Chapter 2

At dawn, Gao Zhao woke, his stomach growling with hunger. He washed his face thoroughly with hot water, and Gao Nuan helped him tie his hair neatly, making him look refreshed and tidy. With a quick pat to brush off the dust and bits of straw from his clothes, he stepped outside.

Gao Family Village, lying to the south of Ox Mountain and also known as Mountain South Village, was home to just over thirty households, all bearing the Gao surname. The ancestral hall stood north of the village pond, where, during each festival, the entire family would gather to offer sacrifices to their forebears. In past years, Gao Zhao always followed his elders back to the village for these rites, and each ceremony required a formal eulogy.

Though they shared a common ancestor, the blood ties between Gao Zhao’s branch and the villagers had long thinned. His great-grandfather had only one surviving brother, who died young; his grandfather’s generation had five siblings, but only his grandfather was male. By his father’s generation, there were three brothers, but they had moved to the county seat early on. Other than returning for ceremonies, they rarely visited the village.

Now, if Gao Zhao hoped to earn money by writing eulogies, he had to first serve his own kin, or the villagers would surely scorn him.

He followed the small river into the heart of the village. Each household was busy preparing breakfast; the savory smells of vegetable soups and porridges wafted through the air, making Gao Zhao’s empty stomach rumble and his mouth water.

From afar, he spotted smoke curling from the chimney of the old clan leader’s kitchen and quickened his steps. As he drew near, he heard the old clan leader scolding his youngest grandson inside: “You’ve been in school for a year and know fewer characters than a mouse. You’re not scholar material, boy. Quit wasting grain and silver—after the new year, you’ll learn coffin-making from your father!”

The clan leader was an elderly man, stern and quick-tempered, with a voice that carried, but a soft heart beneath it all.

Just as Gao Zhao raised his hand to knock, the wooden door swung open. It was the clan leader’s youngest son, Gao Mingqiu. At first startled by the sudden presence, Gao Mingqiu’s expression quickly soured when he recognized the visitor.

Recently, the siblings from the west end of the village had been borrowing left and right—though “borrowing” was hardly the word, as nothing ever came back. With their mother gone and their uncle’s family bullying them, they could barely feed themselves, let alone repay favors. The villagers pitied them but couldn’t afford endless charity. Only the old patriarch, perhaps too kind for his own good, insisted on helping, saying they were all family. But their own father, Gao Mingjin, who had become a top scholar and government official, hadn’t lifted a finger for the clan—hadn’t even returned home, as if he’d forsaken his ancestors.

If not for the siblings’ filial and decent nature, Gao Mingqiu would never have allowed his father’s soft heart. A bowl of rice here, a half a cake there—it added up, especially with so many mouths to feed at home.

“Good morning, Third Uncle,” Gao Zhao greeted politely.

Gao Mingqiu sneered, “Here to borrow food again? Our family can’t keep feeding you three. Try your luck elsewhere—maybe someone will give you a bite at breakfast.”

Gao Zhao flushed with embarrassment. He was well aware that he and his sister had been imposing on others, and by now, everyone regarded them like plague-bearers.

He shook his head, “We’ll repay what we’ve borrowed, truly. But today, I’m here to see Grandfather about the ancestral eulogy for New Year’s.”

Gao Mingqiu was surprised—a child thinking of such matters? In past years, Gao Mingjin wrote the eulogies, or, if studying away, someone else was asked. This year, Gao Mingjin wouldn’t return, and just yesterday his father had mentioned asking Scholar Chen from the township. But now, here was someone volunteering. He’d heard Gao Zhao had passed the children’s exam last year, same as his own son’s tutor.

“Can you write?” Gao Mingqiu asked, still skeptical.

“I can,” Gao Zhao replied confidently. “I’ve written them before.”

Still doubtful, as Gao Zhao was only a boy, Gao Mingqiu hesitated. At that moment, the old clan leader emerged from the main room and paused at the sight of Gao Zhao, who stood, nose and ears red from the cold, shivering at the gate.

He sighed, “I don’t have extra grain, child. You’d best ask elsewhere.”

“I’m not here for food,” Gao Zhao said directly. “With the new year approaching, I want to do my part for the clan and write the ancestral eulogy.”

The clan leader was as startled and uncertain as his son—a child writing the eulogy was unprecedented. Yet, with so few scholars among them, and this boy being the eldest son of Gao Mingjin, a child prodigy, perhaps it wasn’t just bravado.

He gestured, “Come in,” and called for his grandson to bring out brush, ink, and paper.

Gao Zhao stopped at the threshold, reluctant to enter the main room while in mourning for his mother, but the old man waved him in, “We’re all farmers here—no need to stand on ceremony.”

With the old man’s reassurance, Gao Zhao entered. The grandson greeted him with an eager smile, “Good morning, Brother Zhao.”

“Write a draft for me to see,” the clan leader said.

