Tang Daniang had worked hard her whole life—she was no delicate, fragile girl. She was from the village, timid by nature, and with all these men staring at her, of course she was scared. She felt embarrassed, even felt she was overstepping. But compared to being married off to a madman, all of that was nothing.
Tang Daniang went at it with one of the men. Fighting inevitably meant physical contact, and the onlookers found it utterly improper. What decent girl would behave like this?
Shameful. Absolutely shameful.
A few women even spat in Tang Daniang's direction.
Tang Daniang had no formal training. Even though she did heavy labor year-round, her strength still didn't match a man's. But she was sharp—she knew where to hit to cause the most pain. She'd learned that the hard way growing up, from getting beaten by her older brothers. Hitting the arms or back didn't hurt much, but a punch to the gut—that hurt. One good blow and a man might not get back up.
This time she put all her strength into a punch to the man's gut. He doubled over, staggered back two steps, and dropped to one knee. At that point, a couple more kicks would've sealed the win—but she caught sight of that woman's spitting, and the looks of disgust coming at her from all sides. She suddenly couldn't go on.
She was just lowering her hands when a babyish cheer rang out in her ear.
"Whoa! Sister's amazing! Press the advantage! Hit him, sister, hit him!"
Guaizai was hopping around on the sidelines cheering for her, even more worked up than if he were fighting himself. In the crowd, some young women and gers, probably admiring her courage, also called out: "Go on, hit him! Keep going!"
Tang Daniang suddenly found a fresh burst of strength. When another man came charging at her, she met him head-on without flinching.
In the end, she had a few bruises on her face, but she was still standing—while the two men were on the ground, unable to get up.
Guaizai ran over and took her hand, looking up at her with admiration. "Sister, you're so awesome!"
He meant it, sincerely—no pretense. Tang Daniang felt embarrassed.
Guaizai gave her special permission to go for her "medical check" first. The checkup didn't require taking off any clothes—just a look at her hands and feet to make sure they were all there (country folks sometimes lost fingers now and then; woodcutting could be careless, and sometimes a finger went along with the firewood).
If someone was too short, too fat, or too skinny, they were out.
Then they'd take the pulse, check for general health, any hidden ailments, missing teeth, or cavities—and that was about it.
It wasn't as strict as modern times—conditions were limited, after all.
Tang Daniang passed everything. Guaizai wrote her name down in his little book, and the people around grew anxious! They started pleading again, saying it wasn't right, wasn't proper, couldn't set this precedent.
This kind of work had always been men's business. Men were the backbone of everything—what did women and gers have to do with it?
The proper place for women and gers was at home—marrying, bearing children, and serving their in-laws and husbands.
And what good would they do out there?
Women and gers only knew indoor work—embroidery, sewing, that sort of thing. If they were sent out, what use would they be? Men were the ones who got things done! And besides—would people have to bow and call these women and gers "officer" when they saw them?
Did that make any sense?
Was that proper?
How could women and gers be placed above men?
The argument grew heated, and the scene descended into chaos.
The man who'd been beaten earlier was now livid, shouting the loudest opposition, his eyes dark with resentment.
"She's a woman—a married woman, at that! How can she join the army?"
"Why can't she?" Guaizai asked. "Uncle, you just got knocked down by her, didn't you? Whoever's better, whoever meets the requirements—that's who gets picked. You couldn't even beat her, and there were two of you against one. If she can't go, then you certainly can't."
The man was left speechless.
It was humiliating—two grown men, taken down by a woman, right in front of everyone. A hard pill to swallow. But they had no one to blame but themselves—they'd volunteered to teach her a lesson. And that woman was as strong as an ox! No matter how hard they hit her, she barely seemed to feel a thing.
The crowd kept gossiping and grumbling, but Guaizai paid them no mind. Their old-fashioned ideas ran deep; talking was useless. This wasn't like the chemical fertilizer factory issue, where a few words could clear things up.
Reasoning wouldn't work. Talk of gender equality wouldn't work—the common people would just call it nonsense. The only way was to push it through by force. Whether women and gers serving as soldiers was a good thing, whether they could match men, whether marriage and childbearing was truly the only proper path for them—time would tell. And besides, once this kind of thing happened often enough, people would grow numb to it. No one had that much free time to keep harping on it, and no one was going to start a rebellion over it, either.
Guaizai slammed his little fist—no bigger than an egg—onto the table with a bang.
"Anyone who keeps talking—anyone who gets in the way of Guaizai's work—I'll have you beaten with a plank, got it?"
His father had promised him: if he pulled this off, he'd get two kisses and two little red flowers.
Anyone standing between him and his kisses was getting clobbered.
Two imperial guards stepped forward from either side of Guaizai and drew their blades partway—a sharp, grating clang that cut through the air.
What was the big deal?
Back in the capital, even when they ran into the wives of high-ranking officials, they still had to bow their heads and address them with proper respect.
Men are the backbone? Only if they've got the skills to back it up. Without ability, you're nothing—and you still think you're the backbone of anything?
Besides, they'd already heard about what happened at the chemical fertilizer factory. They didn't have that "men are superior" mindset.
Now, with the blades half-drawn, the crowd—which had been buzzing with chatter, advice, and curses—felt their hearts skip. They froze, looking at each other, and no one dared make another sound.
Sure, the young master was small and soft-looking—but he was still the prefect's son. Not someone to mess with.
The soldiers who'd come along also felt this was a bit improper. But the young master...
They really didn't dare upset him.
The common people outside might not know, but they sure did.
The cement factory, the paper mill, the chemical fertilizer factory, the noodle factory—these were already built. And that wasn't even counting the new ones going up in the north. All four were under the prefect's fulang's name.
They were no small workshops either. The smallest factory alone covered nine mu of land. The fertilizer factory was over ten mu, and the paper mill was dozens of mu—sprawling and wide, with grand, imposing gates and interiors like mazes. Without someone to guide the way, it would be easy to get lost in no time. Each factory employed over a hundred workers. Never mind whether they were turning a profit yet—even if the prefect weren't the prefect, with that kind of wealth alone, who would dare cross him? Who would dare offend him?
In all of Hezhou, if anyone asked who the richest family was, before this it was undoubtedly the Huang family. In those days, the grain trade was the most profitable. The Huang family ran over a dozen shops of all sizes scattered across Hezhou. But even adding up all their clerks and servants, the total still wouldn't match the number of workers in just one of the factories.
The prefect's little son couldn't be provoked. Hezhou's wealthiest family's little young master couldn't be provoked.
And this little young master, with both identities wrapped into one? Even harder to provoke. So whatever he said, that was how it was going to be.
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