Chapter 3: The Neighbor’s Boy, Young Zhang Cai

Wang Xing took a breath; as always, it was her elder sister who prevailed.

As expected, their grandfather’s fury blazed, and he shouted, “Keep making a racket and you’ll be sent back to your room!”

“Grandfather, she started yelling at me first!”

Without waiting for their grandfather’s command, Wang Ge rose on her own, collected her bowl and chopsticks, and also gathered Wang He’s.

Wang He watched helplessly as her barely-touched meal was taken away. Anxious, she immediately got up to chase after, but it was too late—everything had already been dumped into the chicken feed bowl by the kitchen door.

“You shameless, worthless shoe—”

“He!” Wang Erlang called out. “Listen to your grandfather and go back to your room.”

“Father, you don’t know what Wang Ge—”

“Back. To. Your. Room!” With Erlang’s voice rising, the family patriarch noticed Dalang listening with worry and felt a pang of heartache, but he couldn’t scold the second house just because he pitied Dalang.

By the time dusk settled, Wang Ge was carrying her yoke to fetch water.

There was only one well at the north end of the village, and the neighbors were used to seeing the young lady from the Wang family come by at this hour. Out of kindness, they would share with her the buckets of water they’d just retrieved. It was just as well—she only ever filled her buckets halfway; any more would be too heavy.

By her third trip to the well, the other villagers had finished drawing water. The moon hung high and sparse stars shimmered as she skillfully pulled the rope tied to the bucket at one end of the well’s lever. After scooping out water, she released the rope, and the beam—weighted at the other end with a large stone—sank down, easily lifting the bucket out of the well.

This was the wisdom of the ancients! The principle of the lever had spread through the countryside thousands of years ago.

Wang Ge repeated this trek again and again until both large kitchen jars were filled to the brim. Even the village dogs had grown too lazy to bark.

Securing the door latch, she quickly washed up in the storage room. Though sweat soaked her, she could not afford hot water for bathing—it wasted firewood. Nor could she use water from the kitchen jars; her extra trips were for that purpose only. Every morning her aunt would inspect the water jars, and if the water level wasn’t full, she would immediately accuse the main branch of shirking work.

The water she’d used to wash her face was poured into the foot basin, and as she gently scrubbed, exhaustion washed over her and she nodded off. This was her everyday life, unbroken by wind, rain, frost, or snow—a routine she’d kept for many years.

Life was hard indeed, but no matter how difficult, it was still better than those paralyzed days when she was neither truly alive nor dead.

Back in her room, her father and little Tiger slept in the inner chamber, while she had the outer room.

Her father asked softly, “Is that you, Little Tiger?”

“Yes.”

“Go to bed, then.”

“Yes.”

Her father was sensitive by nature—every night he waited for his daughter to return, only relaxing after hearing her voice.

Wang Ge had slept barely two hours when the village roosters began crowing. Their own flock was all hens, too lazy to even lift their eyelids.

At the first crow, she had to rise, tying up her hair with hemp rope and putting on her coarse hemp tunic. The sleeves closed at the wrists, making it easy to work without needing armbands.

Breakfast was porridge, with a handful of salted beans to make it more filling.

Their fields lay far from home; it was inconvenient to return at midday, so she had to bring them lunch, a round trip of over two hours.

When the porridge was ready, she called her grandparents to rise outside their room, and soon the second and third households would awaken as well. While everyone ate, Wang Ge filled each person’s bamboo flask with water.

The second house’s eldest boy, Wang He, was nine; their youngest daughter, Wang Shu, was seven; and the third house’s eldest boy, Wang Zhu, was seven—all were to follow the adults to the fields. The remaining young children were watched over by the main branch, as long as they didn’t run outside the courtyard.

The grandparents left at first light.

Wang Peng, the “God of Sleep,” led his youngest sister, Wang Ai, back inside, while Wang Xing spread a mat in the courtyard, helped her father out, and brought over some willow branches.

By then, Wang Ge had finished tidying the kitchen and came over to comb her father’s hair. This was Wang Dalang’s happiest moment of the day; his daughter’s filial care revealed itself in every gentle movement.

