Chapter 6

Jiang Yun held a hoe as tall as himself, working the ridges in the field. Spring was the season for sowing; ridging the soil prevented waterlogging and better suited plant growth.

Unconsciously, the setting sun was casting slanting rays over the western hills. Having finished his work in the field, he finally sat on the ridge, enjoying the breeze and resting. His shoes were filled with some dirt, uncomfortable, yet Jiang Yun did not take them off.

After all, he was a young gentleman; removing his shoes in public, if seen, would invite gossip from the village women.

In contrast, Yu Ge'er flitted about, picking flowers and chasing butterflies. His fair skin made him look even more like a young gentleman than Jiang Yun.

“Yu Ge'er, time to go home,” Jiang Yun waved. Before the sun fully set, he wanted to hurry back and prepare dinner, lest he incur a scolding.

Liu Yu responded with a nod, and the two walked hand in hand eastward through the village. Not long after passing the bamboo grove, they heard shouting from a house by the stream.

It was the residence of Second Uncle He, a thatched earth house much like others in the village. Although the courtyard was large, it was now crowded with people, making it seem cramped.

Seeing the crowd, Jiang Yun shrank back, clutching the basket strap tightly, eager to leave quickly.

Liu Yu, however, was curious and pulled him toward the commotion.

Biting his lip, Jiang Yun hesitated, whispering, “I... I won’t go, I need to cook dinner.”

But Yu Ge'er insisted, “Just watch for a bit. Come with me.”

Unskilled at refusal, Jiang Yun was quickly pulled along.

The crowd around He Lao’er’s house was filled with nosy villagers, mostly women and a few men. Jiang Yun spotted Aunt Zhang Xiulan, who often chatted with him.

Not knowing how to greet her, he was relieved she hadn’t noticed him. He shrank to the back, trying to stay unnoticed.

The scene was chaotic: chairs overturned, unmistakably the aftermath of a fight.

Zhao Xiang sat on the ground, wailing loudly, beating the earth with her fists, her voice hoarse: “I’ve been married to you for over twenty years, bore you a son, worked hard managing this household. And in the end, you won’t even give me a hundred wen? You black-hearted, ungrateful man!”

The man she cursed was none other than her husband, He Lao’er. He sat in front of the house, impatiently drinking from a wine gourd, refusing to help her up.

“You deserve a divorce. All these years, you’ve been taking my money to support your brother, even my son’s betrothal money you didn’t spare!”

The onlookers murmured sympathetically but dared not speak openly.

After all, the family purse was always in the husband’s hands. The women only spent what the man gave them, never imagining using husband’s money to help their natal family.

Yet no one expected Zhao Xiang to have even used her son’s betrothal money to repay her brother’s gambling debts.

“No wonder your son never smiles at you,” one woman sneered, casting Zhao Xiang a contemptuous glance.

Just then, the situation took a sharp turn.

Zhao Xiang gave her husband a fierce look, declaring, “You don’t know anything. My brother said he arranged a match for Qiao Qiao with a young master from the town. Once Qiao Qiao marries into that family, she’ll be the lady of a wealthy household. Isn’t this hundred wen just for the wedding banquet?”

In the countryside, marriages were either within the village or from another nearby village. If a girl married into town, it was a matter of pride for the family.

A man nearby whispered, “I heard her brother is a thug at a gambling den in the city. Maybe he really knows some big families. Think about it, who goes to a gambling den if they’re poor?”

His words carried weight, and the crowd began to believe him. The voices were loud enough to reach Zhao Xiang’s ears.

Only Zhang Xiulan smiled silently, thinking no good could come from frequenting gambling dens—a bottomless pit where no matter how much money you threw in, you’d see no returns.

Zhao Xiang paid no heed, lifting her head proudly: “Once Qiao Qiao becomes a lady, what’s a hundred wen to her?”

She would then be the mother of a lady. Those watching, who had scrimped and saved all their lives, could never compare. Maybe when she was in a good mood, she might even bring a few of them to serve her in the town—a blessing for them.

While others were convinced and eager to please, Zhang Xiulan scorned her sharp-tongued sister-in-law, loudly retorting, “Your daughter’s seventeen, and she’s been paying the late marriage tax for years. Even bachelors in the next village won’t have her. Do you really think a town’s young master would want her?”

Her words sparked laughter among the crowd.

Qingmiao Village was small; everyone knew each other’s affairs. Zhao Xiang’s daughter was plain-looking, born with a limp, yet dreamed fancifully of marrying a town’s young master.

Once, a family ten kilometers away didn’t mind her and came to propose, but she rejected them for being too fat. After that, no one else came.

Zhao Xiang clenched her teeth, ready to attack Zhang Xiulan but was shoved back a few steps.

“Hey, I’m your sister-in-law. How can you fight your own family?”

Zhao Xiang’s shamelessness knew no bounds, but Zhang Xiulan was unfazed.

