Chapter 8

Gao Zhao returned from the He family’s butcher shop with the books and paper. The book was the “Collected Works of Scholar Cai.” Yu Shensi had never heard of this person before, so Gao Zhao introduced him: Scholar Cai’s full name was Cai Teng, who had attained the jinshi degree during the former emperor’s reign and had served in the Hanlin Academy; now, he was a Senior Official in the Ministry of Personnel. Gao Zhao wished to elaborate further, but when he turned to his younger brother’s innocent face—who had yet to finish learning the “Thousand Character Classic”—he realized it was pointless to explain and so let the matter drop. He pinched his brother’s cheek affectionately and said, “I’ll tell you all about it when you’re older.”

“Yes! Big Brother, teach me how to grind ink. When you copy books in the future, I’ll grind the ink for you.”

“You’re such a good boy, Yang’er.”

The family had no inkstone at home. Since a proper inkstone was expensive and not an absolute necessity, they had saved that expense and used a coarse pottery bowl instead. Gao Zhao took Yu Shensi’s hand and taught him step by step.

Once the ink was ready, Gao Zhao glanced through one of Scholar Cai’s essays, then set his brush to begin copying. Yu Shensi continued grinding ink, but his eyes were already drawn to the book.

The essays were written in classical style, replete with allusions and quotations, some parts obscure and difficult, but Yu Shensi could still grasp the main content and the author’s intent.

He asked Gao Zhao, “Big Brother, can you understand it?”

Gao Zhao hesitated. “It’s a bit difficult.” Then, with confidence, “But if I read a book a hundred times, its meaning will reveal itself. Maybe if I copy it a few more times, I’ll understand.” He didn’t forget to instruct his brother, reminding him to regularly review and revisit what he had been taught.

He spoke in a scholarly tone, and Yu Shensi pretended to nod in understanding.

Seeing his brother had been grinding ink for so long, Gao Zhao told him to take a break and continued copying the book himself.

The “Collected Works of Scholar Cai” consisted of a dozen or so essays of varying length. Working from dawn to dusk, one could finish copying it in a day. But people are not machines; Gao Zhao, of course, could not write nonstop. He took breaks to help his elder sister, taught his youngest brother to read in the afternoons, and since the family had no oil lamps or candles, he could only work from sunrise to sunset. Over two days, he barely managed to finish copying a single volume.

Lü Dalang’s uncle was indeed a straightforward man and paid a generous commission: one hundred and twenty coins for a copy of the “Collected Works of Scholar Cai.” Gao Zhao calculated roughly that one book would earn him forty to fifty coins in profit.

He ended up copying five volumes in total, and by then, had become quite familiar with Scholar Cai’s writings.

The ice melted, the snow thawed, and spring returned to the land.

At the beginning of the second lunar month was the birthday of the original Gao Yang, but due to their mother’s passing, celebrations were not appropriate. Gao Nuan made a bowl of longevity noodles for him, and that was the extent of the observance.

Lü Dalang soon brought another new book, “Case Records of Criminal Law,” for Gao Zhao to copy. This book was compiled by a former official of the Ministry of Justice after his retirement, mainly recording several complex cases he had handled at the ministry, using them to expound on the laws of the Grand Sheng Dynasty.

To Yu Shensi, this was far more interesting than Scholar Cai’s essays. Over two days, under the pretext of grinding ink, he read the entire book from start to finish, remembering not only the stories but also the legal principles explained within—knowledge that would prove useful for the imperial examinations someday.

This book was like a legal primer in story form, clear and engaging for readers of all ages, and sold well. The bookstore ordered five more copies after that.

At the beginning of the second month, work began in earnest on the Gao family ancestral hall, and occasionally, Gao Zhao was called to help.

After the Waking of Insects, the spring rains increased. Light showers the old house could withstand, but heavier rains led to severe leaks, and when the wind blew, broken doors and windows let in the rain as well. The siblings moved their beds, tables, and cabinets to dry spots, catching the leaks with every available basin, ladle, and jar, pouring out the collected water when full. During the day, it was manageable, but at night, they would wake to find the floor flooded.

The old house’s floor was rammed earth, which absorbed only so much; after a night of soaking, the mud became slippery underfoot.

With summer came even more rain, and the leaking would only grow worse.

When the skies cleared, Gao Zhao went to ask the old clan chief for help, requesting that one of the masons working on the ancestral hall be spared to repair their house at their own expense, not from the public funds.

Since all the money for the ancestral hall’s repairs was handled by his father, Gao Ming, it was only fitting that the family’s old house should get its roof and windows fixed as well. The clan chief, of course, agreed, and sent a mason that very day, along with his own youngest son to inspect the doors and windows. If they could be repaired, they would do so; if not, replacing them was no trouble. The family was not asked to pay for it.

Gao Mingqiu, the mason, set foot in the little courtyard for the first time and saw that the formerly barren ground on either side had been dug up and planted with vegetables. The plots were neatly arranged, and some sprouts had already broken through the soil—there were several varieties, and it wouldn’t be long before they’d have fresh greens to eat.

