Early morning on October 16th. It was already between 9 to 11 a.m., but the sky remained dark and gloomy.

Heavy clouds pressed down from above, and the sun failed to shine through. Clearly, today wasn’t going to be good weather.

After breakfast, Li Xiaohan and Madam Wang stayed in the side room, removing cotton seeds. Outside, Li Xiandong, Master Han, and the others were digging the well—each member of the Li family busy with their own tasks.

But though Li Xiaohan’s hands never stopped moving, she seemed distracted, lost in thought.

“Xiaohan, what are you thinking about?” Madam Wang noticed the troubled look on her daughter’s face and asked with concern.

“Mother, I’m thinking about how to make removing these cotton seeds go faster,” Li Xiaohan answered, frowning.

“Silly child,” Madam Wang said teasingly, relieved that it wasn’t something more serious.

“This has been done the same way since ancient times. How much faster could you possibly make it? People only have two hands—you’re not going to grow four. If your fingers get sore, stop and rest for a while. Don’t rush, alright?”

Her tone even softened into that of coaxing a child. Looking at her clever and spirited daughter frowning like this just to work faster—it reminded her that Xiaohan was still just a child.

“Mother, that’s not it. The difference between humans and other animals is that humans use tools. Don’t you get it?” Li Xiaohan said, frustrated.

“I don’t,” Madam Wang said, gazing into her daughter’s dark eyes, but she wasn’t upset. She smiled and admitted it openly. “But I’m sure my daughter understands better than I do. Still, do you really need to figure out this tool right this second? Can’t you take your time? Two days, three days… one day, you’ll figure it out. There’s no need to make things so hard on yourself.”

“That’s true…” Li Xiaohan nodded blankly. Somehow, she’d been slowly convinced by Madam Wang.

Maybe she had been too impatient. These kinds of tools were the product of generations of accumulated wisdom and breakthroughs in productivity. How could she just copy them so easily?

Even if she understood the theory, it still wouldn’t be enough. After all, she knew humans could go to space, but that didn’t mean she could go herself.

In the end, individual intelligence had its limits. She wasn’t even trained in this field. If she couldn’t remember how the cotton gin invented by Whitney worked, then she just couldn’t. If she couldn’t recreate it, then she couldn’t.

Was she supposed to keep slamming her head against a dead-end road?

Li Xiaohan slowly came to terms with the fact that tools are meant to improve life, not make it more frustrating.

Seeing her daughter finally relax her tightly furrowed brows, Madam Wang felt relieved and returned to picking out the cotton seeds.

Inside the side room, the mood finally turned calm and peaceful.

Meanwhile, outside near the kitchen, Master Han and his apprentices drank bowls of hot, spicy ginger lamb milk. A warm rush spread from their stomachs through their bodies. Taking advantage of the heat to protect against the cold, they took turns going down into the well to haul water.

In the distance, the sky seemed to sink even lower than before. Dark clouds had swallowed the sun entirely.

“The way this sky looks… it’s about to snow,” Li Xiandong muttered, frowning as he looked up.

Suddenly, a cold wind surged through the trees, bending their tall tops and rushing toward them with a sharp, whistling roar. Outside, everyone instinctively hunched their shoulders against the chill.

DONG, DONG, DONG, DONG, DONG, DONG…

From somewhere far away, deep and heavy bell tolls began to sound. One after another, they came closer and clearer, ringing out like thunder in the hearts of those who heard it.

Clang.

The bowl in Li Xiandong’s hand slipped to the ground with a sharp, piercing crash. The unfinished goat milk splattered across the ground.

Splash.

That was the sound of a wooden bucket full of dirty water falling back into the well, a muffled noise rising from the depths.

Bang!

Madam Wang flung open the side room door and ran out, her voice filled with panic, fear, confusion, and helplessness. “Xiangdong!”

She knew that bell tolls like these meant something serious had happened. She didn’t know exactly what, but instinctively, she called out to the head of the household.

Li Xiandong snapped out of his daze at her cry, but he was just as shaken. His lips trembled as he tried to speak, his voice barely coherent, “His… Majesty…”

No one but him understood what he was trying to say. Perhaps he wasn’t expecting an answer anyway.

If the sky was falling, what could common people like them do? Were they headed back into chaos?

Li Xiaohan followed Madam Wang out and saw the look on their faces—like someone had died—and shouted sharply, “Father! It’s six bells, not nine! It’s not His Majesty!”

