or not, Wei Jiancheng’s letter was on two sheets of paper, with the line about the remittance written on the second page. Ye Qingzhi folded the second sheet and the remittance slip, tucking them into her undergarments. She rubbed her face, steadied herself, and walked out.

“Jiancheng’s wife, I heard something happened to Jiancheng?” Wei Jiancheng’s stepmother, Fang Xiaomei, looked Ye Qingzhi up and down. Seeing her red, swollen eyes, she realized the rumor was likely true.

Her gaze swept across the yard and the house. Though not brick, it was a newly built earthen house, only a few years old—new by any count. Her eldest grandson was about to be born, and their own home was crowded; moving here would be much more comfortable.

Ye Qingzhi’s eyes darkened. This stepmother was utterly unashamed, her calculations plain as day for all to see. It was obvious Fang Xiaomei wanted her to give up and hand over the house.

Such naked ambition—did she really think Ye Qingzhi would just let herself be manipulated?

Ye Qingzhi feigned sorrow. “The commune officials said Jiancheng died of illness.”

Wei Youliang furrowed his brow. Although the families had separated and hadn’t interacted in years, this was still his son. Now, the old was burying the young—his grief was real.

“Are you sure? Was there a letter?”

“Yes, yes, Jiancheng worked on the Third Front for years. Even if not much pay, surely he accumulated plenty of clothes and bedding. Where are those things?” Fang Xiaomei pressed anxiously.

“There’s nothing but a letter.” Ye Qingzhi knew exactly what they were after. She pulled out the letter, her voice choked. “Here it is, but I can’t read. I don’t know what Jiancheng wrote.”

Fang Xiaomei quickly strode over to grab the letter, but Ye Qingzhi dodged, glancing at Wei Youliang and at Wei Haibo, the son Fang Xiaomei had brought into the family—his name was once Li Haibo, now changed to Wei.

“What are you doing? This is a letter Jiancheng wrote to me,” Ye Qingzhi said, wary.

The more guarded she appeared, the more convinced Wei Youliang and the others were that there was nothing amiss, reasoning that if she handed it over too easily, she must be hiding something.

“Jiancheng’s wife, I’m Jiancheng’s father. Now that he’s gone so suddenly, can’t his own father see his farewell letter?” Wei Youliang wept.

Of course, Ye Qingzhi couldn’t just hand it over, so she clutched it tightly. “Let’s wait for Third Great Uncle to finish work, and ask him to read it for us.”

Third Great Uncle had studied at a private academy, served as a soldier, fought the Japanese; he was highly respected in the village, and everyone sought him out as a witness in important matters.

“It’s just a letter. Haibo can read—why trouble Third Great Uncle? Jiancheng’s wife, it’s one thing to guard against me, but Youliang is Jiancheng’s father, your father-in-law. Now his own child is gone, and you won’t even let him see the letter? What are you up to?” Fang Xiaomei eyed Ye Qingzhi maliciously.

“You make it sound nice, but don’t forget how the family was split up. I don’t trust you, and this letter will only be read when Third Great Uncle returns.” With that, Ye Qingzhi made to put the letter back in her pocket.

She deliberately slowed her movements, hoping Fang Xiaomei would try to snatch it—if so, she could make a scene, expose Fang Xiaomei’s schemes, and with all the villagers watching, they’d have to tread more carefully.

Sure enough, Fang Xiaomei couldn’t resist and grabbed the letter from Ye Qingzhi’s hand. “He’s still Youliang’s son, even if the families split.”

Ye Qingzhi ran outside, wailing, “You can’t take it! That’s Jiancheng’s letter to me! The families split long ago—how can you just take my letter like bandits…”

It was nearly the end of the workday, and at her cries, villagers quickly gathered.

“What’s going on? Who’s stealing?” Aunt Ye came over, hoe in hand. Seeing Wei Youliang and his family standing there, she scolded, “Wei Youliang, do you have any shame? Jiancheng’s barely gone, and you bring that hussy and her son to bully Qingzhi.”

Aunt Ye had been close to Wei Jiancheng’s mother and, like Ye Qingzhi, was a daughter-in-law from Daye Village, so she naturally sided with Ye Qingzhi.

“Don’t talk nonsense! When did we bully Jiancheng’s wife?” Fang Xiaomei regretted not stopping Ye Qingzhi, now that so many had come. With everyone watching, even if there was something to be gained, they’d have to share at least half with Ye Qingzhi—just thinking about it made her angry.

“Anyone with eyes can see what’s going on. Qingzhi, don’t be afraid. What did Fang Xiaomei take from you? I’ll stand up for you,” Aunt Ye declared, standing in front of Ye Qingzhi.

Sometimes a neighbor is more helpful than family. Moved, Ye Qingzhi clung to Aunt Ye’s arm, pointing to the letter in Fang Xiaomei’s hand, and choked out, “That letter Jiancheng wrote to me—she took it.”

“What do you mean, I took it? This is Jiancheng’s farewell letter. Youliang’s lost his son—can’t he even read his son’s last words?” Fang Xiaomei protested loudly to the onlookers.