Gao Zhao nodded, grinding the ink as the younger boy offered to help. He laid out the paper, reviewing the eulogy he’d composed in his mind the night before, then dipped the brush and began to write.

The old clan leader and Gao Mingqiu watched as characters flowed across the page: “In the year of Renxu, as the new year begins, the Gao clan prepares incense and offerings of livestock and fruit…”

Hearing movement, the clan leader’s elder sons and grandsons gathered. The eldest son read as Gao Zhao wrote, praising his penmanship, “A true scholar’s hand—no worse than Scholar Chen in the township.”

The old clan leader nodded—though not a scholar himself, he recognized skill. The words were elegant, filled with gratitude for the ancestors’ achievements, reflections on the children’s duty to inherit their virtues, and a heartfelt reminder that the clan’s prosperity was the responsibility of each individual.

When Gao Zhao finished, he gently blew the ink dry and handed it over. The old man read it again, satisfaction lighting his face, “It’s as good as last year’s, if not better.” He asked his three sons’ opinions.

They agreed. To be sure, the eldest suggested, “After breakfast, let’s ask a few more elders. If they approve, there’s no need to hire Scholar Chen—for our own kin to write it is better. Scholar Chen is difficult, anyway—yesterday he deliberately quibbled with the He family over their eulogy and left in a huff.”

The old man nodded. There were few scholars in Shitou Township—most had left or moved to the county seat, leaving only Scholar Chen, who lorded it over the rest.

Gao Zhao seized the moment, “Which village is this He family from?”

Understanding at once, the eldest son replied, “The family who raises and slaughters pigs, north of the township market. After breakfast, I’ll take you there.”

“Thank you, Uncle,” Gao Zhao said, grateful.

Just then, his stomach rumbled loudly, and he lowered his head in embarrassment. The old clan leader chuckled, “Stay and eat with us,” and told his daughter-in-law to set the table.

The aroma from the kitchen was intoxicating, but Gao Zhao forced himself to be patient.

“My sister and…” He hesitated, embarrassed by how often they’d come asking for food.

The old man assured him, “There’s enough for everyone.”

Gao Mingchun’s wife handed him two vegetable cakes. “I didn’t make much extra this morning, only these two to spare. You and your siblings can share them.”

Gao Zhao was immensely grateful. He returned to the old house at the west end of the village, where his little brother was already awake, sitting quietly on the bed, wrapped in the quilt, lost in thought like a tiny old man.

With a smile, Gao Zhao pulled out the two cakes, “Yang’er, hungry? I brought something good today.” He handed one cake to Yu Shensi, “Eat up, this one’s all yours. Once you’re full, you’ll get better soon.” Then he broke the other cake in two, sharing it with Gao Nuan.

The cakes were only palm-sized; for two siblings who hadn’t eaten in a day, half a cake was hardly enough. Yu Shensi broke his in half as well, putting the smaller piece aside and giving the larger halves to his siblings.

“Sister, brother—take these.”

Surprised at the gesture, Gao Nuan pushed his hand back, “Yang’er, you eat—you’re sick, you need more.”

Yu Shensi insisted, “I can’t finish mine.”

“How could you not? Are you feeling unwell?” Gao Nuan asked anxiously, touching his forehead—no fever, but still concerned, “Tell me, what hurts?”

“Nothing. I just drank a lot of water earlier, so I’m not that hungry.” Which was true—on waking, starving, Gao Nuan had fed him half a bowl of boiled water, which filled him up a bit.

“Save it for later, then. Eat when you’re hungry.” Gao Nuan took both pieces and tucked them under the quilt to keep warm.

Yu Shensi asked, “Will we have food for the next meal?”

His siblings were caught off guard. Gao Nuan hurried to reassure him, “Of course! Don’t worry, eat up.”

But Yu Shensi pressed on, “If we have food for the next meal, why are you saving this for me? Why not eat something new next time?”

Stumped by his logic, the siblings exchanged a glance. Gao Zhao, regaining his composure, confidently took the pieces from Yu Shensi, and Gao Nuan followed suit.

Only when they began eating did Yu Shensi pick up his own portion and nibble contentedly.

In a few bites, all three had finished the cakes. With some boiled water, their stomachs felt at least somewhat full—enough to quiet their hunger.

Gao Zhao told Gao Nuan about going to the township. She cautioned, “Uncle Mingchun does business at the market and knows the He family well. Listen to him in all things—don’t make any mistakes.”

“I understand.” He glanced outside—by now, the sun was up. He got up, brushed off the straw from his bedding, “I’ll wait for Uncle Mingchun at the village entrance.”

Before leaving, he tucked in Yu Shensi’s quilt and ruffled his hair, “Be good and listen to your sister. I’ll bring something tasty when I come back.”

Yu Shensi nodded obediently, thinking to himself: Good luck, brother!