Chapter 4

Yu Shensi was practicing his calligraphy while Gao Nuan worked on her embroidery. At the same time, Gao Zhao had already arrived at the He family’s home.

In front of the He residence, white mourning banners fluttered; inside, the air was thick with the sound of weeping. The scene stirred Gao Zhao’s emotions, his eyes stinging with tears. He hurriedly wiped them away.

Gao Mingchun, knowing him to be a filial child, patted his shoulder with a few words of comfort and led him inside.

Everyone in the He family knew Gao Mingchun. After both he and Gao Zhao finished paying their respects to Madam He, Gao Mingchun explained the reason for their visit to Master He.

Master He glanced at the child, no more than ten years old, standing at Gao Mingchun’s side. Despite just having paid respects to his own late mother, the boy’s bearing was proper and composed—a true scholar in demeanor—though a hint of doubt lingered on Master He’s face.

Understanding his hesitation, Gao Mingchun explained, “All the memorial texts for our family’s ancestral rites this year were written by this boy. Don’t be fooled by his age—he’s already passed the preliminary exams. And...” He sighed heavily, “he too has just suffered a great loss.”

At these words, Master He saw the child’s eyes redden, tears spilling down his cheeks. So, their fates were entwined.

With the funeral preparations pressing and no energy to seek another, Master He, who had known Gao Mingchun for decades through their dealings at the local market, trusted his character and his recommendation. He instructed his eldest son to make the arrangements.

Gao Zhao and Gao Mingchun followed He Dalang to the makeshift reception tent. Dalang fetched brush, ink, paper, and inkstone, personally preparing them for Gao Zhao while recounting stories of his grandmother.

Much of this, Gao Mingchun had already explained to Gao Zhao on the way. Madam He had been the daughter of an ordinary farming family, married into the He household, and gave birth to three sons and two daughters. Misfortune befell her early; widowed young, she raised all five children alone, enduring hardship in poverty. Master He, the eldest, apprenticed as a butcher in his teens, first working for others and eventually raising and slaughtering his own pigs. Just as life began to improve, his wife fell ill and passed away, leaving two small children for Madam He to raise. Now, the grandchildren were grown, but Madam He herself had passed away without knowing a day of comfort.

Gao Zhao gazed at the mourning hall, thinking of his own mother—she too had toiled all her life, only to be betrayed by the one at her side. Overwhelmed, he dipped his brush in ink, tears falling as he wrote. The more he wrote, the more he thought of his mother; his tears flowed freely, blotting the memorial text, and his handwriting trembled with grief.

When he finally set down the brush, he could no longer hold back and collapsed over the table in bitter sobs.

Those around him were all moved to tears. Gao Mingchun, looking at this pitiful child, went to embrace and console him.

Gao Zhao could scarcely speak through his tears; it was a long time before he could calm himself.

He Dalang took the memorial text to his father. Master He, who could not read well, had his son read it aloud. Hearing “Grinding rice to feed her children,” Master He could not hold back his tears; when the words, “A son longs to care for his mother, but she waits no more,” were read, the burly butcher in his forties broke down and wept uncontrollably, nearly fainting, the sound of mourning in the hall rising to a crescendo.

After leaving the He family, Gao Zhao sat at the mouth of the alley for a long time in the cold wind, trying to master his grief.

Gao Mingchun, seeing his state and remembering the memorial text—each word written in blood and tears—felt guilty for having thought, earlier that morning, of using this child to curry favor. He sat next to Gao Zhao, wrapping an arm around him in comfort.

Gao Zhao swallowed his tears and said in a hoarse voice, “Thank you, Uncle. I’m all right. Please return to your shop; I can go home on my own.”

But Gao Mingchun, unconvinced, insisted on escorting him back to the village.

Back home, Gao Nuan and Yu Shensi did not know that Gao Zhao had lost control of his emotions at the He family’s house, but when he returned with reddened eyes, they could guess the reason.

Not wanting to worry his elder sister, Gao Zhao set down his things and forced a smile. “Master He was pleased with my memorial text and gave me five hundred cash. The market wasn’t open today and most shops were closed, so I only bought rice and salt.” Then he took out the remaining money and handed it to Gao Nuan.

The coins, strung together with cord, made a heavy bundle—about three hundred and fifty or so. Gao Nuan looked at the rice he had bought—at least two bushels, costing more than a hundred and fifty cash, salt costing little. Altogether, it matched the sum of five hundred—he had brought it all home.

With a tone of gentle instruction, she said to her brother, “Uncle Mingchun helped us greatly. You should have given him a portion to thank him.” Besides, carrying such a heavy load of rice from the market—five or six miles away, through snow and mountain paths—her brother could not have managed alone; surely Uncle Mingchun had helped.

Gao Zhao replied, “I know, but Uncle Mingchun refused to take anything. I thought I would buy something for him at the next market as thanks.”

Hearing this, Gao Nuan was reassured. The next market would be the last before the New Year—they should also buy New Year’s provisions, as the next would not come until the fifteenth day of the first month. Rice and salt would not last until then.

Gao Nuan took the sack of rice and the salt, preparing to cook porridge. At last, Yu Shensi received some attention.

