Chapter 11: A New Life

The Wans’ house was newer and larger than the old Chang family home.

This was Chang Shun’s first thought as he stepped into the courtyard.

Wan Changsheng led him to the west room: “Your mother and I will live in the east room, and you’ll live in the west. The toilet and washroom are in the backyard, along with your chickens.”

“Ping’an,” he said, “from now on, we’ll call you Ping’an.  May you live a peaceful and prosperous life.”

Chang Shun lowered his gaze: “Yes, Father.”

Wan Changsheng’s lips curved into a gentle smile. His voice softened: “Good boy. Take a look around. From now on, this is your home. You are now my eldest son, Wan Ping’an.”

Meiniang stood silently beside them, watching her son’s small frame.  A complex mix of emotions filled her heart. Perhaps this was for the best?

Chang Shun—no, Wan Ping’an—placed his belongings in the kang cabinet in his room. The room wasn’t small; it had a large kang, two kang cabinets, a table, and chairs. It felt a little empty, but it was clean and tidy, likely due to its newness.

The main house had three large rooms: two bedrooms on either side and a central hall. Behind the hall was a wooden partition, with a grain store and a storage room behind it.

The front yard was spacious, with a well in the upper left corner, making fetching water convenient. Not far from the courtyard was a clear stream, with wide flagstones on either side, ideal for washing clothes and vegetables.

A large vegetable patch bordered the house, enclosed by a bamboo fence. Many plants were already growing.

Undeniably, this house was far better than their village home—a hundred times better.

He wasn’t a child who craved excitement. Instead, he preferred the quiet; the gentle slope behind the house and the nearby hills suited him perfectly.

Secretly, he felt that his biological father might still be alive, living elsewhere with a wife and children.  Leaving his stepmother and living with his remarried mother seemed a far better option.

After exploring the outside, he returned to find his mother and stepfather in the kitchen, one tending the fire, the other chopping vegetables—like an old married couple.

He went through the partition into the backyard, which was also quite large. A woodshed and a stable stood side-by-side, next to the toilet and washroom.

The toilet was well-designed, with the pit outside the courtyard wall.  The washroom’s wastewater drained into a wooden bucket, easily cleaned with water when needed. This was a far cry from the Chang family home.

The chicken coop was on the other side of the wall, housing his ten hens and one rooster. His mother had wanted to give some to his maternal grandmother, but his grandmother refused, saying she already had plenty.

Honestly, he was a little reluctant to part with them. He’d raised these chickens since he was a child.

Back in his room, he sat cross-legged on the kang, the warmth easing his mind.

This body was undeniably a Great Zhou native, born and raised here for seven and a half years, only possessing the added memories of his past life.

However, with his medical knowledge from his previous life, he could lead a life far better than most, if he played his cards right.

Physicians, especially skilled ones, were highly respected. Medical skills weren’t easily shared, usually passed down within families. So, even with his knowledge, he needed a good teacher to help him.

Finding a good teacher was difficult and required opportunity.

For now, he could only put it aside.

His stepfather knew herbs, and collecting medicinal plants was a source of income for the family. Unfortunately, he was still too young. For years, he and his mother had lived a hard life, leaving him looking no older than five or six.

He looked at his small, thin hands, like little claws. There was no baby fat, no dimples—nothing like that.

His small, frail frame meant his stepfather wouldn’t likely take him to the mountains. Even if his stepfather was kind, it wouldn’t look good for his reputation.

Education in the Great Zhou Dynasty was expensive.  A year or two of basic literacy and arithmetic wasn’t too difficult; a couple of inexpensive primers would suffice, along with cheap—or even self-made—writing materials.

But the Imperial Examinations were different. Starting at seven or eight, one might not even pass the Xiucai examination by twenty. Good books were expensive, and the examination fees were even higher. Roughly speaking, it cost over ten taels of silver a year, excluding examination fees.

His stepfather’s family was only moderately well-off, and they would have more children.  Spending hundreds of taels to educate a stepson was unlikely, even if his stepfather was willing, he simply wouldn’t be able to afford it.

Besides, he didn’t want to burden this new family with excessive kindness. He didn’t want to test people’s goodwill.

He’d heard that his biological father’s family had been quite well-off in the village. His grandfather had been a merchant, earning more than most. But after his grandfather’s health declined, their family’s fortunes plummeted, forcing them to sell their farmland to fund his father’s pursuit of the Imperial Examination.

It all ended in vain.

He couldn’t describe the emotions swirling within him. Giving up the family land in exchange for a divorce papers that’ll allow his mother to remarry.

All this was done to prevent a situation where, if his father was still alive, he would be forced to endure a miserable existence under his stepmother’s watchful eye.

He didn’t want to be a pitiful child, testing people’s hearts.  Biological fathers might be distant, but they weren’t necessarily cruel. Stepmotners, however, were rarely kind to their stepchildren.

He was, to put it mildly, a child with many worries.

Since the age of two, misfortune had plagued the Chang family.  Life had become difficult, the laughter and joy gone.  At such a young age, he seemed to have lost his former optimism, becoming increasingly silent.

Dinner consisted of two dishes and a soup—their first real meal together as a family.

“Ping’an, eat more. You’re growing,” Meiniang said, placing a dish in front of him. “The leftovers from the banquet were given to those who helped.  This is freshly cooked.”

Her son had always been exceptionally clean. Even when hungry, he wouldn’t eat leftovers. He must have inherited that from his biological father.

Wan Changsheng’s lips curved into a slight smile.  His wife hadn’t called him Dashun.  Perhaps it was his own selfish desire—he hoped that from the moment his son entered the Wan family, his past would be severed, including his birth name. He wanted him to truly become his son, Wan Ping’an.

Having a wife and child was wonderful.  In the past, he lived alone, often cooking a large pot of food to last for days. It wasn’t about enjoying the food, just filling his stomach.

That night, Wan Changsheng took out his savings.  “Meiniang, this is all my savings.  There are fifty taels here. Twenty taels were spent on building the house, eighteen on the bride price, and two or three on other wedding expenses. I kept a little over a tael for myself. I plan to buy more grain soon. Our current supply isn’t enough for three people.”

Meiniang’s eyes widened. “Husband, how can there be so much left?”

Wan Changsheng, somewhat proud, explained the source of the money.  “Fifty taels isn’t much. I plan to use it for Ping’an’s education. He’s a bright child. If he does well, and takes the Imperial Examination, this money will be nothing.”

Meiniang’s eyes welled up. “Husband, education is expensive. I’ll try to work harder and save as much as possible.”

Wan Changsheng smiled. “Let’s keep this money hidden for now. We’ll work hard together.  When Ping’an grows up, we’ll need to fund his younger brother’s education as well.”