He had never realized that the siblings were so skillful—not only could they embroider and write, but they were also adept at gardening. The courtyard was tidy, the laundry drying on rods was spotlessly clean. Such good children would be cherished as treasures in any rural home, but fate had given them an uncle like Gao Mingtong.

Gao Zhao explained where the problems were. The mason climbed up the roof with a ladder and quickly found the leaks. Gao Mingqiu checked the doors and windows; the doors could be repaired, but the window frames were rotted and broken in several places—easier to replace than fix.

The mason patched the leaks that very day, and Gao Mingqiu went home to make two new windows and doors, which he delivered and installed a few days later.

With the repairs complete, the old house was much more comfortable.

In the third month, Gao Nuan reckoned that her aunt was nearly due to give birth, but she could not visit or offer congratulations now, lest she bring misfortune. Still, she worried.

Her uncle had always been frail, and after many years of marriage, it had taken great effort for him and her aunt to have a child. She could only hope that both mother and child would be safe and that her uncle’s health would hold.

Her uncle’s family lived in Tianwan Township, which, though under the same county administration as their own village, lay to the north while their home was to the west. The two places were separated by dozens of miles—taking the county seat as a detour made the journey even longer, while going directly meant crossing mountains and rivers, which was even less convenient.

She could not go in person to offer congratulations, but her uncle sent word through someone else.

The messenger was her young cousin, not yet twenty. His father had died early, and his mother had remarried, so he had always lived with their maternal grandfather. As a child, he would meet Gao Nuan whenever she visited her grandfather’s house with her mother. He was gentle and honest and had helped in the family tailor shop from a young age.

The cousin smiled and said, “Mother and child are both well. The baby has big eyes like your aunt, and two dimples as well.”

“Then he must be a very handsome little brother!” Gao Zhao said cheerfully, as their aunt was known for her beauty.

The cousin nodded. “Yes, your uncle said that when the baby is a bit older, come the end of the year, he’ll bring him along when we visit your mother’s grave, so you can all see him.”

Mention of their late mother cast a shadow over the siblings’ hearts, but the thought of meeting kin brought them some comfort.

With a long journey ahead and dusk approaching, the cousin could not stay long. The three siblings reluctantly accompanied him to the edge of the village.

At the entrance, Aunt Gui appeared with her two daughters, returning from outside. They crossed paths.

Aunt Gui sized up the unfamiliar young man before her. He was taller than Hutu’s father, with regular features and bright eyes—a handsome youth. His clothes were neat and clean, unlike those of the laborers working on the ancestral hall.

“Is this a relative?” Aunt Gui smiled, stepping closer to Gao Nuan.

“My cousin from my grandfather’s family,” Gao Nuan replied, and introduced Aunt Gui to her cousin.

The cousin greeted them politely and then urged the siblings not to see him off any further, waving as he walked away.

Gao Nuan turned back to see Aunt Gui and her daughters staring intently at the cousin’s departing figure.

Mei’er, fourteen this year, had already attracted matchmakers with marriage proposals since spring began. Aunt Gui had been considering the options, but Mei’er was picky and had yet to find anyone to her liking.

Gathering up her youngest brother, Gao Nuan was about to head home when Aunt Gui hurried after her and quietly asked, “Your cousin looks quite young—has he turned twenty yet?”

“He’s just nineteen.”

Aunt Gui glanced at her eldest daughter, and Mei’er gave her a look. Aunt Gui then asked, roundabout, “At that age, he should be getting married soon. Was he here to announce an engagement?”

Gao Nuan realized Aunt Gui and her daughter had set their sights on her cousin. He was gentle-natured, and both her uncle and aunt were kind people—a family ill-suited for a difficult daughter-in-law. Privately, she could not accept Mei’er as her elder.

Since Aunt Gui hadn’t asked directly, she answered vaguely, “Yes, it’s about welcoming a new child.”

Aunt Gui’s hopes were dashed, her shoulders slumping, and Mei’er let out a disappointed sigh, glancing northward after the cousin, but he had already disappeared from view.

Back at home, seeing her daughter’s downcast look, Aunt Gui consoled, “Nuan’s uncle lives all the way in Tianwan, dozens of miles away. It’s not easy for him to look after his nieces and nephews—when they were going hungry last winter, he didn’t know, couldn’t help. It’s better to have someone from a nearby village—easier to rely on in times of trouble.”

Mei’er pouted, still thinking of the young man she had just seen. No one of his looks lived in the neighboring villages; the more she thought about it, the more irritated she became.

As the days warmed, the ancestral hall’s repairs were completed. The clansfolk gazed at the newly refurbished building—its gate broad and imposing, far grander than before. Their spirits lifted, and they walked with straighter backs.

On the day of completion, the clan chief sent for the brothers Gao Mingtong and Gao Mingda to return for the ceremony. Gao Mingtong was away in the capital and could not return soon, so Gao Mingda brought along Gao Mingtong’s eldest son.

