Chapter IX begins at a moment of quiet devastation, as the household feasts carelessly after young Nikifor’s funeral. The mourners partake in food and chatter as though the grief in the room is no more than background noise. Lipa, whose sorrow is raw and consuming, finally breaks down, only to be dismissed by Aksinya with cold indifference. Her pain is not welcome. The house, once shared in name, now feels entirely alien. Lipa makes her decision to leave for Torguevo, returning to her mother with nothing but the memory of her child and the sting of rejection from a home that no longer belongs to her.

The story then pivots to a depiction of the passing years and the shift in authority within the Tsybukin estate. Aksinya, who once stood as a supporting figure, has now become the dominant force in both the household and the local economy. Her alliance with the Hrymin Juniors and the opening of a tavern by the station mark not just a business move, but a redefinition of her role in society. Her confidence, once subdued under the weight of grief and obligation, now flourishes in commerce and influence. Even landowners who once might have dismissed her now engage with admiration, showing how power reshapes perception. The tavern stands as both a symbol of success and of change—a pivot from the traditional values once held in the Tsybukin family.

In contrast to Aksinya’s rise, old man Tsybukin fades into a kind of living obscurity. He no longer commands respect or attention; instead, he is seen wandering, aimless and ignored, his former status reduced to an echo. The village murmurs quietly of his mistreatment, their gossip suggesting more than just a shift in power—it implies a decline in dignity. Sitting beside the church gate, he becomes a ghostly figure, a cautionary tale of how quickly reverence turns to pity. Meanwhile, Varvara remains oddly untouched by the upheaval. She continues her charitable work, her focus seemingly disconnected from the moral erosion in her own household. Her goodness, though admirable, feels misplaced or too distant to affect the decay within her family.

Anisim’s absence hangs heavily over the household, unresolved and quietly damning. A desperate letter is received, possibly from him, but its contents only deepen the ambiguity surrounding his fate. His storyline represents all that has been lost or left behind in the pursuit of wealth and control. The contrast between Lipa’s quiet withdrawal, Tsybukin’s fall, and Aksinya’s rise underlines the emotional cost of ambition. It asks whether power gained in the absence of compassion is truly progress, or merely another form of loss. The people in the village, witnessing the changes, speak not just about the transformation in wealth, but about the shifting values that now define the Tsybukin name.

Beneath the surface of growth and enterprise, the family is fractured—emotionally, morally, and spiritually. Lipa, who once held the hope of familial belonging, now lives apart from the only structure she knew as home. Tsybukin, once firm and directive, now has no voice in his own affairs. Aksinya stands at the center, successful but feared, respected yet questioned. In many ways, the story reflects the broader tension in changing rural Russia—a struggle between the old guard and the emerging order, between power founded on tradition and power gained through enterprise. The villagers’ conversations near the end make it clear: not everyone sees the transformation as progress. In their eyes, something essential has been lost.

The chapter, in its layered narrative, illustrates the cost of evolution within families and communities. While Aksinya commands and expands, the emotional wreckage left behind goes unnoticed or is considered necessary collateral. Chekhov crafts this transformation not as triumph, but as a meditation on what is surrendered when ambition is unchecked. The human bonds—those of love, memory, and dignity—are often the first to unravel. What remains is a shell of prosperity, inhabited by shadows of the people who once dreamed under that roof.