Translator: Dragon Boat Translation Editor: Dragon Boat Translation

Chen Ershu pulled out a hundred coins, stating, “We’ve made a hundred and two coins too. But Dad, I fear the soup business won’t be sustainable for long.”

“What seems to be the problem?” Old Chen inquired.

“In the morning it’s still cool,” Chen Ershu explained. “But as the days go by, the weather will get increasingly hot. I’m concerned that not many people will be interested in our hot soup then.”

Old Chen mulled over this and replied, “Let’s keep selling for now. We’ll have to harvest and transplant rice in a few days.”

Chen Ershu considered this and agreed, deciding not to argue further.

The following day, as Shen Dalang returned from his hunting trip, he saw Chen Xiaosang, along with her three nephews, waving at him from afar.

He allowed the children into the courtyard and hung the hunted meat into the well. Turning back around, he saw Chen Xiaosang and her three nephews had already taken their seats, sitting upright and ready.

“Do you all wish to learn to read and write?” He asked.

Chen Xiaosang responded with a vigorous nod, “We all do!”

The three boys, visibly excited, followed suit and nodded in agreement.

Shen Dalang, grabbing a tree branch, scratched the character for ‘Chen’ onto the ground, stating, “This is your surname, ‘Chen’. Start by learning to write this.”

Chen Xiaosang picked up another branch and began copying the character on the ground, stroke by stroke. It seemed daunting with so many strokes to remember.

The three boys tried their best to replicate the character, scratching the ground with their branches. But being of playful age, they soon lost interest. Before long, they ran off to poke at the ants on the ground.

Shen Dalang cast a glance at the three boys now engrossed in their games and then at Chen Xiaosang who was still diligently practicing her writing. He figured she wouldn’t last much longer and returned to his own reading.

After numerous attempts, Chen Xiaosang finally committed the character to memory. Looking at her somewhat crooked writing on the ground, she muttered to herself with satisfaction, “I am pretty smart, aren’t I?”

Just as she felt a sense of accomplishment, she noticed the three boys huddled in a corner of the yard. Dropping her branch, she hurried over to them.

Shen Dalang glanced at her, confirming his earlier thought that her concentration wouldn’t last for long. Learning to read and write could be a tedious task, after all.

Hands on her hips, Chen Xiaosang asked in an annoyed tone, “What are you guys doing?”

Er Zhu excitedly tugged at Chen Xiaosang’s sleeve, pointing at a hole in the ground, “Auntie, there are so many ants in here! Can we drown them with water?”

Annoyed at their lack of focus, Chen Xiaosang responded, “Aren’t you interested in learning how to write anymore?”

Sanzhu replied with a whine, “Writing is so tiring.”

“Poking ants is more fun,” Er Zhu added, as if to justify their actions.

“My head hurts,” Dazhu chimed in, rubbing his temples.

Frustrated, Chen Xiaosang retorted, “Don’t you want your parents to understand you?”

Inspired by this, San Zhu shouted enthusiastically, “Yes, we do!”

Dazhu and Er Zhu exchanged glances but remained silent. If their parents wanted them to learn writing, they would. However, playing with ants still seemed like a more exciting prospect.

Chen Xiaosang took Sanzhu’s hand, looking at him earnestly. “Sanzhu, you and I will learn to write together. You’ll be as smart as Auntie then, even smarter than your two brothers!”

Sanzhu bounced with joy. “I want to be as smart as my Aunt!”

Then, sticking his tongue out at his brothers, he taunted, “You two are so silly!”

Dazhu and Erzhu couldn’t bear their little brother’s jibes. They too raised their hands, indicating their wish to be clever.

Chen Xiaosang led them back to the place where they had been practicing writing. With her small hands clasped behind her back, she scrutinized their every stroke, looking every bit like a little old man.

Occasionally, she corrected their writing like a seasoned teacher, pointing out their mistakes. She seemed to embody the aura of a wise old scholar.

Shen Dalang would occasionally cast a glance their way. Seeing their writing improve, he couldn’t help but look at Chen Xiaosang a few times.

