Chapter Eight: Beyond Reason

Although Zhang Hudan and Zhou Zhi were five years apart in age, their bond was remarkably close. Zhang Hudan would often visit the Zhou household every few days to see Zhou Zhi and spend time playing with him.

"Zhi, today was truly satisfying. That brat Chen Wenju has long deserved a lesson. At last, you stood up for us brothers! Hahaha!" Zhang Hudan could not hide his delight, and by the end, he burst into a hearty laugh.

"Ha ha... It really was a relief!" Zhou Zhi could not help laughing as well. Indeed, Chen Wenju, the arrogant young master from a wealthy family, had long been an eyesore to Zhou Zhi.

"Eat, Zhi." At some point, Zhang Hudan had produced a fragrant roasted chicken leg in his hand.

After a month in the Ming dynasty, Zhou Zhi had subsisted on little more than gruel and greens, never once tasting meat. The sight of the chicken leg made his face light up with joy. He took it from Zhang Hudan and was about to take a bite when he suddenly paused.

He thought of his younger brother, Zhou Shaocheng, who was frail and sickly and hadn’t eaten meat in ages. This chicken leg must be saved for his little brother.

"I knew you’d be reluctant to eat it. Just eat, I have another one here for your brother." Zhang Hudan’s expression turned stern as he pulled out a second roasted chicken leg from his coat.

Zhang Hudan fixed Zhou Zhi with a burning gaze; it was clear that if Zhou Zhi refused, he would be in for a scolding. Only then did Zhou Zhi start eating heartily.

Zhou Zhi knew well that the chicken legs were most likely gifts from the local riffraff who often brought stolen goods to curry favor with Hudan. Hudan was always generous with his younger brother, sharing whatever good things came his way. Zhou Zhi looked at him with deep gratitude, silently thinking that Hudan was good in every respect—except for his laziness, which often troubled old Zhang.

Seeing Zhou Zhi eating with such relish, Zhang Hudan’s face was full of satisfaction. Suddenly, his expression grew serious. "Zhi, you said today that you learned to read just by listening to Master Wang a few times outside the academy. Seems that tumble really knocked some sense into you. Now you can even write! I truly envy you.

Your Hudan brother is hopeless—never cut out for books. A few days at the academy years ago left me dizzy, and I couldn’t recognize a single character. The old master scolded me daily. Hmph!

By the way, Zhi, where did that book you were reading come from? How could our poor family afford a book?"

Mouth still full of chicken, Zhou Zhi muttered, "It’s not really a book. I found it a few days ago in the family shrine. It’s called ‘The Great Proclamation,’ written by the founding emperor himself. It’s nearly a hundred years old now, and I was just idly flipping through it when Chen Wenju saw me."

Speaking of "The Great Proclamation," the old Emperor Zhu had once decreed that every household should own a copy, to be passed down and recited. Xie Yingfang once wrote, "Hang the book on an ox’s horn and read it in the fields; even the farmer learns his letters," describing the widespread reading of the book at the time. Now, a century later, that golden age had faded into memory, and "The Great Proclamation" had all but vanished among the people. For Zhou Zhi’s family to still have a copy was a rare thing.

Zhang Hudan nodded lightly, but then shook his head and scrutinized Zhou Zhi with suspicion. "You’ve changed—a lot—since you fell in the field a month ago and were knocked unconscious. Now you can read so many words... maybe that bump made you a scholar. Do you really plan to spend your life toiling in the fields, like your father, bent over the earth all your days? If you can learn to read so easily, why not keep studying and take the exams for an official post?"

Zhou Zhi finished his chicken and chuckled, saying nothing. Deep down he thought, Wouldn’t I love to devote myself to study and sit for the exams? But how could a poor family like ours afford it? The path to officialdom would have to be a long-term plan.

Zhang Hudan quickly guessed Zhou Zhi’s thoughts and sighed. "Sometimes Heaven is truly unfair. Why wasn’t a seed of scholarship like you born into a wealthy house? Hmph!

I, Zhang Hudan, was born poor and was never meant for books, but I don’t believe it—why must reading be the only way to rise in the world, to bring honor to one’s ancestors?"

He seemed to be speaking both to Zhou Zhi and to himself.

By the end, Zhang Hudan’s eyes were blazing with ambition. Zhou Zhi looked at him in surprise, unable to believe that the Hudan he’d known—once a neighborhood ruffian—could utter such bold words. Truly, a man cannot be judged by his past.

After his outburst, Zhang Hudan seemed much calmer. He lowered his voice. "Zhi, I heard my father say your father was very worried about today’s trouble. My dad talked him round in the end, but you really must be careful—the Chen family isn’t to be trifled with."

"Don’t worry, Hudan, I’ll be careful," Zhou Zhi replied lightly.

Seeing that Zhou Zhi seemed unconcerned, Zhang Hudan warned him once more before finally taking his leave.

By now, it was deep into the night. Sleepiness overwhelmed Zhou Zhi, and he yawned. Yet tonight would be a sleepless one—for Chen Wenju had sent people to plow and sow wheat on Zhou Zhi’s land that night, and Zhou Zhi had to see for himself.

He stretched his limbs; fortunately, this body was strong and could still endure. Taking advantage of the moonlight, Zhou Zhi strode out toward his family’s fields.

Perhaps Chen Wenju feared the shame of being seen helping the Zhou family, so he sent eight strong men and five oxen to the fields under cover of darkness. By the time Zhou Zhi arrived, all eight acres had been plowed.

He inspected the work. The men were all seasoned farmhands—the furrows were deep, with no sign of shoddy labor. They were now preparing to sow the wheat using seed drills.

Zhou Zhi checked the seeds; they were fresh and of good quality. He felt reassured. It seemed Chen Wenju had no intention of playing tricks when it came to plowing and sowing. Good—this was how a true scholar should behave: a man of his word, upright and honest.

With eight men and two seed drills, the work went quickly. When nearly all eight acres were sown, Zhou Zhi had them leave half an acre by the roadside unsown. The men were puzzled—why refuse free wheat seed? Did the Zhou boy plan to use his own seed on that half acre?

How stubborn! Did he think that sowing less would somehow avoid offending the Chen family? If he feared them, why provoke them in the first place? By now, he’d already thoroughly offended them—he’d have to bear the consequences.

Zhou Zhi, however, had no time to ponder their thoughts. By the time he hurried home, it was already past 3 a.m. Glad that dawn was still some hours off, he tried to sneak in quietly so as not to wake his parents and little brother. As he tiptoed through the outer room, he heard a long sigh from his parents’ room—his father’s voice: "Ah! That poor child Zhi has really suffered..."