It wasn’t the emperor. It was the Crown Prince.

The main plot had finally begun.

The Crown Prince had died. The heir apparent would be appointed. The emperor would pass. The princes would rebel.

The curtain of chaos was quietly lifting—yet none of them knew it.

The sharp voice of a young girl cut through everyone’s panic, snapping them out of their trance.

Just then, another round of bell tolls rang out. Everyone strained to listen as if grabbing onto a lifeline.

DONG, DONG, DONG, DONG, DONG, DONG…

Even Li Xiaohan, who knew the plot, was afraid she might have misheard. She stopped talking and tilted her head, listening closely.

Yes, six bells. Not nine.

It was either the Crown Prince or the Empress—not the Emperor.

The Li clan had a long tradition. Within the clan, such matters were part of their teachings. And Master Han and his apprentices were from the city—they understood too.

Once they counted the bells clearly, a wave of relief passed through them, like survivors clinging to their sanity.

By this time, Li Xiaohan had already calmed down. Though still young, her face looked incredibly composed, calmer than someone her age should be. Her voice carried a coldness and strength that helped ground the panic in everyone’s hearts:

“Father, we don’t know what’s happening yet, but go immediately to the clan head’s house. Do whatever he tells you to.”

“You two apprentices, is Master Han still down in the well? Pull him up first. The mourning bell is ringing. The city gates might be closed soon. You can’t wander around in the city. Go home first, and come to our house again after things have settled down.”

“Mother, go wait in the side room. I’ll come back in shortly.”

With these rapid instructions, everyone finally knew what to do.

Right—find the clan head!

Li Xiandong, stumbling under his daughter’s instructions, dashed out in a panic, his mind in chaos. He left behind the two women, Master Han and his apprentices, and a pair of swinging doors that no one had yet shut.

At the bottom of the well, Master Han’s voice finally acknowledged the reality of his situation—he had to go home! What would his family do without someone to depend on?

“Throw down a rope and pull me up first,” Master Han called out from the well.

He had no strength left, his limbs weak and trembling, and couldn’t climb up using the footholds on his own.

His two apprentices quickly tossed down a rope, and together, they hauled him up. Using the rope’s support and stepping on the footholds, Master Han finally managed to climb out.

By the time he emerged, Li Xiaohan had already turned her back to the group, facing the wing room.

With Li Xiandong away from home, only two women remained in the Li household—Li Xiaohan and Madam Wang, who had retreated into the wing room.

Yet Master Han and his apprentices didn’t dare show the slightest disrespect. In fact, Master Han slightly lowered his head and respectfully addressed Li Xiaohan’s back: “Miss Li, we’ll take our leave now. Once the situation is clearer, we’ll return.”

Even his wording had grown more formal.

He knew that nine tolls of the bell meant the emperor had died, while six tolls meant the empress or crown prince had passed away. He knew that in such major events, the city gates would be closed to prevent unrest.

Master Han only knew these regulations because his family had lived in the prefectural city for generations, and a distant relative of his was a minor official.

But for a village girl like Li Xiaohan to possess such insight? That was something else entirely.

What impressed him even more than her knowledge was her composure. Knowledge could be taught, passed down from one generation to the next. But composure was different—it was something innate, something you couldn’t inherit.

She had counted the number of bells at the very first toll. She had instantly recognized the risk of the city gates closing. She had swiftly arranged for her father to gather information from the clan and make arrangements for outsiders like them—all in the face of sudden mourning?

Such calm in chaos. Such clear-headedness under pressure. Master Han, who was nearly fifty and well-versed in the ways of the world, felt even he couldn’t compare.

So his respect came from the heart, unrelated to age or gender.

Unfortunately, Li Xiaohan was unaware that her transmigrator “aura” had already deeply impressed Master Han and the others, making them see her as a person of great wisdom.

If she had known, she would have said it was simply because she knew the plot in advance and because her socialist-era education had left her completely unimpressed by feudal imperial authority.

So, unaware of all this, and with her back still turned in accordance with custom, Li Xiaohan spoke to reassure them. “There’s no rush to dig the well, Master Han. Go home for now. If the city gates are already closed, you can come stay at our place—we still have a few spare rooms.”

“Yes, thank you, Miss Li.”

The three of them responded, eager to rush home.

In times like these, who knew how their family members were faring? They needed to be there.