Gao Zhao picked up his youngest brother, who was looking up at him with wide, blinking eyes, and laughed. “Yang’er, big brother brought you something tasty.” From his coat, he produced a palm-sized date cake and placed it in Yu Shensi’s hands.

At once, the sweet scent of dates and crushed walnuts, almonds, and other rare rural treats filled the air. This was surely not cheap.

Yu Shensi could not bear to have it all to himself. He broke off a small piece to try first—having tasted nothing since waking, the sweetness lifted his spirits. Then he broke off another piece for Gao Zhao and handed the rest to Gao Nuan, who was washing rice.

Gao Nuan insisted she did not like sweets. But all children love treats—it was clearly to save more for him. Only after his repeated pleas did she accept.

Yu Shensi told Gao Zhao about learning to read that day. “Big sister praised Yang’er for learning well.”

“Really?” Gao Zhao squeezed his brother’s cheek in delight.

Gao Nuan was pleased with their youngest as well. She said to Gao Zhao, “Yang’er is learning very quickly. By next spring, he’ll have memorized the Thousand Character Classic.”

Gao Zhao was overjoyed, but it occurred to him that, come spring, his little brother would be four—the right age to start school. Yet they could not afford a teacher’s tuition or the ceremonial gifts, but he could not be without learning. He rubbed his little brother’s head. “From now on, big brother will teach you to read and write.”

Yu Shensi had been waiting for that very promise.

The basics of a child’s education—the Thousand Character Classic, the Hundred Family Surnames, the Three Character Classic—were more than manageable for Gao Zhao, who had already passed the children’s exam. Besides, this “pupil” was not as innocent as he appeared.

Soon, the scent of rice filled the house. Yu Shensi’s stomach growled again.

This time, the porridge was not the thin gruel of the past; it was thick enough to stand a small wooden spoon in. For the first time in a month, the siblings ate a full meal. Though it was only rice porridge with salt, it had not been begged but earned through their own efforts. They ate with joy and satisfaction, feeling that life might now hold hope.

Afterward, the three sat in the sun in front of the house. Gao Nuan took up her embroidery; Gao Zhao held his little brother in his arms, helping him review the eight characters learned that morning.

To avoid his siblings thinking him a prodigy and expecting too much, Yu Shensi deliberately made a mistake and only wrote three simple characters. Childhood brilliance does not always lead to greatness. In his past life, he had been a science student; how far he could go as a “literature student” in this life was uncertain. He could not let their expectations soar. Knowing how much Gao Nuan doted on him, if he seemed too clever now but failed to achieve great things later, she would blame herself for not providing better. If now he appeared average, each small improvement would bring her joy rather than regret.

Even so, his modest performance still amazed his siblings, who praised him for his cleverness and promising future.

He thought this level of ability was just right for his age and should not be overdone.

That was his intention, but Gao Zhao was ambitious, teaching him another eight characters—“the sun and moon wax and wane, the stars array in constellations”—explaining each one thoroughly as he taught, a testament to his solid learning.

Yu Shensi, not to disappoint, obediently followed along. Gao Zhao, seeing his poor handwriting, was patient and kind, guiding his hand stroke by stroke.

*

The weather had been fine for two days, the fire in the house had burned out, and Yu Shensi, well-fed and rested, basked in the sun, feeling his health improve. At least now he had some strength when practicing calligraphy. In the afternoon, the neighbor’s little grandson came over with a wooden horse to play.

While he played, Gao Nuan busied herself with embroidery, making swift progress on her “Magpies on Plum Branches” piece. Gao Zhao practiced writing unfamiliar passages from the Four Books on the ground with a stick.

On market day in Shitou Township, Yu Shensi woke early, eager and energetic, fetching firewood, tending the fire, and handing out spoons at breakfast, showing how “capable” he was.

When Gao Nuan and Gao Zhao prepared to head to the market, he begged to go with them, promising again and again to be well-behaved. Only then did they realize his morning helpfulness was for this purpose.

The weather was warm and windless, so they could not bear to leave him home alone. At worst, they could take turns carrying him; better that than leaving him behind to be sad.

Yu Shensi ran out of the gate in delight, as if afraid they might change their minds.

As soon as they left the village, they met Aunt Gui and several other families heading to the market. After greetings, Uncle Gen, pushing a one-wheeled cart, kindly offered, “Little one, come ride in the cart! Uncle will push you.”

Uncle Gen, Aunt Gui’s husband, was less talkative and more honest than his wife. Their son, Tiger, was also riding in the cart.

The snow made walking difficult; Yu Shensi accepted the offer without hesitation.

No sooner had he climbed aboard than Aunt Gui asked about Gao Zhao writing the funeral text for Master He.

The day before, when Gao Mingchun returned home, several village women were gossiping with his wife, and when she asked about it, the others grew curious and asked for details. They later recounted the story to their families. With only thirty households in the village, and the siblings being something of “outsiders,” word spread quickly.

Gao Nuan replied, “We have Uncle Chun to thank for helping us eat a full meal. Today, we’re off to buy a gift to thank him. All of you have helped us a lot as well, and we don’t know how to repay you. In the future, if you ever need us, just let us know.”

