A young man was walking along a narrow village path.

He wore a plain blue padded jacket. His skin was pale, as though he hadn’t seen the sun in a long time. He was thin and frail, but his expression was calm and composed. Despite his shabby clothes, the uneven village path littered here and there with cow dung and chicken droppings, he managed to walk with an unhurried, almost leisurely grace.

It was the season for spring plowing. Everyone was busy in the fields, so the village road was nearly empty. Now and then, a woman working in her yard would spot him from a distance, squint to see who it was, and only after a closer look recognize him.

“Gouzi, where are you off to?”

Xue Tingrang turned toward the woman who called out and smiled. “Auntie, just taking a walk.”

It was just a polite reply. The woman didn’t say anything more, simply turned and went back inside to fetch something. From within the house, her mother-in-law asked: “Third daughter-in-law, who were you talking to just now?”

“Gouzi from Xue Lianxing’s second household. Funny thing, Ma—I didn’t recognize him at first when he passed our gate. He looked like a completely different person.”

Her mother-in-law was unimpressed. “How different can he be? It’s not like he can swap skins. Wasn’t that boy sick recently?”

The younger woman said, “I think he might be heading to the back hill.” Behind Yuqing Village was a stretch of hills where the villagers buried their dead; the Xue family’s ancestral graves were there too.

At that, the old woman sighed. “Don’t even mention it. Such a pity about Lianxing’s second son. Both parents gone so young, leaving that poor child behind.”

It was nothing more than idle talk between mother-in-law and daughter-in-law. Meanwhile, Xue Tingrang had already headed into the back hill with Heizi.

Locals simply called it “Back Hill,” lying behind Yuqing Village.

It had no proper name and wasn’t especially tall, but it was very deep. No one from the village had ever managed to walk all the way through it and back; most only ever ventured around its edges.

The Xue family’s ancestral graves were on a small mound not far from the village. The Xue clan wasn’t just Xue Tingrang’s immediate family, but the entire lineage sharing the surname.

The whole hillside was a graveyard. At the center lay the graves of the clan leaders’ line, with the other branches spreading out from there. Old Master Xue’s branch was toward the southwest foot of the hill.

The second household—because both parents died young, and Xue Qingsong died a violent death—was buried on the outskirts of the plot.

When Xue Tingrang arrived, he began pulling weeds around the graves.

There weren’t many—just cleared at New Year—but he gathered them up and laid them on the ground, then sat down in front of the mounds.

Two small burial mounds in a patch of wilderness. Each had a small, rough-cut stone tablet with the names of the second household’s couple carved simply on it.

Those markers had been commissioned and set up by Zhao’er back then.

At the time, there were three kinds of deaths that didn’t allow for grave markers: violent deaths, childhood deaths, and dying without heirs. Xue Qingsong had died by violence.

No one spoke of it openly, but everyone believed those who died violently carried resentment, which would harm the ancestral graves’ feng shui. They wouldn’t put up a stone, hoping he’d forget who he was and wouldn’t cause trouble after death.

At the same time, there was another saying: if you didn’t have a gravestone, you’d be a wandering, lonely spirit in the afterlife, cut off from the offerings of your descendants.

When the second household’s funeral was held, it was the Xue family who took charge, and they simply followed the old customs by default. Back then, Xue Tingrang was too young to understand any of this—but Zhao’er did.

She raised the idea of putting up gravestones but was met with strong opposition. The Xue family elders all took turns trying to talk her out of it. Eventually, she stopped arguing with them. Instead, she quietly paid out of her own pocket to have two simple stones made and set them up in front of the graves.

By the time the Xue family found out, it was too late. They couldn’t very well take them down in front of the entire village, so they had to pretend nothing had happened—besides, they still felt guilty about it in their hearts.

The villagers were surprised to see the stones at first. But when they remembered how Xue’s second son had died, they could understand.

Because of this, Xue Qingshan even gained a bit of a reputation for virtue: willing to risk harming his family’s feng shui just to give his brother a gravestone. Truly loyal and righteous—though that’s another story.

Lost in these thoughts, Xue Tingrang pulled a cloth from his breast and began slowly wiping the gravestone.

The characters carved on it were his own work, the strokes clumsy and childish, but still legible enough to read.

…

Today was Old Master Zheng’s death anniversary. Zheng Hu had brought his two sons to the grave to pay their respects.

Country folk didn’t stand on ceremony. They’d just prepared some steamed buns, liquor, and meat. After burning paper offerings in front of the grave, their duty was done.