“Enough!” He Lao’er pounded his cane on the ground, headache evident. “You won’t get a cent of that money, you spendthrift. Your daughter can marry whoever she wants, but don’t expect a penny from me.”

With that, he grabbed his wine gourd and staggered out of the crowd, heading toward the village outskirts.

He Lao’er was a lazy man; after the He family split, he sold his few acres for twenty taels of silver. He spent his time smoking and drinking, all his money on wine.

Not to mention spending money on a daughter who was about to marry out.

Without money, Zhao Xiang’s fury broke loose again, wailing and lamenting on the ground.

The spectacle had dragged on long enough; people began to leave in twos and threes to cook dinner.

Liu Yu and Jiang Yun slipped away quietly.

Yu Ge'er patted his chest, remarking that the scene had exceeded his expectations.

He rambled on, “Luckily, my parents said even if I’m not married at twenty, they can afford to keep me. They won’t just marry me off to anyone.”

He walked ahead, unaware that Jiang Yun trailed behind, his mind heavy.

The earlier scene left a deep shadow in Jiang Yun’s heart. Now fifteen, at marrying age, Liu Guihua would surely refuse to pay his late marriage tax, probably forcing him into an unsuitable family.

The thought chilled him to the bone—fear and helplessness washing over him.

If Liu Guihua truly married him to an unworthy family, it would be better to die early and reunite with his mother.

Because of the distraction, it was late by the time they returned. Jiang Yun stood awkwardly at the gate, taking a deep breath before entering.

But Liu Guihua was not in the courtyard; instead, he heard crying from Jiang Mo’s room, with Liu Guihua comforting him.

Their joys and sorrows were no concern of his; Jiang Yun lowered his eyes.

Setting down his basket, he finally felt a bit of relief. Yet he dared not rest, immediately fetching rice from the jar to cook porridge and preparing some side dishes as usual.

Liu Guihua entered, casting him a sideways glance. “Tonight, cook some meat. Your brother’s in a bad mood and wants meat.”

“Yes, I know,” Jiang Yun replied softly.

She lingered in the kitchen, watching Jiang Yun cut the meat, fearing he might hide some. All food was kept locked in the cupboard, with Liu Guihua holding the only key.

Jiang Yun’s cooking skills were taught by his late mother when he was the only son of the Jiang family, never wanting for food or clothing. Back then, he focused on making good meals, even earning praise from his father.

After everything changed with Liu Guihua’s arrival, she boasted to others about Jiang Mo’s delicious cooking, though it was actually Jiang Yun who cooked.

Jiang Mo never stepped into the kitchen and couldn’t tell scallions from chives.

Pork belly was boiled with slices of ginger and scallions until three-quarters cooked, then sliced. Some garlic sprouts were prepared. In a hot wok, scallions, ginger, and dried chili were stir-fried until fragrant before adding the pork.

With a sizzling sound, the aroma of meat and oil filled the air. A spoonful of homemade chili paste was added and stir-fried, then garlic sprouts were tossed in briefly.

Once the dish was done, Liu Guihua took the plate away without letting Jiang Yun look.

He pursed his lips, sitting back at the stove weakly, his hunger sharp. He could only spoon a bowl of thin porridge, eating it with pickled vegetables to fill his stomach.

After tidying up, he returned to the dark wood cabin without an oil lamp. Through the gaps in the leaky roof, Jiang Yun gazed at the night sky. The Milky Way glittered softly, moonlight coldly shining down.

In the west room, Jiang Mo was still restless.

“Don’t cry, Mo’er. Your mother’s heart aches hearing you. Tell me what happened. Did someone bully you? I’ll avenge you.”

Jiang Mo lifted his tear-swollen eyes, choking on his words. “I... I took the embroidered pouch to Young Master Liu, but... but he refused and told me to keep my dignity.”

Jiang Mo had read too many romantic tales, fancied himself beautiful and noble, dreaming of marrying a refined scholar like those in the stories.

Confident, he confessed to Liu Jinyan, only to be rejected and humiliated.

Recalling that merciless refusal, tears streamed down his face again, his nose running.

The scene was chaotic: “I have no face to show anyone. If the village finds out, what will I do?”

Liu Guihua, hearing this, cursed, “That Liu Jinyan is a blind bear! My son is so outstanding, yet he won’t have him. He deserves to marry a widow!”

She continued, “Our Mo’er is both beautiful and talented, destined to be a town’s nobleman. Liu Jinyan won’t even be worthy to carry his shoes. Stop crying. I’ll find you a good match—your life will be full of riches and honor.”

The news of Zhao Xiang trying to arrange a marriage for her daughter, He Qiaoqiao, had also reached Liu Guihua.

She rolled her eyes at Zhao Xiang but thought to herself: If He Qiaoqiao could marry into town, with Mo’er’s looks, he’d surely captivate those young masters. She wasn’t worried about his marriage at all.

Jiang Yun had no energy left to care for such matters. He looked up at the starry sky, suddenly feeling as if he too would be blown away by the wind to the horizon—like a rootless duckweed, lost and uncertain of his destination.