Although the greatest credit for blocking the river dam goes to Third Brother, since Mom arrived at the scene, the spoils naturally fell to Mom to handle. All confiscated goods must be turned over to the collective, haha!

Mom looked at the lively little fish and shrimp jumping in the bucket and quickly made a decision. She said to divide them into three parts: one for Third Brother, one for our family, and one for Mr. Smith.

No wonder she’s a commune cadre—she handles things with real decisiveness.

Mom only attended school for two years. That’s already quite impressive. I remember Mom was born in 1940; in the old society, girls hardly had any chance to study. Even those two years of schooling were after she started working. Mom has been especially hardworking since childhood. During the nationwide water conservancy projects, she served as the leader of the “Iron Girls Team,” and through solid work, she managed to get a regular job and earn a government salary. Mom’s story in Liujia Mountain, and throughout the entire Hongqi Commune, has pretty much become a legend. If it were written as a novel, it would be the Chinese version of “How the Steel Was Tempered.” In both my past and present lives, Mom is absolutely my idol.

I pointed at the big yellow eel and said, “Mom, this eel is very nutritious, you should keep it for yourself.” Eel is highly nutritious, something all the older generation knows.

Mom was deeply moved, patted my head, and showed an expression of immense motherly love, nodding her head.

“Uncle, I’ve brought you some fish.” Mr. Smith stared in surprise at the big porcelain bowl filled with golden, fragrant fried little fish and shrimp.

“Xiao Jun, where did you get the fish?”

“I went with Third Brother to block a river dam and caught them. My mom fried them—they’re delicious.” Thinking of the fried fish I’d just eaten, I couldn’t help but lick my lips again. The taste still lingered in my mouth. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever had such delicious little fish in either of my lives.

Mr. Smith took the porcelain bowl with trembling hands. His wife’s eyes turned red, and she lifted her apron to wipe away her tears.

Faced with this kind of situation, I always get embarrassed—a bad habit from two lifetimes. I can’t stand it, so I quickly bowed and said, “Uncle, Auntie, goodbye,” then turned and ran off as fast as I could.

Mr. Smith held the bowl, watching my small figure disappear, filled with mixed emotions.

At dinner time, Dad came home too. The whole family gathered together, full of joy. When they talked about me catching fish and bringing them to Mr. Smith, Dad praised me highly. He used to be a teacher and greatly valued “respecting teachers and valuing education.”

Mom pulled me over, stroked my head, and praised me: “My Little John has always been so polite since childhood. When you grow up, you’ll definitely be successful.” Dad nodded in agreement, but said, “Don’t spoil the child with too much praise. Little John, tell Dad, what have you learned from Mr. Smith?”

“Chinese, arithmetic, history, English…”

“Huh? You’re learning English too?” Mom was surprised.

At that time, “class struggle as the key link” was still the main theme, and English wasn’t considered a good thing. Mentioning English inevitably made people think of “collaborating with foreign countries” and all that.

Dad didn’t mind: “It’s never a bad thing for kids to learn more. Our whole family are poor peasants—there hasn’t been an overseas Chinese in eighteen generations, so there’s nothing to worry about.” Chairman Mao had just passed away, the “Gang of Four” hadn’t been crushed yet, and the revolution wasn’t over, so family background was still very important.

On such big matters, Mom always trusted Dad. Seeing him say this, she didn’t say anything more.

“Little John, how’s your English coming along?” Dad asked.

“I’ve learned the twenty-six letters, and some words too.” I thought for a moment and answered carefully.

Mr. Smith wasn’t a full-time English teacher, so his way of teaching English was a bit “rough.” Seeing how quickly I picked up the twenty-six letters, he didn’t bother with gradual steps and just dove straight into “Hamlet.” Sentence by sentence, paragraph by paragraph, we worked through it. It was very much a “learn as you go” approach. Although my English in my previous life was a mess, I still had some foundation. Faced with such a “master” teacher, I had no choice but to tough it out. Luckily, I was only seven years old physically, with an excellent memory. The teacher taught hard, and I learned hard. What was especially exciting was that Mr. Smith’s spoken English was excellent. After just over ten days, the two of us could actually have simple conversations. We’d already reached page three of “Hamlet” and memorized over a hundred words. As for grammar, with Mr. Shakespeare as a teacher, how could I go wrong?

Mr. Smith was quite proud of his unique method and told me more than once that once I could recite “Hamlet” backwards and forwards, my English would be mastered.

I thought so too—if I could really memorize “Hamlet” by heart, passing the TOEFL would be a piece of cake.

But there was no need to let Dad know all this just yet. As the saying goes, “The tallest tree in the forest is the first to be blown down by the wind”—it’s better to keep a low profile.

“So how about Chinese? How many new characters have you learned?” Big Sister asked with great interest.

Big Sister Howard Walker is exactly eight years older than me, truly a “big sister like a mother.” They say she took care of me when I was little, and in my previous life, she was really good to me. If I really make something of myself in this life, I must repay her double.