Chapter Sixty-Seven: The First Snow

Some time ago, Yue Shujie’s youngest daughter, Yue Chan, married the deputy magistrate of Qingdu County as his third concubine, a man more than twenty years her senior. Yue Chan was not only beautiful but possessed a beguiling charm, and within just a couple of days, she had the deputy magistrate utterly captivated, obeying her every word.

The deputy magistrate was second-in-command in the county, a person of considerable status. He was also a man of some ability, serving both in the county office and running a substantial silk and cotton business in Qingdu’s town. The daily turnover alone reached two or three hundred taels of silver.

Yue Chan, a woman devoted to her family, gently persuaded her new husband to allow the Yue family to join in his business ventures. Unable to refuse his enchanting young wife, the deputy magistrate readily agreed. And so, with his backing, the Yue family embarked on their first commercial enterprise: trading raw cotton. They purchased cotton cheaply from Xinle and Dingzhou in Zhendin Prefecture, transported it back to Qingdu, and sold it at a high price through the deputy magistrate’s connections.

Today, the three Yue brothers had just returned from their first excursion to collect cotton in Zhendin. After resting at home for a night, they would set out at dawn to deliver it to the county town. According to the deputy magistrate, each cartload of cotton would bring in six or seven taels of profit; with more than a dozen carts, the total gain would be no less than a hundred taels.

A hundred taels was no trivial sum. In the Ming dynasty, a typical family of five, living frugally, might spend only three or four taels in an entire year. For impoverished households like Zhou Zhi’s, annual expenses would not exceed two taels.

Even for a prosperous household like the Yue family, yearly expenditures did not surpass three hundred taels. To earn a hundred taels from a single journey was enough to fill Old Master Yue’s heart with joy. That was why he personally led a welcoming party, complete with firecrackers, to greet his sons on their return. It was also a demonstration of the Yue family’s growing influence, an announcement to the villagers that the household had now embarked on the path of commerce.

Merchants had not been highly regarded in the early Ming, but by the dynasty’s mid-period, their status had improved greatly. Many of the old restrictions on merchants existed now only in name.

Hearing the villagers’ gossip, Zhou Zhi understood the situation and stood lost in thought for a long while before returning home.

His mother, Madame He, and his elder sister, Zhou Luyun, had already prepared supper and were simply waiting for Zhou Zhi’s return. Seeing him enter with a large cloth bundle, Zhou Luyun teased, “Little Zhi, you borrowed so many books today! It seems you’ve truly resolved to earn yourself a name and title!”

Her younger brother, Zhou Shaocheng, pouted and added, “Sister, what do you know? Brother isn’t just going to pass the exams—he’s going to become a great official!”

To Zhou Shaocheng, his brother Zhou Zhi was an idol, and he naturally sought to curry favor.

Luyun laughed, “If Little Zhi really does become an official one day, that would be wonderful. Our Zhou family would never have to endure hardship again.” Yet her eyes were full of hope and longing.

Madame He paused at the sight of so many books, but said nothing. After all that had happened lately, Zhou Zhi had handled everything himself; in her eyes, he had long since become a man who knew his limits, was clever and capable, and approached matters with method and care.

Their supper was simple fare, but with the whole family gathered, Zhou Zhi found it especially sweet.

During the meal, Madame He mentioned their father, Zhou Tie, and the mood turned somber. The weather was growing colder, and Zhou Tie had been gone a month; it was time he returned.

After supper, Zhou Zhi went out to cut grass and feed the horse. Finishing his chores early, he went to bed, for lamp oil was too precious to waste on night reading. He had resolved to rise early for his studies instead.

At dawn, Zhou Zhi began by reading “The Mencius.”

The entire text was less than forty thousand characters; Zhou Zhi read three thousand in one go, then closed the book to recite them from memory. Where he stumbled, he would glance at the text and correct himself. By the end of the morning, he could recite all three thousand characters fluently.

He realized his memory was steadily improving. In the past, he had needed to read a passage twice before memorizing it; now, once was enough. Especially in the morning, when his mind was clear, the words seemed to imprint themselves directly into his brain. Zhou Zhi found himself quietly delighted.

He reflected that, even in his later life, his memory had been good, but never this sharp. Could it be that he was innately gifted with classical Chinese, and had simply chosen the wrong field in university? Zhou Zhi could not help but wonder.

He set himself a plan: three thousand characters in the morning, another three thousand in the afternoon. At this pace, he calculated, he would have memorized all the “Four Books and Five Classics” by next February. And as his memory improved, he could increase his daily workload as needed.

After studying and practicing his calligraphy, Zhou Zhi fed the horse and went out to the fields.

Days passed in this regular routine, and soon it was mid-November.

Though the weather was turning cold, it was not as bitter as in previous years. Many families did not even light the kang at night, and the hardier folk had yet to don their winter clothing.

Zhou Zhi knew that, historically, the worst of the Little Ice Age would come at the end of the Ming, but from now on, each year would grow colder.

On the twelfth of November, the weather suddenly turned bitter, and snow began to fall. By noon, it was only scattered flakes, but by afternoon it became a heavy, swirling blizzard. Zhou Zhi reminded his sister to light the kang and feed the horse that evening. Then, donning his winter clothes and bedding, and taking a book, he headed for the fields.

The vegetables in the greenhouse were thriving, and in a few days he would be able to harvest a crop of chives for market. With the sudden cold, however, the kang in the greenhouse would need to be lit.

He slipped through the straw mats into the greenhouse. The temperature inside was low, but not yet cold enough to harm the plants. Zhou Zhi set down his bedding and began gathering firewood to heat the kang.

From his grandfather, he had learned the tricks of stoking a kang, and following those instructions, he lit wood in each stove at the back of the greenhouse, then returned inside to monitor the temperature.

He aimed for a steady warmth—not too cold, not too hot—and added wood at intervals. He had prepared plenty of firewood in advance, more than enough for his needs.

He would be sleeping in the greenhouse at night; these days, he could not afford to go home, for this was the critical stage in the growth of his vegetables, and there could be no negligence.

His sister brought his supper early, and found him squatting inside, reading. She smiled, “Our little Zhi is remarkable—always finding time to study. I do hope you make something of yourself!”

She added, “Mother says it’s not right for you to tend the greenhouse alone. From now on, I’ll come help during the day.”

Madame He had visited once, persuaded by her daughter. Seeing the lush vegetables and the clever design of the greenhouse, she began to believe that Zhou Zhi could indeed protect the crop from frost, and so she started supporting his efforts.

Caring for the greenhouse truly required a helper, and Zhou Zhi gladly accepted his sister’s offer, teaching her how to tend the stoves and monitor the temperature.

It was simple work, and Luyun, being quick-witted, grasped it at once.

The next day, she would begin assisting him. That night, after supper, Zhou Zhi lay back on his bedding, silently reciting the morning’s lesson and keeping an eye on the temperature, leaving at intervals to add wood to the stoves outside.

By midnight, the snow had finally ceased.

Resting with his eyes half closed, Zhou Zhi was startled by the sound of crunching footsteps in the snow outside the greenhouse. The noise was chaotic, more than one person. Heart pounding, he sat up and grabbed the hatchet he used for splitting firewood, thinking to himself: Who would come to cause trouble in the greenhouse at this hour?