Chapter 52
In the vegetable field, Zhou Ger had already picked half a basket of greens, and Aunt Liu was there too.
Today, they were mainly selling long beans and cucumbers. Cabbage and radishes could wait, but cucumbers and long beans wouldn’t sell well if they got too old. Right now, they were tender and could fetch a good price.
In the early morning, the mountain air was thick with mist, and dewdrops clung to the wild grass. The village rooster was dutifully stretching its neck, crowing loudly.
Zhou Ger looked behind him: “Where’s Guaizai?”
Zhao Ger, picking long beans alongside him, replied: “Still sleeping!”
By the time the sun rose, the two large baskets were full. Picking too much risked not selling it all, so Zhou Ger said, “If Guaizai wakes up by the time you get back, just send him to my place. I’ll wait for you at the village entrance.”
Today, they’d take the village chief’s ox cart to town—it was faster, and they could secure a good spot at the market.
When Zhao Ger got home, he found Fang Zichen already up, his inner garment loosely draped over his shoulders, exposing the hollow of his collarbone, the pale triangle of his chest, and the bob of his throat. He sat in the yard, holding Guaizai in a daze, eyes half-lidded, as if still not fully awake.
It was around maoshi (5-7 AM) now. Fang Zichen usually didn’t rise until chenshi (7-9 AM, and since he’d slept late last night, he was completely out of it—probably in need of two bottles of Maidong (a stimulant drink).
No time for porridge. Zhao Ger buttoned his inner garment for him, gathering the fabric over Fang Zichen’s chest, his knuckles brushing against warm skin. His fingers lingered even after fixing the clothes, and he warned him: “I’ve already stir-fried the side dishes, and the porridge has cooled. If you’re sleepy—”
He didn’t dare let Fang Zichen go back to sleep. If he wasn’t around, Fang Zichen might just snooze straight until noon.
“Go wash your face.”
Fang Zichen ran a hand through his messy hair, slightly more alert now, and asked softly, “Leaving already?”
“Mm. If we go early, we can get a good spot.”
Zhao Ger took Guaizai into his arms and said, “Later, Daddy and Uncle Zhou are going to sell vegetables. After breakfast, go wait for me at Grandma Liu’s place, understand?”
Yesterday, Guaizai’s hair had been styled in a topknot, but now it was a mess, sticking out like an explosion. “I know,” he mumbled.
Zhao Ger couldn’t help but laugh, kissing him before leaving.
A round trip on the ox cart cost two copper coins—not expensive, but few villagers were willing to spend the money unless they had a lot to carry or were in a hurry.
Today, the cart only had a few people, including Wang Damei.
The moment she saw Zhao Ger, Wang Damei waved cheerfully. Even without considering Fang Zichen’s status, she liked Zhao Ger for his diligence and had always pitied him before.
“Zhao Ger, Zhou Ger, sit here.” She scooted over to make space.
“Thank you, Aunt Wang.”
Zhao Ger sat beside her, holding the basket in his lap to save space. Out of courtesy, he asked, “Has Sixth Grandpa’s health improved?”
“Much better,” Wang Damei said. “Before, he couldn’t even get out of bed. After resting for months, he can now walk a few steps with a cane, but he’s suffered—lost a lot of weight.”
At his age, his body just wasn’t as strong as a younger man’s. The village chief’s father was over sixty, practically ancient by village standards.
They’d slaughtered all their egg-laying hens trying to nurse him back to health, but Sixth Uncle still hadn’t fully recovered. His energy was nowhere near what it used to be.
Wang Damei’s heart ached for the old man—and for the chickens.
Today, at the market, she planned to buy some chicks to raise.
At the fork in the road near Xiaorong Village, a few more women boarded the cart, all heading to town to sell goods and earn extra income.
Wang Damei, never one to stay quiet, pointed discreetly at one of them and whispered, “Know who that is?”
Zhao Ger had never left the village before and didn’t recognize her, but outsiders had certainly heard of him.
After all, villagers were poor, and while they had plenty of kids to help with labor, few could afford to buy a servant. The Ma family had become infamous the day they brought Zhao Ger home.
Zhou Ger seemed to vaguely recognize the woman but wasn’t sure—she looked different from his memory. “Is that the one from Scholar Wang’s family?”
Wang Damei nodded. She was distantly related to Scholar Wang. “That’s her.”
Zhou Ger was surprised. “But… Scholar Wang is only twenty-six. How does his wife look so…? And when I saw her a few years ago, she wasn’t like this—” this haggard.
He didn’t say it outright.
Even if the woman couldn’t hear them, it was better to be tactful.
Wang Damei tsk-ed. “How could she not age? Supporting a scholar at home, she has to wake up before dawn every day to work, slaving away at this and that. She’s only twenty-five, but you’d believe her if she said she was forty.”
