Chapter 7

The next day, the Gao Mingtong brothers ordered their men to deliver the items. Several carriages entered the village one after another, stopping in front of the old house at the west end of the village.

The villagers, driven by curiosity, came to see what was happening, especially those like Gao Mingqiu, who believed Gao Mingtong's concern was insincere, eager to uncover the truth for themselves.

Delivered were desks, square tables, stools, wooden beds, all sorts of furniture, as well as pots, bowls, ladles, rice jars, water jars, and several boxes of various sizes.

“They’ve practically moved the whole household here!” the villagers exclaimed, their eyes filled with envy.

“Mingtong truly cares for his nephews. He’s thought of everything,” a few women remarked among themselves.

Standing beside Aunt Gui, Mei’er curled her lips in disdain, let out a cold snort, and turned to leave. Her two companions quietly followed.

The able-bodied men of the village came to help unload, but since those observing mourning could not enter the house, the servants of the Gao household carried everything inside.

Gao Nuan, always careful, opened the boxes in advance to inspect their contents. Everything complied with mourning customs; all bedding and clothing were simple and plain, with not a hint of color or pattern.

Steward Song, perceiving her intent, approached with a smile and said, “The master truly pities you and the young masters. However, as you are observing mourning, there are many fine things he dared not send for fear of harming your reputation. These are all your previous belongings—old perhaps, but familiar to you. The master hopes you will understand his good intentions.”

His voice was louder than usual, clearly meant not only for Gao Nuan but also for the surrounding clansmen, making it clear that the master was not unwilling to send better things, but could not, lest it attract gossip and damage their reputation during the mourning period.

Gao Nuan nodded. “Uncle has been most considerate. This is more than enough. Even if he sent finer things, we wouldn’t dare use them—we’d have to send them back.”

“It’s good that you understand, but it’s hard on you and your brothers.”

“This small hardship is nothing compared to the grief in our hearts.” Tears welled in her eyes as she spoke.

Seeing her like this, Steward Song could not continue.

When everything was moved in, the steward stood at the gate and said to the siblings, “That greedy servant has already been punished by the master. These things were prepared overnight. If there’s anything lacking, you must speak up; don’t let yourselves suffer in silence. Each month, someone will deliver rice from the household.”

Gao Nuan smiled and nodded. “Thank you on my behalf, uncle.”

When the carriages departed and the villagers dispersed, they all praised the Mingtong brothers for their genuine affection and the children for their understanding and filial piety.

Gao Mingqiu had watched everything from the door. Though there seemed to be a lot, not much thought had gone into their food and clothing. Life would not be easy for them in the future.

Gao Nuan understood this better than anyone. The clothes sent were all their old ones, now too small and ill-fitting. The food amounted to just two bags of rice—far from enough for their needs, and uncle hadn’t given them a single coin.

Gao Zhao cared little for these items; what pleased him most was a box of books.

Earlier that year, he’d sold his books to treat his young brother’s illness and had been fretting over having none to read. Now, with a whole box, it would be years before he finished.

Anxiously opening the box, he found only the topmost layer related to the civil service exams; the rest were elementary primers and miscellaneous tales.

He was disappointed. He’d thought his uncle might truly send him a box of good books, but it seemed he’d overestimated him. He sorted the books, placing those he and his younger brother needed on the desk and returning the rest to the box.

With the new furniture, the siblings no longer had to sleep on straw on the floor, but the old house was drafty and cold in early spring. Even with several quilts, the three of them barely managed; they didn’t dare return the borrowed quilt yet.

Still, their situation was somewhat improved.

*

After the fifth of the first month, the village began repairing the ancestral hall. According to the elders’ plans, they measured and calculated what was needed—tiles, bricks, repairs, whitewashing.

As the only scholar in the village, Gao Zhao was tasked with keeping records and calculating expenses.

Gao Mingjin contributed funds for the hall, and the Mingtong brothers also showed concern for their nephews. The villagers thought highly of them.

Whenever not helping at the hall, Gao Zhao taught his younger brother at home. Hutu, Sanbao, and Miaowa—all boys from the village—came every afternoon.

The boys were eager, looking forward to studying at Yang’er’s house each day. When they heard that Gao Zhao was too busy to teach them one day, they were quite disappointed.

Hutu, competitive as ever, declared, “Yesterday Sanbao recognized one more character than me and got a chestnut from Zhao-ge. Today I’ll beat him!”

Seeing her son so eager to learn, Aunt Gui couldn’t stop smiling. She encouraged him, saying, “When you learn enough, you can borrow books from Zhao-ge and read to me every day. I’ll buy you meat to eat!”

The promise of meat delighted Hutu, who clapped in excitement.