Zheng Hu had always been close to his father and couldn’t help feeling low. He told his two sons to head back first, while he sat alone by the grave, smoking his pipe and talking to his old man.

After a while, he stood up, ready to leave.

There was still work waiting in the fields, so he didn’t want to waste time and decided to take a shortcut. As he passed near the Xue family’s ancestral graves, he suddenly heard someone crying.

The hills in this area were covered in graves—one side for the Xue clan, the other for the Zhengs. On an ordinary day like this, with no festival or ceremony, only someone observing a family memorial would come here.

Besides, the place was crowded with graves and thickly wooded, casting a gloomy shade even at midday. Hearing that strange sound in such a setting made Zheng Hu’s hair stand on end. His legs even went a bit weak.

But he’d lived decades already. Steeling himself, he held his breath and listened carefully. After a moment, he realized it wasn’t crying, but the voice of a boy talking.

Trying to remember whose grave it might be, he forced himself to creep closer. Rounding a big tree, he caught sight from afar of a thin youth in a blue coat sitting with his back to him before a grave.

Beside him was a big black dog, its tail lazily sweeping the ground.

It was Gouzi, the one from Xue Lianxing’s second household.

Zheng Hu finally let out a relieved breath. The boy’s voice drifted over to him, low and hesitant:

“…Dad, what should I do? Uncle wants to send Juncai to the academy in town. I thought I’d be going too… but Aunt came over a few days ago and said I should let Juncai have the spot. But before she clearly said…”

The boy’s tone was full of confusion and helplessness. Zheng Hu hadn’t expected to overhear the Xue family’s private troubles here of all places. He was so startled that he dropped his pipe without noticing. When the bowl of it hit his foot, he finally came back to himself, hurriedly picked it up, and left in a rush.

He didn’t know that after he left, the boy he’d seen sitting there alone fell silent, ending his tearful confession.

These past few days, Xue Tingrang had been racking his brain for the right opportunity. Somehow, he’d remembered Zheng Hu.

Old Master Zheng had died during spring plowing—not of old age, but in an accident. He’d been shoved off a field ridge by his own ox and killed.

The ridge wasn’t even high. Plenty of villagers fell from them every year, but Old Master Zheng had been unlucky enough to die. Back then, it was the talk of the village for quite a while, so Xue Tingrang remembered it clearly.

Since it was his father’s memorial day, Zheng Hu was sure to come to the grave. And Zheng Hu always liked taking shortcuts, so he’d definitely pass through this spot. Who could be more perfect?

Most importantly, though Yuqing Village wasn’t big, the Xue and Zheng families had always eyed each other warily. Zheng Hu’s uncle was the village head. If he heard something, the village head would hear it too.

Xue Tingrang didn’t linger in the hills for long. Before long, he was heading home the same way with Heizi trotting behind him.

The courtyard was as quiet as ever when he got back. He found a small stool, set it by the door, and sat down in the sun. Outwardly calm, inwardly his thoughts kept drifting to Zhao’er, who had gone to town.

Meanwhile, Zheng Hu walked quickly, not even stopping at his own house, but going straight to the village head’s place.

The village head, Zheng Lizheng, was not only Yuqing Village’s official head but also the patriarch of the Zheng clan. Naturally, his house was one of the most impressive in the village, the only real rival being the Xue clan leader’s home.

It was built of solid blue bricks with big tiled roofs. Even the courtyard walls were made of blue bricks. Most eye-catching was the Zheng clan’s ancestral hall facing the road, but that hall stayed locked behind its heavy black paulownia doors except on special occasions.

If you went around to the side, you’d find the actual family courtyard.

It was huge. Unlike other families that kept their animal sheds, storage rooms, and kitchens in the front yard, the Zheng family’s front yard was completely open except for two large parasol trees growing there. Whenever something big happened in the village, this courtyard would fill up with people.

Facing the yard was the main house with three rooms. On either side were matching east and west wings, all in the same blue brick and black tile style—solid and imposing.

When Zheng Hu arrived, only the village head and his wife, Mrs. Tian, were home.

As soon as she saw her nephew arrive, Mrs. Tian called out: “Hu! What brings you here at this hour? You need something from your uncle?”

“Yeah—something important.”

He didn’t waste time, striding straight inside. Mrs. Tian shook her head, wondering if it really was something urgent. Normally Zheng Hu was known for being steady and calm.

