Chapter 16

On the first day after school, Zhu Ming came to pick up Zhu Xuan as usual, and took Yuan Fengyi along with them. Yuan Fengyi was initially stubborn, refusing Zhu Ming’s escort and insisting she could walk home herself, but eventually yielded.

Zhu Xuan walked silently beside Zhu Ming, holding his hand and lost in thought. Her unusual quietness surprised Zhu Ming, prompting him to ask, “Xuan, how did you find your first day of school?”

“It wasn’t quite what I expected…” Zhu Xuan replied.

“What’s wrong, after only one day you’re already thinking of quitting?” Zhu Ming teased.

Zhu Xuan shook her head. “Not at all. School is fun. Teacher taught me lots of things, and I even learned how to practice the Eight Brocades!”

“Wow! They’re teaching the Eight Brocades in elementary school now? Doesn’t sound like a proper school!” Zhu Ming exclaimed.

Zhu Xuan snorted and retorted, “Does a real school have to be full of fear, with teachers scolding and beating students all the time? Isn’t the point of school to teach us, so we can learn happily?”

She sighed again. “Right now, I only recognize a few characters. I haven’t understood a single book yet. By the time I can read many books and grasp their truths, won’t I be as old as Grandmother?”

Back when she’d only learned a handful of characters at home from Zhu Ming, she thought herself quite impressive. The less one knows, the more arrogant one becomes.

But on the day she received her academic name, she wrote down all the characters she knew and felt ashamed—her knowledge couldn’t even fill a sheet of blank paper. Today, seeing the textbooks distributed by the teacher, she realized sadly that she couldn’t even recognize the words in the table of contents.

For the first time, Zhu Xuan felt a deep inferiority because she was illiterate. Previously, when she accidentally opened a book and saw unfamiliar characters, she treated them as she would an unknown flower—passing by without a second thought.

Now, with a thirst for knowledge, she could no longer ignore that unfamiliar flower. She desperately wanted to know its name, where it grew. When faced with unknown characters, she suffered from the pain of ignorance.

Zhu Ming comforted her, “You can’t expect to understand everything on your first day. What would the teacher be for then? It’s precisely because you know nothing that you need to study and learn. You can’t eat a whole pancake in one bite.”

Zhu Xuan nodded. Just then, the aroma of pancakes wafted from the street corner. A vendor stood by the roadside, calling out, “Hot pancakes! Sweet pancakes! Savory pancakes! Shrimp pancakes!”

Zhu Ming looked down at Zhu Xuan, noticing her longing expression. Yet after thinking it over, she shook her head firmly. When Zhu Ming asked if she wanted to buy some, she disapproved, “We’ll have dinner at home soon. Buying these is a waste of money. Our family isn’t rich. If you buy for me, what about everyone else? That wouldn’t be fair. If you buy for all, how much would that cost?”

She sighed, “Father, no wonder Grandmother always scolds you for being extravagant—it’s not without reason.”

“I just thought your first day of school was hard and wanted to reward you with a pancake. Instead, you’re accusing me of being reckless,” Zhu Ming laughed at her grown-up tone.

Zhu Xuan replied, baffled, “I went to school to learn. It’s not hard. What’s there to reward? My brothers and sisters aren’t in school, but work at home every day. That’s real hardship, yet you never think to reward them… Is that fair?”

Zhu Ming pondered and agreed with her reasoning. He took her hand and walked past the pancake stand, continuing on the nearly two-mile road home. The sunset was dazzling in the sky. Zhu Ming asked, “Tomorrow you’ll walk to school on your own. I won’t come for you. Are you afraid?”

“No!”

“When school ends, come straight home. Don’t dawdle, playing with cats and dogs or wandering off. If it gets dark, you won’t see the road, and the water ghost will snatch you!” Zhu Ming worriedly warned.

“Got it!” For a country child, this distance could be walked with eyes closed. Her siblings used to go to school the same way, walking both ways themselves.

After a while of silence, Zhu Ming recalled Zhu Xuan’s refusal to buy pancakes, “Xuan, do you care a lot about fairness?”

Zhu Xuan nodded. “Grandmother used to let only my brothers and sisters go to school, but not me—that was unfair to me. You wanted to buy pancakes for me, who doesn’t suffer at school, but not for my siblings—that’s unfair to them. Before, I only saw the unfairness toward myself. Now that I’m older, I see the unfairness toward others too.”

“What did you learn at school today? You didn’t start on the Analects, did you? How do you already understand ‘Do not impose on others what you yourself do not desire’?” Zhu Ming was surprised by Zhu Xuan’s clear logic.

Was this the kind of wisdom a child who barely recognized a few characters could express? No wonder Mr. Huang personally invited Zhu Xuan to school—otherwise, her talent would have been wasted.