That afternoon, Aunt Gui personally took Hutu to the old house at the west end of the village. Gao Nuan and her brothers were tidying up the abandoned vegetable plot, working with enthusiasm. With spring approaching, they could soon plant vegetables and save on groceries. Seeing Aunt Gui approach, Gao Nuan washed her hands and went to greet her.

“Auntie,” she said.

Aunt Gui smiled. “Do you know how to plant vegetables?”

Gao Nuan smiled awkwardly. “I’ve tended flowers and plants before. With the right season, it shouldn’t be hard to grow vegetables.”

“If you have questions, just ask me. I’ll teach you,” Aunt Gui offered.

“Thank you, Auntie.”

Aunt Gui then explained her purpose. “I’m going to town in two days. I wanted to ask how your embroidery is going, and if you still want me to take it to sell.”

Times had changed—now, with their uncles sending so many things, there was no immediate worry for food or clothing. She didn’t need to earn pin money through embroidery like the other village girls.

But Gao Nuan was clear-eyed. The villagers had all seen the carriages deliver goods—mostly furniture, just for show. The food would only keep them from hunger; they hadn’t been given a single extra coin.

All of this was done under the scrutiny of the clan elders and clansmen—once the ancestral hall was repaired, time would reveal their true intentions. She could not, as before, pin her hopes on others, not when, at critical moments, they might take her life. She had to have her own money.

“Of course I do,” Gao Nuan replied with a smile. “I’ve finished four pieces these days, and the fifth will be done tomorrow. I’ll bring them all to you then.”

“You’re skilled—I'll be sure to get you a good price.”

“Thank you, Auntie.”

The next day, Gao Nuan brought her embroidery to Aunt Gui’s house, where a few other women also brought their work.

Seeing the pieces in Gao Nuan’s hands—“Magpie on a Branch,” “Peach Blossoms in Spring,” and others—they marveled at the lifelike beauty and exquisite workmanship.

Mei’er glanced at them, displeased. Ever since she’d been outdone that day, she’d harbored resentment. She deliberately sneered, “With all the things your uncles sent you, you have no worries. Why bother embroidering for money? If you put your work up, how can Aunties sell theirs?”

The other women, at first only admiring, now grew anxious. If Gao Nuan’s pieces outshone theirs, they’d fetch lower prices; their smiles faded.

Aunt Gui glared at her troublemaking daughter, but Mei’er, raising her brows, felt secretly triumphant.

Gao Nuan glanced at the other women’s work and retorted with a gentle smile, “I can’t agree with you, Mei’er.”

“Are you saying your embroidery isn’t good?” Mei’er pressed, knowing full well it was.

Gao Nuan, ever gentle, replied, “My work is all for fan surfaces—just the sort of thing a beauty like you would love. The sashes embroidered by you ladies, with fine fabric and skillful needlework, are preferred by gentlemen. If both fans and sashes were laid before a gentleman, and he chose the fans, only then would I admit you’re right.”

Wasn’t it obvious? No gentleman would prefer embroidered fans of flowers and birds. Mei’er was silenced, stewing in her frustration.

Knowing her daughter’s temper, Aunt Gui stepped in with a laugh, “Each has its merits and its own buyers. They’re sold separately in town—no need to worry.”

With Gao Nuan’s words and Aunt Gui’s reassurance, the others relaxed and sincerely praised Gao Nuan’s work.

*

The morning Aunt Gui went to town, Gao Nuan and her brothers went to the Shitou Township market. The oil, salt, sauces, and vegetables they’d bought before the New Year were nearly gone. Gao Mingtong had only sent two bags of rice; they couldn’t just eat plain rice every day.

It was the first market after the New Year, and the crowds were nearly as large as before. As before, the siblings each tightly grasped their younger brother’s hand.

They bought sauces and then filled their basket with fresh vegetables. Passing a stall selling candied hawthorn, Gao Nuan, knowing her youngest brother had never tried it, wanted to buy him a skewer. But it was five coins—a bit steep.

Yu Shensi saw her hesitation and tugged her sleeve. “Hutu says it’s too sour. Yang’er doesn’t want it.”

But candied hawthorn wasn’t just sour—it was sweet and tangy, and the sugar on the outside was the best part. Since her brother had never tried it, he ought to taste it himself. Gao Nuan gritted her teeth and bought a skewer for five coins.

Yu Shensi: “…”

Did I get my meaning across wrong?

But it was delicious! He stuffed half into his mouth until his cheeks bulged, then offered it to Gao Nuan and Gao Zhao so they could share.

Gao Nuan asked indulgently, “Is it too sour?”

Yu Shensi giggled. “Hutu lied—it’s sweet and sour. Very tasty.”