Inside, Zheng Hu turned into the east room.

Sure enough, his uncle was there, sitting cross-legged on the heated kang, leisurely smoking his pipe.

“What’s got you in such a rush?”

Zheng Hu sat down on a low stool by the kang, breathing heavily, too winded to speak at first.

Zheng Lizheng was in his sixties, with a long, lean face and eyes that were neither too big nor too small. At first glance he looked like an ordinary old farmer, dressed in simple clothes. But there was a calm steadiness about him, the unshakable composure of someone who’d seen and handled much in life.

He held the pipe in his mouth and pushed the teapot on the small kang table toward his nephew. Zheng Hu didn’t stand on ceremony. He got up, poured himself a bowl of tea, and gulped it down.

“Uncle,” he finally said, “I’ve got to tell you about something that happened today.”

“What happened?”

“Today’s my father’s death anniversary. I went up early this morning with offerings…”

Zheng Hu had only gotten halfway through when Zheng Lizheng straightened up on the kang, showing he was ready to listen carefully.

Seeing his uncle so attentive, Zheng Hu knew he’d come to the right place. When he’d heard the only son of Xue Lianxing’s second household crying like that, he immediately realized this was an opportunity—a chance to undermine the Xue family’s influence in Yuqing Village.

So he recounted everything in detail, practically repeating the boy’s words verbatim. All the while, Zheng Lizheng sat there smoking his pipe, eyes narrowing to slits.

Zhao’er didn’t make it back until late afternoon, and when she did, her face didn’t look good.

Xue Tingrang glanced at the basket on her back. She always used to return from town with it stuffed full, but today it was clearly nearly empty.

“What’s wrong?”

Zhao’er was lost in thought. Startled by his question, she paused before replying: “Nothing. I brought you some meat buns from town. I’ll heat them up for you later.”

Nothing? Clearly something was wrong.

Xue Tingrang looked at her face but didn’t press her since she clearly didn’t want to talk.

After her trip to town, Zhao’er was covered in dust. She went to the kitchen to heat water, then carried it to the bathhouse to wash up.

The Xue family actually had a small room in the back garden set aside for bathing. It wasn’t large—about three meters square—with flagstones on the floor and a drain in the corner that let used water flow straight out into the vegetable patch.

She undressed and began scrubbing herself with soapberry, but no matter how hard she worked at it, she couldn’t wash away the heavy worry weighing on her heart.

Truth was, something really had happened—she just hadn’t told the young man because she didn’t want him to worry.

The way she’d worked so hard to earn some extra money had just been cut off.

And the one who cut her off wasn’t anyone else but the owner of the embroidery shop who had been buying her finished purses and embroidered shoes.

Zhao’er was actually pretty sharp. She used to buy fabric scraps from that shop but didn’t sell her finished work back to them—instead, she sold it to a different shop. What she hadn’t expected was that the two shop owners were relatives. She didn’t know how they found out, but when she went back this time, they outright refused to sell her any more scraps.

And it wasn’t just that shop. The owner even sent people out to buy up all the scraps from other shops in town. It was only after she went around to several places that she realized what had happened.

She’d already made up her mind to pay for the young man’s schooling in town herself. She’d asked around about the Qinghe Academy—it cost five taels of silver a year just for tuition. Many of the students lived too far away to go back and forth, so there was an option to board there. If he boarded, meals and lodging would add another tael or so per month.

Zhao’er really wanted Xue Tingrang to board there. She felt the Xue home wasn’t a good environment for studying—too much family trouble. That meant she’d need to save at least six taels of silver to send him.

She’d been counting on earning enough with just a couple more rounds of sales. She never imagined something like this would happen.

Lost in thought, Zhao’er finished washing. She wrapped her hair in a cloth, got dressed, and headed back inside.

Xue Tingrang was sitting on the kang reading, as usual the only book he owned, Primer of Youthful Learning. When she came in, he looked up and said: “It’s still cold out. Dry your hair properly.”

Hearing that, Zhao’er felt a rush of warmth in her heart.

These days, the young man had changed a lot from how he used to be. It was a good kind of change. Even though she was worried inside, she couldn’t help but smile.

She climbed onto the kang and opened the cabinet to take out a cloth towel. Xue Tingrang was sitting at the edge, so he had to shift aside to make room for her.

As she passed, the faint scent of soapberry drifted to his nose. He instinctively twitched it slightly, his gaze falling on her figure so close at hand.

=^_^=