Although the families had separated, Wei Youliang was still Wei Jiancheng’s father. Now that his son was dead, who could blame him for wanting to read his son’s last letter?

“But you can’t snatch it. I said to wait for Third Great Uncle to come back and read it for us. You’re just bullying a widow and orphans because we’re illiterate. Oh, Jiancheng, why did you have to go? Look at how your family’s being treated…” Ye Qingzhi sat down on the ground and wailed.

Fang Xiaomei stared, dumbfounded—she’d meant to use this tactic herself, but Ye Qingzhi had beaten her to it.

“What’s everyone gathered here for? Don’t you want your work points?” The brigade leader and Third Great Uncle arrived.

“Jiancheng’s wife, get up. I was just anxious to read the letter. Since Third Uncle’s back, let’s ask him to help. Third Uncle, could you please read the letter? Jiancheng was gone for five or six years and now suddenly died of illness. As his father, I need to know what happened,” Wei Youliang said.

Wei Youliang signaled to Fang Xiaomei, who was reluctant to hand over the letter, but he glared at her until she did.

Third Great Uncle took the letter, opened it in front of everyone, and read it aloud, word by word, sighing deeply at the end. “What a pity about Jiancheng. Jiancheng’s wife, don’t be too sad. Anmin and Anjie are both good children—raise them well, and better days will come.”

“This is all there is? Nothing else?” Fang Xiaomei looked skeptical.

Impossible. They had calculated at home—even if Wei Jiancheng only saved five yuan a month, over the years, he should have three hundred or more. Even with some spent on illness, it couldn’t be all gone. He had two sons, after all—could he really leave them with nothing?

“No,” Ye Qingzhi said, shaking her head. Seeing the crowd's disbelief, she hurried to add, “I plan to go to the commune tomorrow and ask.”

“You should. Jiancheng worked there for years—what about his salary and belongings? What if someone pocketed them?” Fang Xiaomei said, sounding agitated.

Others were skeptical too. No matter how indifferent a man might be to his wife, he’d never ignore his sons. But Ye Qingzhi didn’t seem to be lying.

The brigade leader frowned, waved away the curious villagers, and told Ye Qingzhi, “Jiancheng’s wife, go to the commune tomorrow and ask: what illness did Jiancheng have? When did he die? What about his body? How were his belongings handled?”

“Yes, yes, find out everything. You’ll be going alone? Should Haibo go with you?” Fang Xiaomei suggested, her eyes darting.

“No need, I’ll go myself,” Ye Qingzhi said, glancing at Wei Haibo. He wasn’t even her real brother-in-law, and even if he were, a young widow couldn’t travel alone with a single man without risking gossip.

Fang Xiaomei realized as much—her son couldn’t be seen with a widow, for even if Ye Qingzhi’s reputation suffered, she didn’t want her own son tainted.

“Then let your father go with you. You’re young, inexperienced, and a woman. Better let your father handle it,” Fang Xiaomei pressed.

Clearly, she wouldn’t give up until she got what she wanted. Fine—let Wei Youliang come. Only once he saw there was nothing to be gained would he stop pestering her.

Her goal achieved, Fang Xiaomei led her family away, satisfied. The brigade leader and the others offered Ye Qingzhi a few words of comfort before heading home for dinner.

Only Aunt Ye lingered, worried about Ye Qingzhi’s health and wanting to help with dinner.

“There’s no need, really. I cooked this morning, and there’s still food left. I’ll have Anmin light the fire and heat it up,” Ye Qingzhi said honestly—this was how the original owner used to manage.

“Really?” Seeing Ye Qingzhi insist, Aunt Ye patted her arm. “Alright, I’ll head home. If you need anything, come find me.”

“Thank you, Auntie. Go on home.” Ye Qingzhi watched her leave, then went inside and let out a long breath.

At last, everyone was gone. Now she needed to figure out her next steps.

Her first thought was to find work, but in these times, not only had the original owner never been to school and had no qualifications, but her rural household registration was a dead end—even job postings required a non-agricultural status.

Should she, like the original, remain a widow, raising two children alone?

She remembered how the original had to rise at five to work, not returning until six in the evening, and during the busy season, up by four and working till seven or eight at night. Any spare moment was spent collecting firewood and wild vegetables, washing clothes, cooking, and minding the children…

Ye Qingzhi shuddered. Life here was more bitter than gall. Even someone used to farm labor would wear out early; she would surely die even sooner.

She valued her life and wanted to live well—not die young.

Now that Wei Jiancheng was gone, as a young widow with children, her options were limited: either become like Widow Wang at the head of the village, letting men take advantage in exchange for protection, or like Widow Zhang at the far end, wielding a kitchen knife, behaving like a shrew, and even making herself ugly to ward off trouble.

Ye Qingzhi didn’t want to be harassed by those old ruffians, nor did she want to play the madwoman or make herself hideous.

After much thought, she concluded her best hope was to find a reliable man and remarry.

But reliable men were hard to find. There was no rush. The original owner had been deeply devoted to Wei Jiancheng, and she couldn’t just start looking for someone right away. First, she needed to chase away the wolves like Wei Youliang—after that, she would take things one step at a time.