Gao Nuan patted his head. “You can’t just listen to what others say—you need to think and try for yourself.”

“Mm!”

The three siblings, carrying their basket of vegetables, started home. At the crossroads, they heard someone call, “Young Master Gao!”

Turning, they saw a man in his twenties, not particularly burly, waving from behind the pork stall.

Gao Zhao led them over, explaining, “He’s Mr. He’s nephew.”

Earlier, when he’d written a funeral eulogy for Mr. He, this young man had been there, calling Mr. He “uncle” and being addressed as “Cousin Lü” by He Dalang. He guessed he was the son of Mr. He’s eldest sister.

They greeted each other. Lü Dalang explained that the pork stall belonged to Mr. He, who, still mourning his mother, had left him in charge. Knowing they too were observing mourning, he didn’t offer them any meat out of politeness.

Wiping his hands, Lü Dalang handed the stall to a middle-aged man and came over. “Young Master Gao, you’re literate and write well. I have a favor to ask.”

Gao Zhao thought it would be another eulogy and was a bit excited. “Please tell me, Brother Lü.”

“My uncle-in-law runs a bookshop in the county. He brought back several crates of books from the capital before the New Year—good works and collections, I hear. But these aren’t primers or the Classics, so they don’t sell quickly. If they’re printed, the shop can’t recover the cost, so he needs someone to copy them by hand.”

A simple copying job—no commentary or annotation. Gao Zhao was perfectly capable.

He was worried no one would need eulogies after the New Year, and it was too hard on his sister to support the family with embroidery alone. Copying books would earn him something, and, more importantly, give him books to read—the ones his uncle sent weren’t enough. It was a rare opportunity.

He readily agreed. “I’d be glad to.”

Lü Dalang, having searched for days without luck, was delighted. Afraid Gao Zhao would change his mind, he said, “Don’t worry—my uncle-in-law is honest. The pay is good, better than elsewhere. If you agree, I’ll bring the books tomorrow. You only need to prepare your brush and ink; the paper’s provided.”

“No need for the trouble—I’ll come to the shop to fetch them.”

Lü Dalang, busy with both family and the pork stall, agreed, “Fine. I’ll wait for you here tomorrow afternoon.”

With that settled, the siblings went to the stationery shop for brush and ink. Their uncle had sent only books, not writing supplies—they had to buy their own.

There was only one shop at the market, and the supplies were nothing special. Gao Zhao spent a long time choosing a suitable brush and finally picked out an ink stick. Even the cheaper supplies weren’t cheap—over two hundred coins. All the oil, salt, and vegetables they’d bought, enough to last for days, had cost less than a hundred.

Yu Shensi now truly understood why it was so hard for a farmer’s son to become a scholar.

Writing supplies were consumables, an ongoing expense—and a minor one at that. Books, tuition, exams—those were the real costs. Without a wealthy family, it was impossible. Relying on Gao Nuan’s embroidery and Gao Zhao’s copying, it was hard enough to support one scholar, let alone two. They’d need other ways to prosper.

But that could wait until after the mourning period. For now, they could at least make plans.

By dusk, Gao Nuan escorted Hutu home and went to see if Aunt Gui had returned from town. As she arrived, Aunt Gui came out of the courtyard and pulled her inside. “I was just about to look for you!”

They sat in the main room, and Aunt Gui happily counted out a string of coins. “Your embroidery was a hit! The moment I took it out, the shopkeeper at Zhang’s Embroidery brightened right up. He tried to haggle, of course, but I wasn’t fooled. I bluffed about taking it elsewhere—he panicked and raised the price on the spot…”

Aunt Gui recounted her bargaining adventure, full of wit and resourcefulness. Gao Nuan thanked her profusely.

At last, Aunt Gui counted out the coins. “After paying for fabric and thread, you have a hundred and sixty-five coins left. Count them.”

Gao Nuan glanced at the money; Aunt Gui, experienced in such matters, would never shortchange her. She took out five coins and pressed them into Aunt Gui’s hand. “Thank you for your trouble—this is for you.”

Aunt Gui tried to return it. “I’ve already taken a runner’s fee.”

Gao Nuan insisted. “You lent me fabric and thread, and did so much bargaining—take it as my treat for tea. If you don’t, how can I ask you for help in the future?”

With that, Aunt Gui accepted, pleased. “I bought several new pieces of fabric today—pick one to take home and embroider.” She called for Lian’er to fetch the cloth.

Gao Nuan chose a piece of silk to embroider into fan surfaces.

In the county, fashionable ladies had recently become fond of embroidered fans—carrying one was elegant and refined, useful for modesty and style, and the embroidery patterns flattered the owner as much as their clothing. With spring approaching and the weather warming, fans would be in demand.