HIDDEN HERITAGE
PLANTING WAS XINXIN’S least favorite season. It meant hours of stooping with his knees in the dirt. Worst of all . . .
“What is this?” Didi sneered at Xinxin’s crooked sweet potato row. “A monkey could do better.”
Xinxin fumed but kept his mouth shut. While he’d barely finished his first row, his twin brother was on his third, and Didi’s seedlings stood as straight as disciplined militiamen.
Before Didi could hurl another taunt, Ma tramped over with a tray of seedlings. “I’ll finish here. You two go to calligraphy practice.”
Didi’s smirk fell. “I can stay—”
“Go. Grandpa’s waiting.”
Xinxin laughed silently as Ma shooed them away. Didi was bigger, stronger, and wielded a hoe as well as a grownup, but his brushstrokes were chicken scratches. Xinxin’s handwriting, on the other hand, was their grandfather’s pride.
As they took the footpath home, Didi muttered, “Calligraphy’s boring.”
“I think it’s fun. Besides, we’re Baos, and Baos are scholars,” Xinxin piped, quoting Grandpa’s favorite saying.
Xinxin’s chest puffed as he recalled Grandpa’s tales about their ancestors.
