Chapter 33: The Foolish Wang Sanlang

Old Wang had a bit more knowledge than the rest. “We’re roasting the earth to dry out its moisture. If you mix this cooked soil with lime and lay it on the road, the surface won’t grow weeds in the future.”

Madam Jia retorted, “Is it really worth it? So what if some grass grows, just pull it out. Look how much firewood we burn every day for this—tsk, tsk.”

Wang Erlang agreed, nodding his head.

Old Wang shot a glare at his wife and son. “Pull it out? Every time we fix the road, we fix several miles at a stretch. After a rain, all the grass pops up again—you think you can pull it all?”

Everyone imagined the scene and immediately felt less stingy about the firewood.

By the time they headed home, the piles of roasted and raw soil were clearly separated, and a haze of lime and dust hung in the air. The whole Wang family hurried past, covering their mouths and noses, not daring to linger.

As they neared their gate, Wang Shu muttered, “Third Uncle didn’t go to the fields all day. I wonder if Aunt’s headache has gotten any better.”

Little Jia glanced at Wang Zhu, “Even her own son isn’t worried. Why are you?”

Wang Shu lowered her head, blushing, while Wang Zhu, annoyed, quickened his pace and overtook his cousin.

What was unusual was that Wang Dalang was standing inside the threshold, leaning against the door, looking anxious and listening intently. As soon as he heard movement, Old Wang stepped in and his face fell. “Dalang, why are you standing here? Where’s Sanlang?”

Wang Ge immediately sensed something was wrong.

Sure enough, Wang Dalang, looking flustered, called out, “Father,” then reached out, “Where’s Age?”

“Father.”

“Huba, did you leave the things you wove in the storeroom? The Zhangs came by with their cart today. Yao’s headache was particularly bad, so she had your Third Uncle fetch her things from the storeroom to send back to her mother’s house. It wasn’t until noon that your Third Uncle mentioned what he’d taken, and only then did we realize he might have taken your work as well…”

In these few words, Wang Ge had already figured out Yao’s scheming: she’d pretended to have a headache, detained Third Uncle, told him exactly where her things were in the storeroom, so he’d move everything—hers and Wang Ge’s—onto the Zhangs’ ox cart. Any blame would fall on Third Uncle; no one could point fingers at Yao.

Opening the storeroom, sure enough, both the pumpkin food box and the window mat were gone! Fortunately, the hexagonal bamboo fan was small and had always been kept in her room, so it was safe.

Old Wang flew into a rage. “Where’s that rascal? Why isn’t he out here yet? And that foolish woman!”

From the east wing came only the cries of Wang Peng and Wang Ai. Wang Zhu shrank at the door, not daring to look up or return inside.

Wang Dalang still clung to hope. “Huba? Are your things still here?”

“They’re gone.”

Wang Dalang slammed his cane on the floor in frustration. “Third Brother and Yao have gone after the Zhangs’ cart, but how can they catch up to an ox cart on foot?”

Old Wang coughed in anger, alarming Wang Erlang, who quickly rubbed his father’s chest.

Madam Jia was still rummaging hopelessly in the storeroom, her voice rising to a wail. “What are we going to do? Tomorrow’s the fifteenth—what if the peddler comes as scheduled and Age has nothing to deliver? He’ll never come back after that!”

Old Wang worried about the longer-term consequences: if the peddler came for nothing and spread complaints back home, Wang Ge’s reputation as a top young craftsman would be ruined.

Wang Ge, helping her grandfather, tried to reassure him. “What’s done is done, getting upset won’t help. Grandpa, Grandma?”

Wang Xing, ever sensible, hurried to pull Grandma away.

Wang Ge continued, “Your health is more important than making money. Besides, Third Uncle and Aunt might recover the things soon. The peddler may not even come tomorrow. If I have two more days, I’m sure I can figure something out.”

“Two days?” Wang Shu couldn’t help but cry out in alarm.

Two days—barely enough to split some bamboo strips! What were they going to do? Her sister had worked hard for twenty days, and now, in a single day away from home, disaster had struck! She felt aggrieved herself; her sister must feel even worse! As Wang Shu turned away to wipe her tears, she caught sight of her mother covering her face with her sleeve, her features twisted in silent laughter.