They seemed engrossed in their learning, but he figured they wouldn’t last more than two days.

Yet, to his surprise, the next day four children arrived, and the day after, even more came…

Before they knew it, June had arrived. Chen Xiaosang sighed, disappointment in her voice. “Farm work calls us home. We’ll need to help out and won’t have time to study writing anymore.”

Shen Dalang breathed a sigh of relief, responding, “Then you should help out at home.”

Chen Xiaosang felt a pang of sadness and frustration. They had only just learned to write all the family names and now they had to stop.

Brother Dalang, studying alone, would no doubt get lonely, but there was no other choice. Their father had said that the rice was ready for harvest. If they didn’t cut it soon, it would fall onto the ground.

Collecting herself, Chen Xiaosang addressed Shen Dalang, “We’ll be free after September. We can come to see you then. If you miss us, feel free to visit.”

“Uncle Dalang, you can come and play with us anytime,” Sanzhu echoed after Chen Xiaosang.

Dazhu and Erzhu looked at him with hopeful eyes. “If anyone bullies you, just tell us. We’ll defend you!”

Shen Dalang was speechless. Who in the village would dare to bully him? And could these young ones really stand up for him?

Despite her disappointment, Chen Xiaosang rallied. “Brother Dalang, you must try hard to find the Tianma. When you do, bring it to my house.”

The mention of Tianma soured Shen Dalang’s mood. He hadn’t been able to find any for the past ten days.

Seeing the hopeful look in Xiaosang’s eyes, he managed a nod, “Alright.”

After bidding farewell to the four children, he quickly shut the yard gate and dove into his studies with fervor.

The Chen family had started the harvest. The four brothers, including Dashu, had ceased their business ventures, and all the adults were fully engrossed in harvesting the rice.

Mrs. Li and Dashu’s wife were busy bundling the rice in the fields, while the frail and delicate wife of the second brother was left to handle the chores at home.

There was no shortage of work at home either – feeding the chickens, ducks, and pigs, sweeping, laundry, and cooking.

Since the harvest had begun, the family was surviving on dried food, eating their fill at every meal, three times a day.

The 800 coins that had been set aside for Dazhu and the others had dwindled to just over 400 coins. Chen Xiaosang coaxed Mrs. Li into parting with it, using it to purchase meat from Shen Dalang’s house to prepare a hearty stew for the family.

As villagers ambled by, burdened with their loads, they would invariably catch a whiff of the tantalizing aroma wafting from the Chen’s residence.

The mouthwatering scent was too much for those laboring in the fields. Every family, after all, partook in the tradition of eating meat during the busy farming season.

Chen Xiaosang was tasked with protecting the sun-dried rice grains in the courtyard, brandishing a cloth-wrapped stick to ward off any opportunistic sparrows.

Resting under her straw hat, she would, during lulls in her duty, use the stick to etch words onto the grains. She found this pastime far more comfortable than scratching words into the ground.

Having stumbled upon this little diversion, Chen Xiaosang would, come evening, gather the three children to write upon the grains. Their penmanship, as a result, improved remarkably.

Once the rice had been fully harvested, it was time for the children to take to the fields.

With her straw hat perched atop her head, and accompanied by the three Zhu brothers, Chen Xiaosang ventured into various fields with a basket, collecting the stray stalks of rice.

It was by sheer coincidence that they ran into Chen Qingsong’s four grandsons in the fields belonging to Minister Wang.

Chen Qingsong’s grandson, Gouzi, arrogantly shoved San Zhu backward, declaring, “This is my uncle’s land, you’re not allowed to glean here!”

Dazhu, irate, pulled his sister and two brothers behind him. “My father said we can glean from any field!”

After the harvest, some rice ears would inevitably be left behind in the fields, and a few grains would end up buried in the soil.

The adults, preoccupied with threshing the grain, would often delegate the task of collecting these leftovers to the children. At this point, any remnants were fair game – the person who found them could claim them.

Still fuming, Gouzi retorted, “Well, I’m not letting you glean here!”

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