The elders were warmed by this gratitude; these siblings remembered kindness, unlike their father.

Aunt Gui smiled, “It was just a bite to eat, not worth remembering.”

“You’re kind not to mind, but we must remember.”

The elders sighed at the sensible children. How could Gao Mingjin’s brother bear to abandon them? When he returned for New Year’s rites, how would he face his ancestors?

Gao Nuan walked alongside Aunt Gui to talk about her embroidery project. She would likely finish it by the end of the day. With the New Year approaching and no trips to the county until after the Lantern Festival, she didn’t want to waste time. She only had enough money for food, not for silk or thread, so she would need to borrow from Aunt Gui.

Aunt Gui laughed, “Of course! I still have plenty of material. It does no good just sitting there. Come by when you have time—don’t be a stranger.”

“Thank you, Aunt. I won’t be shy, then.”

The journey passed quickly in conversation, and soon they reached the market, where each family went about their shopping, agreeing to meet at the south end of the street.

Shitou Township’s market was small, with just two streets crossing east-west and north-south. The east-west street sold mostly food and the north-south mostly goods.

Being the last market before the New Year, the crowd was much larger than usual, people pressing against each other. This was the time of year when children were most likely to go missing—some wandered off, others were stolen by child-snatchers. In the bustling throng, a lost child was rarely found again. Gao Nuan and Gao Zhao each held tightly to their little brother’s hand, afraid that if they let go, he’d disappear.

Yu Shensi hadn’t considered this. He was busy examining all the strange things at the stalls, many of which he’d never seen, constantly asking questions. After half a street, he had a fair understanding of the region’s produce and local life—things he could never learn at home.

He faintly heard someone in the crowd calling Gao Nuan, but being short, he couldn’t see anything.

Gao Nuan and Gao Zhao heard it as well, but saw no familiar faces, and the voice soon faded.

“Probably someone else with the same name,” said Gao Nuan.

They made their way through most of the street and squeezed into a sauce shop, buying condiments, pickles, and oil. Then, on the way back, they stopped at stalls for other necessities: fresh winter bamboo shoots and cabbage, twenty eggs, a measure of soybeans for their little brother’s health, some dried vegetables, and finally a piece of preserved meat from the butcher.

The borrowed bamboo basket bulged with goods, and their money was nearly gone, only fifty-some cash left—enough for half a month’s meals.

Each item was modest in quantity, but together they were heavy. The elder siblings carried them on a stick between them, while Yu Shensi, unable to help much, carried a handful of dried vegetables—barely a pound, but he was contributing.

Gao Nuan’s heart ached, wanting him to put it down, but she remembered their mother’s lessons to her older brothers: a boy must learn responsibility early if he is to be a man. The dried vegetables were not heavy, and if the little one wanted to help, she let him.

They shopped quickly and were the first to reach the south end of the street. Soon Aunt Cui and her daughter-in-law arrived, one with a small basket, the other with a full bamboo pack.

The other villagers returned in turn, and last was Aunt Gui’s family with the cart. There was still space on the cart, so those with heavy loads put their goods on it for convenience.

Uncle Gen invited the siblings to put their basket on the cart, but Gao Nuan saw there wasn’t much space and declined with a smile, “This isn’t heavy, but could you let my little brother ride?”

There was just enough space for a small child, so Uncle Gen lifted Yu Shensi up.

On the way back, Aunt Cui mentioned buying red paper for couplets, “Two pairs of red couplets and the writing cost nearly twenty cash. I could’ve bought more than a pound of meat for that. Scholar Chen’s prices rise every year!”

“Isn’t that the truth!” Aunt Wang chimed in. “In spring, when my son got married, he charged sixty cash for two pairs. I hear his tuition and gifts for his private school are getting higher too. The other day, Dasheng’s family brought him New Year’s gifts, and even then, he hinted it was too little!”

“If only our village had another scholar, he wouldn’t dare be so arrogant.”

“That’s right.” Suddenly, everyone looked to Gao Zhao, carrying the load by the roadside. So young, he’d already passed the children’s exam; surely he’d be a proper scholar in a few years. By then, the mourning period would be over, and he could write couplets, invitations, and birthday scrolls for the villagers. As the villagers had helped the siblings so much, he surely would not charge them dearly. There was a hopeful anticipation among them.

Aunt Gui glanced at the two children on the cart, thoughts turning, and asked Yu Shensi with a smile, “Little one, I heard from Miao that you were learning to read with your big brother yesterday, is that so?”

Miao was Granny Si’s grandson, who had come over to play the day before when Gao Zhao was teaching Yu Shensi and happened to teach Miao a few characters as well.

Hearing this, Yu Shensi understood her intention. It was one thing for Gao Zhao to occasionally teach the neighbor’s children to read as thanks for their help, but to do it long-term for free would not be appropriate.

He nodded happily, “Yes. Miao brought us rice cakes, and big brother toasted them for us—they were delicious! Granny Si said big brother toasted them better than anyone.”

And so, the three siblings continued on their way home, with the village elders full of hope and warmth for the days ahead.