Little Jia, caught by her daughter’s gaze, didn’t mind, dabbing her eyes with her sleeve—there were indeed tears, but from holding back laughter. She’d truly underestimated her sister-in-law before; today she’d struck right at the weak spot, and even shifted blame onto her brother-in-law. No one could fault her!

The east wing door creaked open, startling Wang Zhu. Her younger brother Wang Peng poked his head out, calling joyfully, “Father’s back! Mother!”

Everyone turned to see Wang Sanlang and Yao returning, both looking travel-worn and empty-handed.

“You rascal!” Old Wang thundered.

Madam Jia rushed outside to look—nothing on the ground. “Where are the things? Sanlang, did you really put Age’s work on the Zhangs’ cart? Why didn’t you ask before moving anything? Haven’t you been in and out of the yard these days? Didn’t you see what your niece was weaving? Hmm?”

Wang Sanlang let his mother strike him, explaining shamefully, “I… Mother, Father, this is my fault. Age, your uncle is to blame. Tomorrow, I’ll see whose ox cart is free and go to Shatun—I’ll get your things back.”

Yao’s eyes were swollen from crying, and she hastened to reassure everyone, “Rest assured, uncle, cousin, my family may be poor, but we would never keep something that doesn’t belong to us.” With that, she promptly collapsed against Wang Sanlang.

“Hey? Hey?” Wang Sanlang propped up the fainted Yao and dragged her back to the east wing.

Wang Ge supported Yao’s right arm, pinching and twisting as she went, while advising her uncle, “Don’t worry, what’s done is done, Aunt’s health comes first. Let Zhu make Aunt some egg soup to nourish her.”

Wang Sanlang, feeling warmth in his heart, only felt more guilty toward his niece.

Old Wang and his wife had thought Yao was faking, but seeing Sanlang help his new wife inside, her forehead beaded with sweat and her right arm twitching, they realized she truly was unwell.

“Sigh! Dalang, come here!” Old Wang led the way, and seeing Erlang follow closely, thought better of stopping him.

Outside, Wang He tiptoed to crouch beneath the window to eavesdrop.

Old Wang asked, “Age, this fiasco is your Third Uncle’s doing. Tomorrow morning, whatever he tries, he must go to Shatun and get your things back. But we can’t rely entirely on him—what if the peddler comes tomorrow?”

Wang Ge took a deep breath and said hesitantly, “I’ll need to use the kitchen for a few hours tonight. If I can come up with an idea, I’ll work by lamplight as long as I can.”

Madam Jia despaired, “How could you possibly finish in time!”

Wang Ge lowered her head in silence. There really wasn’t time to weave anew; if the peddler came tomorrow, she wouldn’t even finish splitting bamboo strips. But she couldn’t just sit there and worry—she simply wouldn’t give in, nor let Yao have her way!

Old Wang said, “Do what you need to do—don’t worry about the firewood. But remember, put out the fire before midnight.”

“Yes.” The law these days forbade commoners from burning any fire after midnight.

“Is there anything I can help with? I know some carpentry,” said her grandfather.

“I can manage on my own. Grandpa, Grandma, please don’t worry or blame Third Uncle anymore. This was partly my fault too—I shouldn’t have left the important things in the storeroom. I’ll go help Zhu make dinner so we can eat quickly and free up the kitchen.”

After Wang Ge left, Wang Xing’s little face was grave. “Grandpa, Grandma, don’t worry. Father, Uncle, don’t worry either. Tonight I’ll help Sister keep the fire burning—very bright, so she won’t lose a moment’s work.”

Old Wang called his grandson over and held him close. “Hutou is so little, yet already more…” More sensible than his Third Uncle, he thought with a sigh. All day, Sanlang hadn’t wondered what his niece was weaving! Even if his wife pointed out the place, didn’t he have eyes? Couldn’t he think for himself? Such fine bamboo blinds and pumpkin food boxes—how could his wife have made them herself? He never even thought to ask, never even wondered, and yet he dared throw them onto another family’s cart?