After paying respects to the ancestors, Gao Mingda and his nephew were invited by the clan chief to his home for a banquet. This time, Gao Mingda did not refuse and accepted the invitation.

Because Gao Zhao was in mourning, it was not appropriate for him to attend. During the meal, Gao Mingda repeatedly thanked the clan chief for his care of his late second brother’s children. He made no mention of his brother, only of his brother’s widow, speaking with great respect for her and concern for her orphaned children.

After the meal, Gao Mingda took the initiative to visit his nephew and nieces at the old house on the west side.

When he entered, Gao Nuan was threading a needle, Gao Zhao was copying books, and Yu Shensi was grinding ink nearby. Recently, there had been renewed demand for “Case Records of Criminal Law,” so Lü Dalang had asked Gao Zhao to copy more volumes.

Gao Mingda looked around the courtyard—there were even greater changes here than at the ancestral hall. The roof and windows had been repaired, the garden was neat and clean, the once-neglected vegetable patch was now green with thriving plants, and a grape trellis stood in the corner. Strips of cloth cut for shoe soles were drying on a stone outside the side house. What a transformation from just a month or two ago.

Yu Shensi, seeing Gao Mingda arrive through the window, set down his ink stick and called to Gao Nuan and Gao Zhao.

The three siblings came to the door. Gao Mingda approached with a smile and, as though by habit, tousled Yu Shensi’s hair, asking, “Do you still remember your third uncle?”

Yu Shensi stepped aside to avoid his hand and shook his head.

Gao Mingda frowned slightly. A child of this age ought to remember people and events; it had only been a few months—how could he have forgotten? His own daughter, younger than this, could still recognize people she’d seen half a year before. He pointed to Gao Kuang behind him, but Yu Shensi still shook his head. Puzzled, he wondered if the boy had been left a little dull-witted after his fever that winter.

He had never been a clever child—late to walk, late to speak, and after last winter’s illness, things had only gotten worse. He would probably grow up simple and slow.

Gao Nuan and her brothers greeted him, “Third Uncle, Cousin.”

Gao Mingda went inside and glanced around. The house was still simple, but much better than before. On the desk by the window were brush, ink, paper, and books. He went over to take a look.

The calligraphy on the paper was upright and vigorous, neat and clean, with not a single correction. For a child so young to write this well showed the result of much hard work and countless practice.

Of all the nephews and nieces, only Zhao’er excelled at his studies. At just nine, he had already passed the children’s exam, the most accomplished of the younger generation in the Gao family. And yet…

Gao Mingda recalled what his elder brother had said and felt a pang of pity. Such a sensible child ought to be raised at home. He patted Gao Zhao’s back and praised him, “To maintain your studies without a teacher’s supervision is better than many of your cousins.”

Gao Zhao replied quickly, “Uncle’s praise embarrasses me. Studying is simply my duty.”

Gao Mingda smiled and asked a few more questions, finally urging him to keep studying and telling Gao Nuan to look after her brothers before taking his leave.

At the village crossroads, Gao Kuang asked, “I noticed the paper is stamped ‘Yiwen Bookstore’—are they copying books for money? Didn’t Father send them rice and funds?”

Gao Mingda sidestepped the question with a laugh. “Copying books lets them read more and practice their writing. Since they’re not attending school, isn’t this even better?”

Gao Kuang pondered for a moment, still sensing something amiss, but couldn’t put his finger on it. Glancing back at the old house, he saw the courtyard gate already closed.

The ancestral hall was finished. The “Thousand Character Classic” had been learned, and it was time for the busy farming season.

Linshui County’s climate allowed two harvests a year, with rice and wheat grown in rotation. Without modern machinery, the busy season truly meant hard work—especially when the weather was uncooperative and villagers worked day and night to bring in the crops. During the day, the village was nearly empty, with even the elderly and children helping in the fields. Yu Shensi’s three childhood friends hadn’t come by in days.

Yet the small lessons at home continued—Gao Zhao began teaching his youngest brother the “Three Character Classic.”

Yu Shensi usually ground ink for Gao Zhao, occasionally asking about unfamiliar characters and adding them to his “recognized characters” list. Lately, as Gao Zhao copied books, he would deliberately read out whole sentences and ask if he’d read them correctly, leaving Gao Zhao with the impression that his little brother had mastered a great many new words.

Thus, when Yu Shensi picked up the “Three Character Classic” and read it through smoothly, Gao Zhao wasn’t surprised.

With his foundation secure, Yu Shensi sped up his own learning. He quickly memorized the “Three Character Classic,” but to avoid raising suspicion, he continued to study with Gao Zhao for half a month. During this time, he made no secret of his reading—he’d pick up other primers as well. Gao Zhao, seeing his interest and ability, did not discourage him, only saying, “If you come across a word or a phrase you don’t understand, ask me and I’ll explain.”

“Alright!”