The Mouse Daughter’s Wedding: Love, Choice, and the Warmest Home

An old clay pot sat in the corner, lined with sun-dried hay.

A half-shattered piece of porcelain capped the pot like a tiny hat—Mother Mouse had found it last autumn, saying it kept out the wind. Inside lived Papa Mouse, Mother Mouse, and their most precious daughter, A’Rong.

When A’Rong was born, her pink paws curled into tiny fists, and she snoozed with her eyes shut. For three whole nights, Mother Mouse licked her ears, gentle as a breeze. Papa Mouse scurried through half the mountain’s haystacks, dragging back the softest cotton to tuck under her.

As A’Rong grew—running, clawing at corn kernels, tilting her head to ask, “Daddy, are there more stars than our stashed food?”—the couple spoiled her with the best of everything: sweetest wild berries, plumpest beetle legs, even the peanuts Aunt Field Mouse sent, hidden deep in the pot for her birthday.

“A’Rong’s ready for a husband,” Mother Mouse said one day, scooping roasted corn with her paw. “We need the very best.”

“The very best?” Papa Mouse measured the hole’s size with his whiskers—he’d heard cats prowling lately; they’d need to dig deeper. “The best should dig burrows with her, shield her from rain, love her like we do.”

Mother Mouse popped the last jujube into A’Rong’s mouth. “Of course the Li family’s son has carrots to spare, and Old Wang’s boy’s stashed grain could feed a village…”

“But A’Rong doesn’t like carrots,” Papa Mouse scratched his ear. “She says our stored food smells like sunshine, sweeter than carrots.”

A’Rong nestled against Mother Mouse’s paw, tail flicking. She’d heard them the night before—Mama sniffling, “What if he’s cruel?” Papa sighing, “Then we’ll give her all our food to run.”

“Daddy, Mommy,” A’Rong nuzzled Mother Mouse. “I want to choose myself.”

The next morning, they ventured out.

The world beyond the pot was busier than they’d thought: crickets chirped on grass blades, hedgehogs rolled wild berries past, and even Black Dog, who usually fled cats, dozed by the wall. Papa Mouse kept his head low, watching for cat shadows. Mother Mouse clutched A’Rong’s paw, muttering, “First the Field Mice’s boy—he’s got tons of grain. Then Hedgehog Girl, her quills are pretty…”

They visited the Field Mice first. Their son stood at the burrow entrance, clutching a potato bigger than his head. “Welcome!” he beamed. “I’ve got enough potatoes to feed A’Rong for ten years!”

Mother Mouse’s eyes lit up. “What do you do all day?”

“Dig potatoes. Haul potatoes. Sleep.” The boy scratched his head. “If A’Rong’s bored, I can dig her a play tunnel.”

Papa Mouse shook his head at Mother Mouse. “Too dull.”

Next, Hedgehog Boy. He perched on a rock, his quills dangling with red hawthorns and purple grapes, like a tiny orchard. “Sing for you?” He shook, sending fruits tumbling. “Sweet, right?”

Mother Mouse picked up a hawthorn. “Tasty… but A’Rong needs someone who…”

“Who digs burrows,” Papa Mouse finished. Hedgehog Boy’s quills drooped. “I… my quills get stuck.”

A’Rong watched them fumble, then tugged Papa’s paw. “Let’s check over there.”

Beyond lay a field of dandelions.

Wind scattered their parachutes, landing on a gray mouse. He sorted fallen grass seeds, tossing out shriveled ones, keeping only plump ones in a small bamboo basket.

“What’re you doing?” A’Rong asked.

He looked up, ears pink. “Helping Ant Grandma collect seeds. She’s old, can’t carry much.”

Mother Mouse peered at the basket—seeds neat, dirt brushed clean. “Do you dig burrows?”

“Sure!” He pointed to a slope. “Fixed Rabbit Grandma’s home after the storm, lined it with cotton—like A’Rong’s favorite.”

Papa Mouse grinned. “What else?”

“Sometimes help Bunny Sister find lost carrots, Snail Grandpa move his shell…”

A’Rong tugged her parents’ paws. “I want to marry him.”

They exchanged smiles. Later, their pot brimmed with feast: berries, peanuts, potatoes from the Field Mice, even hedgehog grapes. Gray Mouse sat at the edge, holding A’Rong’s paw. “I’ll dig your burrows, shield you from cats, find your lost seeds…”

A’Rong snuggled close. “I don’t need that.” She blinked. “Just love me like Daddy and Mommy do.”

Wind swept through the pot, carrying away hay. Somewhere, a cat yowled. But inside, it was warm—warm as the sun on a harvest day.