And they needed to find out more details and make preparations.

After the three left, Li Xiaohan stepped forward to close the main gate, remembering to take down the two red lanterns that had been hung at the start of the Winter Festival.

Once the gate was shut, she knew Li Xiandong wouldn’t be back for a while, so she pushed open the side room door to check on Madam Wang.

At that moment, Madam Wang was curled up like a mother hen during a storm, trembling in her nest amid the darkness and rain.

When she saw Li Xiaohan come in, she quickly said, “Xiaohan, Xiaohan, come here to Mother.”

The old hen wanted to draw her chick beneath her wing.

But the chick wasn’t afraid of anything—and even had the presence of mind to comfort her. “Mother, don’t be afraid. Father went to the clan head’s house. Whatever needs to be done, the elder will tell us.”

Now was not the time to flaunt her transmigrator aura. Acting out of the ordinary and breaking taboos could get her killed before she even realized it.

It was safest to follow the crowd—especially since the Li clan had deep roots and likely had established taboos for imperial mourning.

Even if she didn’t know what to do, the clan head could contact the village chief, who could then reach the prefectural authorities. There were always channels for information.

That was better than acting blindly at home.

And even if they made a small mistake, it wouldn’t matter much if the whole clan did the same. No one would wipe out the entire Li family over something minor. Those in power still cared about their reputations sometimes.

All that remained was to wait for Li Xiandong to bring back news from the clan head.

While Li Xiaohan waited for news, Madam Wang, though a bit calmer, still couldn’t relax completely. She called out again, “Xiaohan, come here to Mother.”

The east wing had a heated brick bed, and Madam Wang was huddled on it.

But Li Xiaohan didn’t go to her. After a moment’s pause, she walked over to the basket filled with raw cotton and calmly said, “Mother, if you’re really too worried, come help me pick the cotton seeds. When your hands are busy, your mind won’t wander as much.”

Madam Wang blinked in surprise—she hadn’t thought of that.

Yet Li Xiaohan’s voice was gentle but firm, making it hard not to feel reassured. Madam Wang couldn’t help but climb down from the bed and join her at the basket to pick seeds.

After about half an hour of work, sure enough, keeping busy helped ease the mind.

“Xiaohan, aren’t you scared?” Madam Wang asked curiously.

Li Xiaohan wasn’t scared, not really. She had been thinking about what this meant for her family. A great wave was coming—how could her family preserve themselves in its path?

But she couldn’t tell her mother all that. She didn’t want to cause her more anxiety. So instead, Li Xiaohan said in a relaxed tone:

“What’s there to be afraid of? Six bells doesn’t mean the Emperor has died—it’s either his wife or his son. Whichever one it is, what’s it got to do with us? Nothing at all. Honestly, today’s cold weather is going to affect us more. It’s about to snow, so, Mother, why don’t you hurry up and finish picking those cotton seeds? If not, I’ll be stuck wearing my old padded jacket and freezing.”

Madam Wang was stunned for a moment.

Right—when you put it like that, it actually made a lot of sense.

Compared to a royal death, a snowstorm really did have a more immediate impact on them. Suddenly, picking out the cotton seeds became an urgent task.

Madam Wang was convinced. She threw herself into the work, and the fear that had gripped her began to fade.

Though it started as a way to comfort Madam Wang, the repetitive, monotonous labor did in fact help people relax and stop overthinking.

Even Li Xiaohan herself found that she loosened up a bit during the task. The tension caused by the major plotline slowly faded away. Her body felt more limber, and her thoughts clearer.

Yes, the main storyline had begun—but fortunately, it wasn’t something that would escalate overnight. The old emperor still had three years left to prepare the way for the crown prince.

And as the eventual victor, Prince Ding’s power base lay right here. While the rest of the country was roiling with unrest, the eye of the storm—the provincial capital—remained relatively calm.

Li Xiaohan thought hard. If she remembered correctly, the prefectural city was never taken during the chaos—at most, there were only scattered rogue soldiers.

For now, staying in Pingshan Village near the prefectural city seemed like a good and manageable choice.

What she could do now was to steadily build her own strength—wealth, reputation, and ability. None could be lacking.

For the moment, she would lie low and slowly develop. If she could catch a ride on Prince Ding’s big ship along the way, all the better.

Li Xiaohan settled on this course for her family and slowly felt her heart grow calmer.

