The eleventh lunar month, also called “Midwinter.”
Generally speaking, this is a time when agricultural work is light, and usually, it’s the month for training the government soldiers and peasant soldiers.
But this year, there was no training at all—no summons either—because the higher-ups hadn’t issued any grain or pickled vegetables; the training was simply canceled.
Everyone was secretly glad.
When you can barely get enough to eat, who still has the energy or mind for training? Better to save strength and help with whatever farm work there might be at home.
The river had already frozen over.
A child was standing by the riverbank, cautiously trying to step with just the tips of his toes on the ice, but soon a peasant woman grabbed his ear, making him wail loudly.
A group of women were throwing stones to break the thin ice on the river’s surface, starting to wash vegetables.
Another group tried the river water but found it too cold, so, holding wooden basins, they brazenly went to rub shoulders at their neighbors’ wells to get water.
“Are we not making pickled porridge this year?” By the well sat four or five women, chattering to the hostess.