Wen Qian's vigilance only lasted for a year. During this time, Old Liu barely managed to save enough supplies to get through the winter. After surviving the following winter, he left.
No one knew where he went. Some said he went south to find his son, though it was uncertain if he would succeed.
Old Liu's departure had always been Wen Qian's hope.
Old Liu was a man who couldn't settle down comfortably here, mainly because everything required doing things by oneself.
Self-reliance leads to a life of plenty.
But Old Liu despised doing things himself. Previously, when he didn't do something, others would always help him. Now, if he didn't do it himself, he would starve.
Quick money schemes, if discovered, would get him killed. So, all things considered, Old Liu decided to leave.
He thought about taking a roundabout route to other southern cities. This way, no one would recognize him, and in more populated areas, he might find suitable "work."
Just like before the calamity, when he had a steady job with a fixed, albeit low, salary, set working hours, and simple tasks.
He believed that if he went to a larger city, he could find the easiest job possible, rather than having to do everything himself in these mountains.
But he forgot one thing: his age now was different from before. Why would someone choose him over younger candidates for the same position?
Another goal of his journey was to find his son. If his son was successful, the old man could simply enjoy the good life.
However, Old Liu wasn't really that optimistic; he just hoped for the best.
Once this man disappeared, it meant one less person for the other neighbors to be wary of.
Especially for Wen Qian.
Not having to take matters into her own hands or constantly be on guard was indeed good news.
One day, Wen Qian removed the traps behind the iron gate. When her child asked why, she simply said the crisis was over.
Knowing that no one would come to steal their food, the child was also very happy.
For many years after, Wen Qian never saw the Liu family again.
The roof of their uninhabited house had collapsed, and Young Liu never returned.
Of Da Jin's two children, the elder one got married and built a small house near Da Jin's area.
The bride was the daughter of a mountain family from the other side of the village. They met at the market and ended up together.
Both families helped the newly committed couple build their house, each providing some grain and daily necessities.
From then on, they lived independently. Whether they would have children or when they would have them didn't matter; no one would pressure them.
They just felt that in such circumstances, finding a companion was good enough.
It was true mutual support, not one taking advantage of the other.
Even with incentives for childbearing, the population didn't grow significantly. It could be said that no place achieved the goal of population increase.
Time flew by like a shuttle.
When Wen Qian was sixty, An An was already fourteen.
An An had grown very tall. Wen Qian thought that at this rate, the child could grow to over 170 centimeters.
Wen Qian was gratified. Her years of providing a balanced diet had paid off, and An An wasn't a picky eater.
An An rarely ate at other people's homes, so she didn't really know how her family's meals compared to others.
Now that she had grown up, she could carry a gun on her back to visit her sister at Ni Sha's house.
She had learned everything her mother taught her, as if attending classes, and had to pass every subject.
Wen Qian, fearing she might have missed something, constantly reminded her child of various precautions.
At this time, An An hadn't yet reached her rebellious phase, perhaps because Wen Qian hadn't pushed too hard.
For Wen Qian, when An An claimed to have learned a skill, she only needed to demonstrate it correctly a few times in front of her. The rest of the time, An An was free.
She knew that experience and teaching were important, but she also knew she couldn't be too strict just to make her learn more, as it would only cause the child to rebel.
Having no experience in raising children, she often followed books and recalled how her grandparents had raised her.
But the biggest difference between people is personality. Wen Qian felt she was more sensitive as a child, able to observe details.
An An had a more cheerful personality than her, more outgoing, very intelligent, and also knew how to care for others.
She was also very observant of herself, always offering to help when she saw adults working rather than just watching.
She was a hardworking, kind, and lively young girl.
When Wen Qian taught her to shoot and make ammunition, she was calm and composed, never impatient when learning anything.
Wen Qian was even more pleased with this aspect, believing it would serve An An well in her future life.
If she were merely lively and kind, Wen Qian would have been worried.
In fact, An An could sense Wen Qian's unease, so she tried her best to learn. As Wen Qian grew older, she wanted her to learn more, preferably everything.
This sense of urgency was always present, but her mother managed to control it well, not letting the pressure spill over onto her.
At Wen Qian's age, although she looked younger than her peers, she was already elderly.
She was at the age where people called her grandmother, but only An An still called her mother. From a very young age, she had switched from calling her grandmother to mother and never changed.
Now An An felt she had grown up and was responsible for her mother's future life. Previously, her mother had protected her, but now the roles were to be reversed.
However, at just fourteen, as she watched her mother's hair gradually turning white, she couldn't quite hide the worry and sadness in her eyes.
One day at the market, An An saw a funeral being held nearby.
This small village had grown larger over the past decade, becoming a big village with a busier market.
As she watched the distant sounds of crying and the floating yellow paper, she felt that death was still unfamiliar to her.
But Wen Qian took her closer to watch. As the deceased was an elderly person, only the family members were crying while others seemed to be merely spectating.
An An also asked the question Wen Qian had once asked: why funerals were called "white happiness events."
Wen Qian fell into reminiscence, then told her the answer she had heard back then.
There was one thing Wen Qian didn't specifically say: that she too would die someday. She felt that if the young girl heard her say such things, she might burst into tears immediately.
No matter how strong she appeared, death was still a distant and unfamiliar concept to her.
The feeling that death was drawing near, the fear it could instill—these were sensations one only truly experienced when someone close to them passed away.
This was something Wen Qian would have to teach as well.