As the mother and daughter became absorbed in removing cotton seeds, they lost track of time. Suddenly, the Li family’s front door was knocked on heavily.

“Xiaohan, it’s me, open the door.”

The door was bolted shut from the inside.

“It’s your father,” Madam Wang said with delight.

“Yes, looks like Father’s back.” Li Xiaohan stood up, though her heart held a trace of doubt. That fast? They already confirmed the news?

The two women opened the front door. Li Xiandong, face pale, slipped inside and immediately bolted it shut again.

Li Xiaohan frowned at the sight. “Father, why are you back? What did the clan head say?”

“Nothing yet. The clan head went to find the village head so they could go together to get answers. He told us to take down all the red celebratory decorations at home and wait for him to return.” As he spoke, Li Xiandong looked around anxiously. “Where’s Master Han and the others?”

In truth, Li Xiandong had suddenly remembered that he had left his wife and daughter at home with Master Han and the others, which was why he rushed back. Otherwise, he would have stayed at the clan head’s house.

Although the clan head had told everyone to wait at home, most of the Li clan members had stayed gathered at his place. It was safer that way, and with more people, their courage felt stronger.

“I told them to go back to the city first—just in case the city gates close later. I also said they should come back once things settle down,” Li Xiaohan explained.

“Oh, that’s exactly right,” Li Xiandong said, fully approving of his daughter’s decision. “Then I’ll take down the two lanterns.”

That had been part of the clan head’s instructions.

“I already did, Father.”

“Good, good.” Li Xiandong nodded repeatedly. His daughter really was clever—she’d thought of the same things the clan head did.

But now that what he had rushed home to do was already done, Li Xiandong suddenly didn’t know what else to do. A lost and uncertain look appeared on his face.

Li Xiaohan glanced at her father and sighed. “Father, are you going back to the clan head’s place?”

“No, no. I’ll stay here with you two.” Sure, being with everyone at the clan head’s house felt safer—but what about his wife and daughter?

“Oh, then Father, let’s get ready for lunch. You and Mother can start getting things ready.” Li Xiaohan gave the instructions, seeing it as another way to keep them busy and shift their focus.

“Ah… lunch? We’re still eating lunch?”

Something this major just happened—and she still had the appetite to eat?

“Father, whether the Emperor lost his wife or his son, what’s it got to do with us? Are we going to stop eating because of it?” Li Xiaohan asked, surprised.

“Well… when you put it that way, I guess it really doesn’t concern us,” Li Xiandong said after giving it some thought. “Then… let’s eat.”

“Mm, go ahead, Father. I want steamed rice with cured meat, and fish soup.”

They just happened to be keeping two fish in the jar to purge the mud smell. Since the political situation was still unclear, they might as well enjoy a good meal. Who knew—if the Emperor decided to make everyone go vegetarian to mourn his son, they’d at least have had this one good meal.

As for whether eating meat now would be seen as taboo—well, it was just the three of them. With the doors shut, who would know?

Li Xiandong and Madam Wang were stunned by how naturally Li Xiaohan gave her request. For a moment, they felt like this was the proper response, and maybe they had been overreacting.

Then Li Xiaohan added: “Father, after lunch, if the clan head still hasn’t come back, you should go check on the wheat seedlings. It’s snowing.”

Sure enough, a few flakes had begun drifting down from the gray sky—so light they were easy to miss.

The first snow of the 23rd year of Taihe had finally arrived.

And just like that, the mention of wheat seedlings and snowfall brought Li Xiandong back to his senses. First, lunch—then he’d check the fields. The seedlings must not freeze.

Whether the Emperor lost his wife or son didn’t really affect them—but if the wheat seedlings got frostbitten, that was serious.

If they couldn’t eat next year, now that would be a real problem.

By evening, the clan head finally returned and the question of whether the Emperor had lost his wife or son was answered at last.

The Emperor had lost his son. The Crown Prince had died.

Sigh… Losing a son at that age—especially the beloved eldest, the designated heir—is truly tragic for His Majesty the Emperor.

But in the brainwashed mind of Li Xiandong, even that couldn’t compare to the impact of the first snow of winter on his own family.

How could it not be significant? When the nest is overturned, no egg is left intact. When the tide surges forward, no one can resist it—they can only go with the flow.

And some have already begun to guess where that tide is heading, so they can follow it.

