Morning light was just beginning to break, and most of the villagers in Yuqing Village were already up and about.

Smoke curled up from many chimneys, and along the winding paths through the village, small groups of villagers could be seen walking—some carrying hoes, others leading oxen. Clearly, they were on their way to the fields.

It was the spring plowing season, the most important time of the year for farming. As the saying goes, “The whole year’s work depends on a good start in spring.” Anyone who slacked off now would surely regret it come harvest time.

Zhao’er woke right on time. When she opened her eyes, she saw that the little fellow beside her was still asleep.

He’d had a fever again last night not long after she went to bed. She had been busy tending to him for most of the night, and it wasn’t until the latter half that his fever finally broke.

Sitting up, she gently placed a hand on his forehead. Only when she was sure it was no longer burning did she quietly get dressed and climb off the kang bed.

The first thing she did was open the door. Their black dog, Heizi, who had been impatiently pacing, darted out in a flash. Zhao’er stepped outside after him and watched with amusement as Heizi scrambled out the courtyard gate to relieve himself. She shook her head with a small smile.

Others in the courtyard were already up—specifically Mrs. Zhou from the third branch of the family, and her eldest daughter, Xue Tao’er.

It was the third branch’s turn to handle the cooking today. According to the Xue family’s rules, aside from each branch’s personal chores, shared household duties were rotated equally—one branch per day.

Whoever was in charge of cooking not only had to prepare meals for the entire household but also had to tend to the livestock. The Xue family kept two large, fat pigs, and just taking care of those beasts was already a hefty chore. On top of that, there were chickens to feed, water to carry, and firewood to chop. So on the days when a branch handled the shared chores, the women of that branch were excused from working in the fields.

It all looked fair on the surface, but everyone in the household knew how things really worked.

Their eldest aunt, Mrs. Yang, liked to flaunt her husband’s status as a tongsheng (a scholar who passed the county-level exam), which she used to set herself above the rest. Ever since Xue Qingshan earned that rank, she no longer lifted a finger around the house. What’s more, Old Mrs. Zhao always sided with her, leaving others reluctant to speak up.

Originally, it was Gouzi’s mother, Mrs. Qiu, who took on most of the work. When Mrs. Zhou married into the family, the two sisters-in-law finally had someone to share the load. But after Mrs. Qiu passed away following her husband’s death, everything fell to Mrs. Zhou again—until the fourth branch brought in Mrs. Sun, which finally gave her a bit of a break.

Unfortunately, Mrs. Sun was lazy and cunning, so the bulk of the work still landed on Mrs. Zhou’s shoulders.

Back when Mrs. Qiu was still alive, Zhao’er would often help her. After Mrs. Qiu passed, Zhao’er became responsible for the second branch’s chores as well as some shared duties. She was still young back then, so Old Master Xue had instructed her to focus on taking care of Gouzi and not worry about the shared household work.

That gave her the time to do odd jobs and earn a bit of silver on the side. Still, Zhao’er was someone who followed her conscience. If she had spare time and energy, she’d always lend a hand where she could. As for people like Mrs. Sun, who liked to make snide remarks, Zhao’er never hesitated to fire back with her sharp tongue.

Seeing Xue Tao’er struggling to draw water from the deep well, Zhao’er rubbed her face and walked over to help.

At thirteen, Xue Tao’er was like a flower bud just beginning to bloom. Though not stunningly beautiful, she had a sweet, delicate charm. When she saw Zhao’er come to help, she smiled and asked, “Sister Zhao’er, is Second Brother feeling better?” (In the Xue family, Gouzi was the second eldest grandson, hence the name “Second Brother.”)

“He had another fever last night, but he seemed a bit better by early morning,” Zhao’er replied, then looked around and asked curiously, “Where’s Third Uncle?”

Though Xue Qingbai was quiet and reserved, he always doted on his wife and daughter. Whenever it was their branch’s turn to cook, he would rise early and fill the water jars before heading off.

The Xue family had their own well, but it was extremely deep. Without a pulley system, drawing water was exhausting work—especially for a young girl. Only someone as strong as Zhao’er, whose strength rivaled that of a grown man, could haul up a full bucket from the depths with ease.

“My dad’s already gone to the fields,” Tao’er said. “He said he’d get some work done early and come back in time for breakfast.”

Xue Qingbai was an honest, hard-working farmer. Unlike his brothers who each had other trades, he knew only farming, so he devoted himself entirely to the land. The Xue family owned over thirty mu of farmland, and most of the work now fell to him, Old Master Xue, and the fourth brother, Xue Qinghuai.

The women in the family also helped during the busy farming seasons, but there was only so much strength a woman could offer. Thankfully, the three men were all seasoned hands when it came to working the land. And when it got too busy, they’d hire short-term laborers for a few days—so there was never too much worry about falling behind on fieldwork.

Just then, the door to the fourth branch’s room opened, and Xue Qinghuai stepped out.

The men of the Xue family were all tall, and Qinghuai had inherited that same sturdy build.