Zhao Ger stayed silent.
Wang Damei, recalling something, added bitterly, “Back when she first married Scholar Wang, she was so full of herself. When I visited, she looked at me like I was some pig in a sty. She never said anything outright, but I knew—she looked down on me.”
Scholar Wang, Wang Zhaowen, was the only son of the Wang family, doted on since birth. Once, his mother took him to town where a fortune-teller declared he had broad brows and thick ears—signs of great fortune. He was supposedly the reincarnation of the Wenqu Star and destined for greatness.
[Wenqu Star (文曲星, Wénqǔxīng): a deity in Chinese mythology and Taoist belief, revered as the Star of Literature and Wisdom, symbolizing scholarly success, literary talent, and imperial examination prowess]
His mother took this to heart, memorizing every word.
At six, Wang Zhaowen was sent to study under a xiucai in town. As he grew, he carried himself with scholarly refinement—never worked a day in his life, his skin fair and unblemished. The village girls adored him, all dreaming of becoming a scholar’s wife.
[Xiucai (秀才): a scholar who passed the lowest level of imperial examinations in ancient China]
He Cuiling was the daughter of Xiaorong Village’s chief, and in her youth, she’d been exceptionally beautiful. She fought tooth and nail to marry into the Wang family.
She’d dreamed of being a scholar’s wife, but Wang Zhaowen turned out to be a disappointment—he’d been taking the tongsheng exam since twelve and still hadn’t passed by twenty-six.
[Tongsheng Exam (童生试): a preliminary test, passing it granted eligibility to take the Xiucai exam]
Studying cost money. After marriage, He Cuiling endured her mother-in-law’s abuse while working nonstop to fund her husband’s education.
Wang Zhaowen stayed indoors all day, shielded from wind and rain. Though only average-looking, the saying “Fair skin hides flaws, but weight ruins all” applied to men too.
[Fair skin hides flaws, but weight ruins all reflects the traditional East Asian beauty ideal that prized pale skin as a sign of refinement while harshly stigmatizing excess weight.]
He Cuiling, worn down by labor, now looked old enough to be his mother. Many in the village whispered that even if Wang Zhaowen somehow passed the exams and prospered, he’d likely discard her.
This wasn’t baseless gossip. While rare in the village, it was common in town for men to abandon their wives after gaining wealth, seeking younger, prettier replacements.
“Studying isn’t just any kind of expensive,” Wang Damei sighed. “Never mind the rest—just paper, brushes, and books cost a fortune. My husband says a single book costs as much as a full-grown pig.”
A pig could sell for over two taels of silver.
Zhou Ger’s breath hitched. “…Books are that expensive?”
“Mm.” Wang Damei lowered her voice. “If they weren’t, I’d have sent my Hexi to study when he was born. Knowing how to read, like Fang Zichen, is better than slaving in the fields.”
No backbreaking labor in the fields—just using his wits and brushwork to earn three taels of silver each month. For farmers breaking their backs over the land, that same amount would take half a year of sweat-drenched toil. No wonder the villagers eyed him with barely concealed jealousy.
Zhao Ger’s heart grew heavy.
He knew education was costly, but he hadn’t realized how costly.
Fang Zichen made three taels a month—a decent sum, but between supporting him and Guaizai, plus buying books and brushes…
Zhao Ger was worried.
They arrived early and managed to snag a prime spot in the market center.
Zhou Ger, experienced in selling vegetables, spread out a cloth and neatly arranged bundles of long beans from the basket.
No need for scales—each bundle cost two copper coins.
With so many sellers lately, only a handful of customers trickled in.
Since business was slow, Zhao Ger told Zhou Ger he’d be back and headed toward the bookstore.
He hadn’t planned this earlier—just wanted to see if paper, ink, and brushes were truly that expensive. But at the doorstep, he hesitated.
The shop clerk noticed him and called out. Zhao Ger exhaled but said nothing.
His clothes, though clean and decent, clearly marked him as someone from a poor household. The shop clerk, used to all sorts of customers, assured him it was fine to browse even if he wasn’t buying.
Zhao Ger stepped inside.
He inquired about book prices, and the shop clerk instead showed him brushes.
There were cheap ones and expensive ones.
But even the “cheap” ones were costly for a farmer.
The most basic brush cost three to four hundred copper coins.
Ink sticks and paper weren’t cheap either.
Education truly burned money. Without land, he’d need to find work.
He couldn’t rely solely on his husband.
Lost in thought on his way back, Zhao Ger passed an alley—when suddenly, someone yanked him inside.
The grip was iron-tight. Instinctively, he opened his mouth to scream—
But a hand clamped over his lips, silencing him.
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