Chapter 13: Baicaotang

Wan Changsheng knew how to prepare some herbs, but these Sanqi were of good quality, and he was eager to buy more grain for the family. With a wife and child, it was essential to stock up, so he wouldn’t feel anxious.

That evening, after dinner, he discussed it with Meiniang. Of course, she agreed. Given the value of the herbs, it was better to exchange them for money sooner rather than later, especially since their grain supplies were running low. New grain would be harvested in July, and this was the cheapest time to buy.

“Husband, I won’t go. I’ll stay home and plant sweet potatoes. You can buy some cloth for us—green will do. I’ll make you both summer shirts, which can be worn in May. It would be best to buy some vegetable seeds as well; we have too few left.”

Wan Changsheng smiled and nodded. When he was alone, he hadn’t planted many vegetables, and it was better to grow more sweet potatoes and sell any surplus to the grain store.

“Father, I want to go with you!” Ping’an said, his big eyes sparkling with excitement. He had never been to the county town. He had only been to the town twice.

Wan Changsheng nodded. “Wife, I’ll take him along. We can buy some writing supplies—ink, paper, and brushes. When we return, I’ll teach him some characters. Though the primers we have for him are a bit old, they will suffice for now. I’ll lay an old quilt in the cart, and he can lie down or sit comfortably.”

Meiniang looked at her son. “You must listen to your father when you go out. The county town can be bustling with people; don’t wander off.”

Actually, they had brought quite a few books with them, all belonging to her late husband. They were still in the trunk, but eventually, they would need to be given to Ping’an. Books were far too expensive.

During her three years with her late husband, she had learned some characters herself, which she had passed on to her son. So, he wasn’t entirely illiterate.

Wan Changsheng finished preparing the cart, laid down the old quilt, and helped his son climb aboard. The fresh herbs they had gathered yesterday were in a basket, along with the herbs they had dried in March.

However, those herbs weren’t worth much; they were common ones. Only the Sanqi that Ping’an had discovered held any real value.

The child had an exceptional memory. Once he mentioned something, he typically remembered it well. Such intelligence might one day help him achieve success in the exams.

Wan Changsheng silently vowed that as long as his child studied well, he would find a way to support him. If necessary, they could venture a little deeper into the mountains, being cautious to ensure safety.

As the herbs were becoming scarcer in the foothills, and prey was also limited, even small game wasn’t yielding much profit. They needed to come up with better strategies.

The cart quickly left the village. Ping’an sat on the quilt, gripping the railing with his small hands. The cart had a canopy made from thick oilcloth, which protected them from the rain.

The driver’s seat also had a front cover, but there was no protection on the sides. On rainy days, they would need to wear raincoats and hats.

At this time in the Great Zhou, there were no transparent glass windows. Whether there was any glazed glass, he wasn’t sure; he had never seen such things.

On either side of the road, farmers were busy with spring plowing. An acre of land produced only two to three hundred jin of grain. With taxes at ten percent, and after deducting seeds, they would end up with only about two hundred jin of rice.

Rice was priced at twelve wen per jin, while broken rice was cheaper at eight wen. Brown rice was five wen but was hard to swallow, so even in difficult times, Meiniang and Ping’an mainly exchanged their grain for broken rice, consuming less white rice.

Recently at their new home, they had been eating a mix of white and broken rice, but Meiniang had already said that soon they wouldn’t be able to eat it this way anymore.

Money was essential; they needed to earn more.

Ping’an closed his eyes, thinking about studying. His maternal grandmother’s village had a private school run by the village head.

Old He, the scholar, had spent most of his life preparing for the examinations, only passing at the age of forty. It was said he had spent a significant amount and suffered a lot during the process. Eventually, realizing he couldn’t pass anymore and with his age and family finances, he decided to dedicate himself to running a private school.

Ping’an had heard from his cousin that not many children in the village went to school. The better families usually only chose clever children who could recognize a few characters, typically studying for only a year or so.

In the surrounding three or four villages, there were only about a dozen children, which included the village head’s two sons.

In He Village, the only child truly studying was He Tao, the village head’s eldest son, who was now fifteen years old and already a student at the county school.

Studying was necessary, and he recognized the characters of this dynasty—ordinary traditional characters. He had learned them well while studying ancient medical texts, and his calligraphy was quite good, as he could write in both regular and cursive scripts.

In this life, his father had died young, and his mother could barely read; she had never attended a single day of school. He couldn’t claim to be literate.

If he did, people would think he was a monster.

The future felt uncertain, and he swayed gently into sleep.

Wan Changsheng didn’t hear his son speaking and turned back to see him curled up on the quilt. He couldn’t help but smile and stopped the cart, taking a small blanket from the storage compartment to cover the child.

Looking at the sleeping boy beneath the blanket, his eyes filled with warmth.

There was, however, one thing he was keeping from Meiniang.

During his sixth year in the military, the war escalated, and they were short on manpower. He had gone to the battlefield to help carry the wounded. Unfortunately, he had encountered an enemy cannon and was injured by flying debris, sustaining some superficial wounds on his abdomen and thigh. It hadn’t been serious, and he recovered in under a month.

However, the old military doctor had informed him that while marriage wouldn’t be affected, it might impact his offspring, suggesting that he might not have his own children, or if he did, there wouldn’t be many, and childbirth would be difficult.

At that time, he felt as if the sky was falling. A man without descendants equated to the end of his lineage.

There was no one to confide in; many had lost their lives, and as long as he hadn’t lost a limb, he was expected to be grateful.

Now that he was married, it was a stroke of good luck that their marital relations were unaffected. However, Meiniang had been yearning for two more children, which seemed unlikely.

When he had first heard that Meiniang’s husband had died and left behind a son, his heart raced. A six or seven-year-old child could forget the past if treated well and gradually become truly his own son.

Thus, when he had made the agreement with the child, he had also added a small request—that the child change his name and surname.

If he continued to be called Dashun, the child would never truly forget the previous six or seven years and wouldn’t genuinely become his son, which was his selfish desire.

The county town was an hour and a half from Wanjia Village. By the time Ping’an was awakened, they had already arrived at the city gate.

The entrance to the county was bustling, resembling the scenes from ancient costume dramas he had seen before.

As they passed through the gate, he saw his father giving three wen to a soldier—one for each person, including the horse.

The small cart headed directly for Baicaotang. The county town was quite large, with narrow streets twisting left and right. After a quarter of an hour, they stopped in front of the pharmacy.

The words “Baicaotang” were prominently displayed above the entrance, with people entering and exiting frequently.

Wan Changsheng carried his son down from the cart and handed the horse over to a young attendant nearby. Here, he didn’t have to worry about the cart; Baicaotang had staff to manage that.

He slung the basket over his shoulder and held the large basket in one hand while taking his son’s small hand with the other. “Ping’an, let’s sell the herbs first. Then, I’ll take you to the bookshop, and then we can have some wontons. Oh, your mother asked me to buy some cloth for us. If I forget, you must remind me.”