For example, in the clan head’s house, after a long day of running around and calming the panicked clan members, Clan Head Li finally sat down in his study to quietly consider a few matters.

“The Crown Prince has passed. What do you think will happens next?”

The study was silent. Dusk had already fallen, and only a single dim oil lamp flickered faintly, casting unclear shadows over everything.

Yet no matter how dim the room, nothing was more chilling than the clan head’s question.

One could almost mistake this scene for a secret meeting between top ministers of a noble household in the capital, not a quiet talk in a rural clan elder’s study.

And Li Xinhe’s response was just as bold: “If there’s a legitimate heir, establish him. If not, the eldest should be chosen. What’s it got to do with us?”

“Foolish talk. We live under Prince Ding’s jurisdiction. He’s the eldest surviving son, and he’s made his name through military merit. You can’t say he’s unfit. If Prince Ding ascends the throne, our land—once under his rule—will likely get more civil exam quotas. Xinhe, this is your opportunity.”

The clan head’s tone was serious. Under such dramatic circumstances, his real goal was to get an exam spot for his scholar son.

One could say his ambitions were not small.

Li Xinhe pressed his lips together, clearly displeased at having to rely on such political maneuvering to rise in rank. But eventually he sighed and gave in, “Father, you’re overthinking it. What’s the point of talking about this now?”

“What’s the point? I’m telling you to prepare early. Even if the quota increases, it’s still limited. You’ll need to push your way to the front.”

“I understand, Father,” Li Xinhe sighed.

Even the Li father and son dared to speak about it privately. The higher up you were in the hierarchy, the harder it was to bring up—especially for those under Prince Ding’s banner.

Behind every sorrowful face was a mind already calculating.

His Majesty had only three sons. With the Crown Prince gone, only Prince Ding and Prince Qi remained. Compared to Prince Qi, Prince Ding was both older and more capable.

At the estate of General Zhang—one of Prince Ding’s commanders—the general and his eldest son were frequently away. The military camp was their true home. The lady of the house was ill and resting with medicine. That left only the second son playing Go alone in the residence.

The black and white stones were locked in a fierce standoff, two dragons vying for a pearl. Which piece would move first?

Zhang Fu, the second son, thought for a long time. In the end, he shifted a piece far from the center of action.

Troops can’t move without provisions.

“Summon Shopkeeper Luo from Renhetang to see me.”

“Yes, Second Young Master.”

Shopkeeper Luo arrived quickly. With no prior notice and at such a sensitive time, he couldn’t imagine why he was being summoned.

He sneaked a glance. The Second Young Master seemed fully focused on playing Go with himself.  Shopkeeper Luo didn’t understand Go, so he couldn’t even start the conversation.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to. The Second Young Master soon spoke: “Last time, you reported that the Li clan of Pingshan Village discovered that eucommia bark regrows after harvesting?”

So it was about this matter? Such a small thing?

Shopkeeper Luo didn’t understand, but respectfully answered, “Yes. As long as the tree isn’t damaged, the bark grows back after being harvested.”

“How many eucommia trees are still there in Pingshan Village?”

“About a few dozen. They once came to Renhetang to ask about the price. I guess they’re worried that if they wait too long and Renhetang lowers the price too much, it would be better to harvest everything now.”

“Mm.” The Second Young Master placed another Go stone before saying, “Find a chance to sign a contract with the Li clan. We’ll take all the eucommia trees in Pingshan Village.”

“But Second Young Master, Renhetang already has over a thousand catties of eucommia in stock. Even though Doctor Zhang discovered a new use for it, that should be enough.”

“I don’t want enough. I want to ensure no one else has any.”

A complete monopoly! By then, wouldn’t Renhetang be the one setting the price? He could make it as high as we want.

His tone was calm, but in Shopkeeper Luo’s ears it rang like thunder.

“Yes, Second Young Master.”

Shopkeeper Luo replied with a trembling voice, thinking he had grasped the Second Young Master’s ambition—and his heart was racing with excitement.

But then the Second Young Master spoke again: “Gather all the eucommia trees. We’ll publicize their benefits later. We won’t hoard everything—if other medicine halls want some, we can share reasonably. No need to exchange for silver; avoid the stench of money. Just barter for other herbs instead. The border is close to winter, and the northern tribes may attack. Prepare more medicines for battlefield wounds.”

“Yes.”