With thick brows, sharp eyes, and a straight nose, he looked strong and striking. Dressed in a plain, dark-blue coarse cotton tunic, he gave off an air of quiet strength. Truth be told, the Xue men were all fairly good-looking. The women in the family, by contrast, were rather average, but their children and grandchildren—especially the younger generation—were notably good-looking, even among the best in the village.

“Zhao’er, Tao’er—you’re both up so early,” Xue Qinghuai said as he strode over. He took the wooden bucket from Zhao’er’s hands and poured the water into the large vat nearby.

“This kind of heavy work isn’t for you two little girls. Go do something else—Fourth Uncle will handle the water,” he said warmly.

Neither Zhao’er nor Tao’er argued. One went to the kitchen to help her mother with breakfast, while the other fetched a basin to wash up.

As time passed, more members of the Xue family woke up, and the courtyard grew lively with voices. From the kitchen, Mrs. Zhou called out that breakfast was ready.

In the countryside, breakfast was a simple affair—no one bothered with setting tables or formalities. Each person got a bowl of food and found a spot to eat.

That morning, they were having two-grain porridge. It was called that because it was made from a mix of two different grains. Yuqing Village didn’t grow rice; only crops like wheat, sorghum, millet, and corn thrived here. While most households planted wheat, they rarely ate it themselves—instead, they sold it and used the money to buy other grains.

Even a well-off family like the Xue’s, with surplus grain stored up, didn’t eat refined grains at every meal. Usually, they mixed coarse and fine grains together. Today’s porridge was a mix of millet and sorghum, simmered into a thick and hearty meal.

Since it was a busy farming season, the porridge was made a bit more filling than usual. It wasn’t thick enough to stand a chopstick in, but it was certainly better than the usual watery fare.

Truth be told, though the Xue’s looked prosperous compared to others in the village, they were still supporting three scholars. Not to mention Gouzi—just the expenses of the eldest branch’s father and son added up to quite a sum each month. No wonder Old Mrs. Zhao was notoriously frugal—so tightfisted she could squeeze blood from a flea.

Zhao’er ladled out two bowls of porridge, placed a few corn cakes on a coarse porcelain plate, and added some pickled vegetables on the side. Then she carried everything back to the second branch’s room.

As soon as she stepped through the door, she saw Xue Gouzi sitting up on the kang bed.

She quickly set the wooden tray down on the square table and walked over to him.
“You feeling any better? Are you hungry? I’ll bring you some porridge.”

Xue Gouzi looked at her with a complicated expression.

After experiencing that strange dream, he no longer knew how to face Zhao’er. Every time he looked at her, he couldn’t help but recall the version of himself in the dream—those scathing words hurled at him before his death. He had tried to search his memories for the cause of Zhao’er’s death, but it seemed like that part of Xue Tingrang’s life was buried too deep, too painful to recall. There was nothing.

Even last night, in a feverish haze, Gouzi had thought about it for a long time. He couldn’t make sense of who he really was now—was he still Xue Gouzi, or was he somehow that Xue Tingrang from the dream? Was the dream just a strange reflection of his thoughts, some absurd vision conjured by his restless mind?

Still, part of him had a feeling—if that dream was real, then a series of events would soon follow. If they really happened, then he would have no choice but to accept the truth of it all.

While he was lost in thought, he reached out to take the bowl—only to find that he didn’t even have the strength to hold it. Luckily, Zhao’er noticed in time and caught it before it spilled all over him.

He felt embarrassed, even anxious. It was strange—he never used to feel this way in front of Zhao’er. But maybe that dream had shifted something inside him, because now his mindset seemed completely different.

Zhao’er teased him with a grin, “Why so polite with me? Did you forget who used to clean up after you when you wet the bed as a kid?”

Zhao’er had come to live with the Xue family when she was seven. At the time, Gouzi was only five. One winter night, he had wet the bed—something he hadn’t done in a long time. No one knew if it was from drinking too much water before bed or what, but it happened.

Mrs. Qiu, his mother, had always been frail ever since giving birth to him. And it was freezing that night. So Zhao’er, wanting to repay the second branch for taking her in, had stepped up and volunteered to wash his soiled clothes. That was the start of her life as a child bride in the Xue family.

Xue Gouzi had always hated how Zhao’er brought things like that up. She liked to tease him with such nonsense, even as they grew older. A boy his age cared about his dignity—especially someone like him, sensitive and thoughtful by nature. But oddly enough, today he didn’t feel irritated—only a little flustered.

He was surprised by his own reaction.

By now, Zhao’er had scooped up a spoonful of porridge and was holding it up to feed him. Reflexively, he opened his mouth. The porridge, gently blown cool by her, slid into his mouth just as he caught sight of her smiling eyes.

Those eyes were wide and bright—like they held stars in them. His face flushed red.

Zhao’er only smiled wider and handed him a corn cake. “Here, eat up. I’ll make you stewed eggs for lunch.”

She was treating him like a little kid.