“I didn’t learn the Analects. I don’t understand what you’re saying. Such truths don’t need a teacher to teach,” Zhu Xuan sighed over her own ignorance.

Zhu Ming suddenly lifted Zhu Xuan in his arms. She looked up in surprise; Zhu Ming smiled, “Ordinary children don’t see these things. Your eyes always perceive so much. My Xuan is something of a born sage, isn’t she?”

Zhu Xuan blushed at his exaggerated praise, thinking he was teasing her, and turned away angrily.

When they got home, Zhu Xuan dutifully carried her little basket to gather pig grass. Grandfather tended so many fields alone—even with Zhu Ming and Zhu Tang’s help, it was exhausting, face to the earth all day. In this era, farming depended entirely on human labor.

Grandmother worked daily, tending vegetables, cooking, managing the household. Mother, even pregnant, worked as well. All the household's labor was bound to the land and survival.

So, at Ying’s age, Zhu Xuan spent half her time playing and half helping with chores. Even after starting school, she still had to gather pig grass and feed the pigs at home.

After gathering pig grass and feeding the pigs with Zhu Lian and the others, Zhu Xuan went to the henhouse to feed the chickens. Mischievously, she stroked a hen’s tail feathers and nearly got pecked, angrily scolding, “I don’t even get to eat your eggs! I feed you kindly, yet you try to peck me! Wicked chicken!”

Old Lady Sun saw Zhu Xuan arguing with chickens and couldn’t resist mocking, “What kind of school did you go to? Used to quarrel with people, now you quarrel with chickens!”

Zhu Xuan ignored her and walked away. Zhu Ming, witnessing this, reconsidered his earlier claim that Zhu Xuan was a ‘born sage.’

Work done, night had fallen. The family ate dinner, washed dishes, cleaned up, ending their daily routine.

But when it was time for bed, Zhu Xuan refused to sleep. She spread out her new textbook, wanting to self-study further, but there was only one candle in her room. Once burned out, there’d be no more.

Zhu Lian found Zhu Xuan crouched on a stool, a book on her knees, reading by the window’s candlelight. Seeing the flame nearly spent, she patted Zhu Xuan’s shoulder, “Stop reading, it’s time to sleep.”

She glanced at Zhu Xuan’s textbook, different from her own from years before, and eagerly flipped through it. “This book is well written, with explanations and notes. It won’t leave your mind muddled.”

Seizing the opportunity, Zhu Xuan had her sister teach her a few more characters. When the candle finally went out, Zhu Lian refused to stay up, urging her to sleep. Reluctantly, Zhu Xuan put away her book and lay in bed.

In the darkness, she sighed, “If only I had lots of candles.”

Zhu Lian laughed, “That wouldn’t do. Books must be read by daylight. Burning a whole room of candles at night hurts the eyes. That’s why Mother prefers to embroider in the morning light, not by night. Many embroiderers and scholars ruined their eyes by ignoring this.”

“Mm.” Zhu Xuan agreed—eyes are irreplaceable; knowledge can be learned anytime.

The next day, she rose early again. At dawn, she quickly tidied herself and learned to braid her own hair.

Before her, only Grandfather and Grandmother were awake. Grandfather got up early to clean the pigsty; after, he needed to wash off the smell, so Grandmother rose even earlier than usual to boil a pot of hot water for him.

Grandmother, busy at the stove, spotted Zhu Xuan peeking around. “It’s not your first day at school—are you excited and up early again?”

Zhu Xuan watched her grandparents, blinking and said sincerely, “Grandmother, you both have so much work every day. It’s really hard!”

“If we didn’t work, how would we feed this big family?” Grandmother replied gruffly. Zhu Xuan sat at the Eight Immortals table, opened her textbook, and began self-studying while tracing characters with water on the table.

“You got up so early for this?” Grandmother wondered aloud. She’d only ever seen children dreading school, never one so eager and diligent as Zhu Xuan, who seemed born to love what others disliked.

After practicing, Zhu Xuan waited for Grandmother to finish breakfast. When the family finished eating, Zhu Xuan shouldered her satchel and went to school alone. A light rain had fallen overnight, leaving the fields damp.

Afraid of dirtying the new cloth shoes Mother had sewn, she carried them in her hand, wearing an old pair of straw sandals instead.

The mud was thick. Families with oxen or donkeys could pull simple carts to the town market, and to make the wheels pass, they’d lay stones on the road—but never enough, and after rain, the stones mixed with mud. Walking barefoot, one might step on a sharp stone.

Zhu Xuan had suffered this before. Country children often ran barefoot everywhere; in rainy weather, straw sandals were most durable.

She walked, one foot deep, one foot shallow, through the muddy road. Shen Yun, seeing her from behind, said to Zhu Ming, “The ground is slippery today; shouldn’t you escort Xuan?”