She had long since grown used to not bathing for extended periods and the discomfort of lice. Carefully, she cleaned her father’s scalp, bound his hair, tied his kerchief, then styled Wang Xing’s hair into two little buns, half-down her back, making her look just like a tiny celestial hero. Her skin was a bit dark, but a child raised by her own hand—no matter how dark—was still lovable.

Once that was done, her father began weaving baskets, while she split firewood.

Seeing her father and elder sister so busy, Wang Xing felt useless. “When will I grow up?” she asked.

Wang Ge paused, glanced cautiously at the east wing, beckoned Wang Xing over, and whispered, “When you can read and write.”

“But only the Jia family has a tutor,” Wang Xing replied, tiptoeing to help wipe her sister’s sweat and lowering her voice sensibly.

Wang Ge flicked one of her little hair buns. “Don’t worry, your sister will find a way!”

Wang Dalang, who had been listening intently, was deeply moved.

His little daughter was cautious in both word and deed. Even when Tiger was learning to speak, she never glossed things over for her little brother, always explaining everything, whether or not he could understand. As a result, though Tiger was only four, he was smarter and steadier than other children his age.

“Treasured One, do you really have a way?” Wang Dalang couldn’t help but ask.

She squatted down and replied gently, “For something like this, how could I dare promise success? So, Father, please don’t tell Grandfather and Grandmother yet.”

“Yes, yes, of course!” Wang Dalang agreed at once.

Just then, their neighbor, Zhang Little Brother, called from outside the courtyard, “A Ge, are you home?”

She went out and asked, “Brother Cai, what is it?” Wang Xing followed her like a little tail.

Zhang Cai asked, “When are you going to collect stones?”

“Today.”

There was a wild mountain outside the village, with a winding stream at its base—no one knew which tributary of the Qu River it was. Most of the fertile fields in Bu Zhi Township lay around this stream. The flowing water had smoothed the stones along the banks into all sorts of shapes and colors, which Wang Ge adored; every few days, she would go collect some.

Zhang Cai lit up. “I’ll go with you. You’ll bring lunch as usual, and I’ll take Tiger to the old spot by the river to wait for you.”

“No.”

“Then I’ll go with you to deliver lunch, and take Tiger to wait at the foot of the slope, then we’ll go to the river together.”

“All right.”

“You really don’t give me any face—do you think I’d lose Tiger? Here, this is for you two!” Zhang Cai handed over a small cloth bundle, fragrant with fresh flatbread. “Just made these—eat them secretly, don’t let your cousins find out.”

“We just ate. Go on, I’ll call you when I bring lunch,” Wang Ge replied, not taking the bundle, a gentle smile on her face.

“Oh.” Zhang Cai’s cheeks flushed. He thought: She’s really beautiful when she smiles.

He left, glancing back every few steps.

Wang Ge led her little brother back into the yard and explained, “I didn’t let Zhang Cai take you to the riverbank because it’s not like ordinary places. He gets playful, and if he can’t watch you properly and you fall into the water, what then?”

“Mm! I’m a child—dangerous places, I should avoid on my own, unless I’m with you, Sister. Hee hee.”

Wang Ge affectionately tugged his little hair bun and went back to splitting wood.

Once she finished, she fed the chickens, then went to the well to do laundry. By the time she returned, it was already time to prepare the midday meal—known as “Day Meal.”

By this era, ordinary folk generally ate three meals a day, though the poorest still had only one.

The midday meal was steamed wild vegetable cakes and cold-dressed bottle gourd. The gourds were bartered with the Zhangs. Their family was large and strong, and from the first month of the year, they planted gourds, leeks, scallions, and garlic—quite a variety.

The Wang family, by contrast, planted only green wheat in the first month, soybeans in the second, millet and flax in the third.

She first served her father and younger siblings, covering their portions with cloth. The rest she divided in two—the larger share went into the big lunchbox for her grandparents and the smaller into the little lunchbox for herself and Wang Xing. This was manageable, but with a few water flasks added, the load was not light at all.