Shopkeeper Luo’s grand ambitions quickly extinguished, and he felt disappointed. But on second thought, he understood: the Second Young Master wasn’t after money—he wanted prestige. He wanted to dominate the entire medicinal industry.

Thinking this, Shopkeeper Luo said excitedly, “Second Young Master, I’ll make sure to maintain good relations with our peers and turn Renhetang into the top medicine hall in the trade.”

The Second Young Master finally looked up from the Go board, giving Shopkeeper Luo a deep, curious glance. After a moment, he smiled faintly—an approving smile from someone born to lead. “Yes, Shopkeeper Luo. That’s exactly what you should do.”

A nobleman indeed—so approachable and kind.

“Yes, Second Young Master. I’ll make sure it’s done well.”

Shopkeeper Luo believed he had once again accurately guessed his master’s intent, and that becoming his trusted aide was within reach. Elated, he rubbed his hands and said, “Then I shall go carry out your orders.”

“Go ahead.”

For now, no one knew what kind of impact this decision would eventually have on Pingshan Village. Most people were still immersed in mourning. All festivities were on hold, and only daily routines continued.

But as Li Xiaohan said, even the emperor losing his son didn’t impact Li Xiandong’s household as much as the first snowfall of the year.

So when the clan head returned with the order to observe seven days of mourning and ban all celebrations, the only effect on Li Xiandong’s household was that the two red lanterns they had hung could only stay up for a few days before being taken down. A pity, perhaps.

As for happy occasions, there wasn’t much to speak of in Li Xiandong’s household, and it wasn’t yet the time for large-scale weddings or engagements in the village. That would have to wait until deeper into winter, once all the fieldwork was done and people had time to focus on such matters.

On the third day, the city gates of the prefectural city had reopened, and Master Han hurried back to work with his two apprentices.

This time, however, there was a noticeable air of respect in Master Han and his men’s demeanor. Li Xiaohan thought it was because of the sensitive political climate and assumed they were simply being cautious with their words and actions. Li Xiandong, more thick-skinned, didn’t give it a second thought.

And so, seven days passed. In Pingshan Village, the impact of the six mourning bells gradually faded, and life returned to normal.

Or rather, it had already returned to normal for most people. The only restriction was on marriages, but daily labor went on as usual. The well at Li Xiandong’s house had been dug; they were just waiting for the bricks and stones to arrive to finish paving the surface.

The affairs of the imperial family had only passed through Pingshan like a gust of wind, leaving the villagers’ daily lives mostly untouched.

After Master Han moved on to work at Li Guiqian’s house, Li Xiandong finally found time to take the last batch of eucommia bark to sell at Renhetang.  

In front of the Li house, Madam Wang and Li Xiandong were loading the eucommia onto an ox cart they had borrowed from the clan head. They handled the goods with great care.

Once the eucommia was loaded, Li Xiandong climbed up to the front of the cart to drive, while Madam Wang stood to the side, turning around nervously and asking, “Xiaohan, are you really not coming with us?”

She felt uneasy going to Renhetang without her daughter’s company.

Even Li Xiandong looked over expectantly.

“I’m not going. Mother, you go with Father, and while you’re there, make sure to get a follow-up checkup with Doctor Zhang. Don’t forget to bring back your medicine—you’ve run out. I’ll stay home to watch the house; I’ve got some things to take care of.”

They had already been to the city several times, and now it was time for the two of them to start handling things on their own. Li Xiaohan steeled herself and refused.

Faced with his daughter’s firm refusal, Li Xiandong looked disappointed but turned his head and began to drive the cart.

Madam Wang, still uneasy, glanced from her husband to her daughter, her eyes full of unspoken hope.

Unfortunately, Li Xiaohan remained unmoved. “Mother, go on.”

Madam Wang finally gave up and followed Li Xiandong, looking back several times as she walked.

Li Xiaohan turned and shut the Li family’s gate.

She already had an idea about how to remove the cotton seeds. Now she was just waiting for a time when no one was home to try it out.

Not far away, Li Xiandong and Madam Wang both sighed—one soft, one heavy—as the ox cart finally picked up speed, its hooves tapping rhythmically on the road as it made its way out of the village.

The old ox let out two low moos as if to urge them on: it had long run out of patience. At this slow, dawdling pace, when would they ever get to the city? Would they even make it back in time for its midday bundle of straw?

These days, people just couldn’t let an old ox have a moment’s peace.