Zhu Ming shook his head, “If she needs someone to walk her to school, what happens when I’m not home? Who will do it then?”

New green moss grew on the ground. Zhu Xuan, used to these roads, avoided the mossy spots. Walking, she silently recited the characters she’d self-studied, wondering about the names of every plant and how to write them, though most she didn’t know.

She sighed inwardly, I can’t even understand the grass and trees before me—how can I ever soar as high as the teacher hopes?

Passing the riverside houses, she heard shouting and scolding from across the water.

Zhu Xuan’s house stood on one side of the river; the neighbors on the other. Between them was a wooden bridge, the river marking the boundary, and there was little interaction. Their side’s road led to town, and they never crossed to Zhu Xuan’s side.

But Zhu Xuan knew the situation of the closest riverside household. Its matriarch was fierce; compared to her, Grandmother was gentle.

The woman’s surname was unknown to Zhu Xuan, only that her husband’s family name was Liu. The husband returned from conscription alive but with a broken arm, losing much of his labor ability and becoming surly, acting like a lord, often drunk and beating his wife.

Thus, the woman managed the household alone, tough and aggressive, often quarreling with Grandmother Sun over the riverside vegetable plots. Sometimes, the two women would shout insults across the river, Grandmother calling her “Liu’s wife.”

Liu’s wife had two children. The eldest, a boy, was not properly watched and broke his leg. Liu’s husband insisted that his sons’ injuries were his wife’s curse, using it as an excuse to beat her with his remaining hand.

Perhaps Liu’s wife herself believed it. Whenever her husband accused her of causing the injuries, she stopped resisting and silently accepted the blows.

Her other child was a girl named Amin, about Zhu Xuan’s age, but unlike Zhu Xuan—never wild or free, more like a timid creature. Liu’s wife’s fierceness mostly landed on the girl. After being beaten by her husband, she’d beat Amin.

So Zhu Xuan rarely saw Amin playing. When she did, Amin’s hair looked like dried grass, her patched clothes hung loose, feet bare, head bowed meekly, her face devoid of any youthful spirit.

The shouting from across the river scattered Zhu Xuan’s thoughts. She saw Amin limp across the bridge, coming to the reed marsh on Zhu Xuan’s side, intent on gathering reeds. Noticing Zhu Xuan watching from the roadside, Amin remembered this marsh belonged to Zhu’s family and hesitated, wanting to leave.

Passing by, she saw Zhu Xuan’s satchel and new cloth shoes—rarely, she didn’t bow her head like cattle or sheep, but looked up with envy.

“Amin,” Zhu Xuan called out to the riverside girl for the first time.

“You…” Zhu Xuan wanted to ask, Why don’t you go to school? We’re the same age, and you’re the only girl in your family. School here doesn’t cost money, in fact, you’d get paid.

But she didn’t ask. She remembered Liu’s crippled father and son, and seeing the bruises at Amin’s eye, she knew the answer.

Amin thought Zhu Xuan was warning her not to touch the reeds, so she hurriedly replied, “I won’t come here again.”

She lowered her head and walked on. Zhu Xuan noticed the blood on Amin’s bare feet, leaving a trail in the mud—she must have stepped on a sharp stone.

Zhu Xuan bit her lip, watched a moment, then squatted and took off her straw sandals, calling, “Hey!”

Amin turned to see Zhu Xuan tossing the straw sandals to her. Puzzled, Amin asked softly, “What will you wear?”

Zhu Xuan waved her cloth shoes, “I have these!”

Reassured, Amin put on the straw sandals and left. Zhu Xuan looked at her cloth shoes, feeling it a shame to dirty them in the mud, but with her straw sandals gone, after some consideration, she went barefoot to school.

That evening, returning home, Shen Yun noticed blisters and broken skin on Zhu Xuan’s feet and that her straw sandals were missing. She asked what happened.

Thinking of Amin’s bloody footprints, Zhu Xuan was silent for a moment, then only said, “I lost my straw sandals halfway, and didn’t want to dirty my new cloth shoes, so I went like this.”

“How could you lose your sandals halfway?” Shen Yun asked.

Zhu Xuan refused to explain, remaining silent. Shen Yun, knowing her stubbornness, didn’t press further but continued, “Why not wear your cloth shoes to school?”

“They’d get dirty—not worth it.”

“Is your foot more valuable, or your shoes? You had shoes yet went barefoot and got blisters! How could a child like you exist?” Shen Yun scolded. Zhu Xuan’s expression was calm, lost in thought.

When the scolding ended, she quietly took out her book and began memorizing the day’s lessons. Each character brought immense satisfaction. Zhu Xuan gazed greedily at the dry textbook, soaking up every word.