That thought struck him suddenly, and it left him oddly conflicted.

He chewed the porridge Zhao’er fed him while his mind spun with thoughts—chaotic, tangled thoughts he couldn’t untangle.

Just then, someone knocked at the door.

It was Xue Qingshan.

Just like in the dream.

His pale face was full of concern and emotion. He sighed deeply as he spoke, saying a lot in a few words—urging Gouzi to focus on getting better, not to overthink things. He reassured him that with his grandparents and uncles around, the family would never let him go without.

To be fair, Xue Qingshan had inherited the good looks and tall build common among the Xue men. In his youth, he’d been one of the most admired young men in Yuqing Village. Unfortunately, with age, he’d put on some weight and lost a bit of that charm.

“I have to get to the school,” he said, patting Gouzi on the shoulder with a sigh. “You just rest and recover. You’ve always been the overthinking type.” Then he lifted the curtain and left.

What was that about?

Zhao’er was puzzled. She thought it over for a moment, but when she couldn’t make sense of it, she let it go and focused on feeding Gouzi his porridge. Gouzi, on the other hand, sat there deep in thought, clearly distracted.

Meanwhile, in the main room, Old Mrs. Zhao was chatting with Old Master Xue about what had happened the day before.

She was holding an old piece of clothing, mending it as she spoke. “If you ask me, you’ve always spoiled that little one. You feel sorry for him, but he doesn’t feel sorry for you. Money doesn’t fall from the sky, you know. He gets upset and suddenly the whole family has to see physicians for him—one commotion after another. He’s going to turn this house upside down.”

Old Master Xue was in his fifties, tall and solidly built. Years of working under the sun had tanned his skin to a weathered reddish-brown. He sat cross-legged at the edge of the kang bed, dressed in dark blue coarse homespun clothes, puffing steadily on his pipe.

It was his routine—after meals or before heading out to work, he had to smoke a bit of dry tobacco. Without it, he felt off.

“He’s sick. Everyone gets sick now and then,” he said at last in his raspy voice.

The rhythmic clack of the pipe tapping resumed. Wisps of bluish smoke curled into the air, drifting around the room. His deeply lined face, half hidden behind the haze, seemed older, almost ghostlike in the smoke.

“But just look how long he’s been causing a fuss,” Old Mrs. Zhao pressed on. “Yesterday alone cost us over a hundred wen! Do you know how long you have to work in the fields to earn that much? And just the day before, Eldest Son asked for two hundred more—said it was for a classmate’s family birthday. Then there’s the disaster last year, and instead of lowering taxes, they raised them! Now he says he wants to send Juncai to the town school—that’s another big expense. How much can our family really take?”

Seeing how distressed his wife was, Old Master Xue straightened up, tapped the ash out of his pipe onto the kang table, and shot her a sideways glance.

“You feel bad about the hundred wen Gouzi needed, but you just hand over whatever Eldest Son asks for?” he said. “Listen, I’m telling you this as the head of the family—you’re a mother and a grandmother. Don’t play favorites so obviously. You’ll stir up resentment among the younger ones.”

Old Mrs. Zhao immediately bristled at that. She smacked him lightly across the kang table and snapped, “I’m biased? And what about you?”

Of course he was too. But what could he say? The eldest son was the most accomplished in the family, and Juncai was the brightest of the grandchildren. Having scholars in the family changed everything—people respected them. Outside the village, everyone said the Xue family was proper and respectable because of them.

If the eldest branch produced a xiucai—a licentiate—it would bring great honor to the whole clan.

But when it came to Gouzi… Old Master Xue couldn’t help but frown.

Of course he knew what his wife was upset about—Gouzi really had been too thoughtless. Yes, Eldest Son did owe Second Son a life, but given the Xue family’s current financial situation, they had no choice but to prioritize the one with a future.

It wasn’t that Old Master Xue looked down on his grandson—but the truth was, Gouzi simply couldn’t compare to Juncai. Not in talent, not in promise. Ambition was good, but one had to be realistic.

“The eldest daughter-in-law has brought it up several times already,” Old Mrs. Zhao went on. “That academy in town can’t be delayed. A delay now means missing half a year, and Eldest Son’s even hoping to have Juncai sit the exam next year.”

“I made a promise to Second Son back then!” Old Master Xue said heavily, letting out a long sigh. He took a few deep puffs from his pipe, only to choke and cough.

“Well, you figure it out then!” Old Mrs. Zhao snapped, throwing the half-mended clothing aside. She turned her back to him and lay down again on the kang, leaving him staring at her spine.

Old Master Xue smacked his lips a few times in frustration, the lines on his face deepening. “You’re something else, old woman. Don’t you realize—if word of this gets out, where will our family’s reputation be in the village?”

“So what do you want us to do then? Just not go through with it?” Old Mrs. Zhao sat up in a huff, glaring at him.

“We’ll go through with it, of course,” he said. “The question is how. Here’s what we’ll do—have Cuiping come back tomorrow. This is something she has to handle.”

=^_^=