Chapter Ten: A Minor Turmoil

Aunt Li, their neighbor, had a daughter whose beauty was renowned, and this eldest girl had been married off as a concubine to a wealthy family in Qingdu County. The daughter often brought valuables from her husband’s household, supplementing Aunt Li’s family, so their home was somewhat better off than the Zhou family. They always had enough to eat and wear, and perhaps for this reason, Aunt Li herself was a plump woman.

Her days were filled with little other than feeding her dozen hens and a fat pig. The rest of her time she spent wandering from house to house, gossiping endlessly about the affairs of others—a notorious busybody. In fact, it was Aunt Li who had first told Old Zhou about Zhou Zhi’s wager with Chen Wenju the previous day.

Other families kept their chickens penned, but only Aunt Li’s roamed freely, foraging wherever they pleased. The birds grew fat, but in doing so, they ruined many of the vegetables in other people’s gardens.

Hearing her shouts, Zhou Zhi’s mother, He-shi, rushed out from the kitchen and said, “Aunt Li, I haven’t seen anything. These days, there hasn’t been a single strange chicken in our courtyard.”

“How odd, truly odd. Yesterday afternoon my speckled hen disappeared—where could it have gone?” Aunt Li muttered, peering around the yard and searching in every corner.

Zhou Zhi paid her no mind, continuing to carry sacks of rice out from the kitchen.

Just then, his little brother, Zhou Shaocheng, came out of the house, wiping his shiny, greasy lips.

At the sight, Aunt Li’s eyes immediately fixed on Zhou Shaocheng. Her expression turned stern as she demanded, “Shaocheng, what were you just eating?”

In Aunt Li’s mind, the Zhou family lived on little more than coarse grains and wild greens; they never had a hint of fat or oil. Yet here was Zhou Shaocheng, his mouth gleaming with grease—it was certain he’d eaten meat.

Children are poor liars, and as Aunt Li drew closer to press him, Zhou Shaocheng, who had just feasted on a chicken leg and was still savoring the taste, realized she was looking for her missing chicken. Though he didn’t know if the leg he’d eaten was from her bird, he was startled and his face blanched with fear. He quickly glanced at his older brother. Seeing Zhou Zhi’s calm demeanor, as if Aunt Li were nothing to worry about, Shaocheng’s courage returned.

“I just… I just ate a roasted sparrow. My brother caught it last night and roasted it for me,” he declared.

Zhou Zhi had indeed caught sparrows before and roasted them for his little brother. Despite their tiny size, they were whole and delicious. He would coat the sparrows in mud, roast them in the ashes overnight, and by morning, the mud would be baked hard, the sparrow within crisp and fragrant. There was little meat, but what there was tasted wonderful.

However, the last time Zhou Zhi had roasted sparrow for his brother was a month ago, so Shaocheng’s excuse now seemed rather forced.

Roast chicken leg, roast sparrow—there was a clear connection; either way, it meant they’d eaten meat. Aunt Li’s eyes narrowed dangerously as she glared at Zhou Shaocheng.

“You didn’t eat sparrow, you ate chicken, didn’t you?” Aunt Li pressed, her tone severe.

“No, I didn’t!” Shaocheng puffed out his little chest, replying crisply, though he kept sneaking nervous glances at Zhou Zhi.

Zhou Zhi sighed inwardly. His little brother was clever, but his lies were too clumsy.

Finally, Zhou Zhi stopped what he was doing and said, “Aunt Li, what Shaocheng said is true. Last night I caught a sparrow in the woodshed and roasted it for him, left it by his pillow, and he ate it this morning.”

He spoke without hesitation, completely composed, so much so that Aunt Li couldn’t help but waver in her suspicion.

He-shi added, “Yes, Aunt Li. How could my children have caught your chicken? Besides, my children are honest. They wouldn’t dare eat your chicken, not in the least.”

Aunt Li might have believed that before, but since Zhou Zhi’s wager with Chen Wenju yesterday, her opinion had changed. The Zhou boy had grown bold and cunning—few in Baiyue Village dared stand up to the third young master of the Chen family.

Aunt Li seemed reluctant to leave, so Zhou Zhi said, “Aunt Li, come to think of it, I saw Ding Ergou and a few other loafers hanging around your yard at dusk yesterday. Perhaps they stole your chicken?”

He was certain that the two chicken legs Zhang Hudan had given him must have been stolen by those ne’er-do-wells, as Zhang Hudan, though idle, would never stoop to such petty theft. In fact, he despised such behavior.

Zhou Zhi didn’t feel guilty about leading Aunt Li’s suspicions toward the local rogues—everyone hated them for their thieving ways. Though his own family had never suffered at their hands, he loathed them all the same. If Aunt Li went to scold them, it would be some satisfaction for him, too.

He also knew, however, that although Aunt Li’s family was relatively well-off, they couldn’t afford to offend such scoundrels. All she could do was curse them in the street and stew in her anger. For a gossip like Aunt Li, seeing her fume in silence was its own kind of pleasure.

Hearing Zhou Zhi’s words, Aunt Li left in a huff, no longer in the mood to curse the local ruffians in public. She could only go home and sulk alone.

After she left, Zhou Zhi shook his head. Though the roast chicken legs were delicious, he decided he’d better not eat any more gifts like that from Hudan. It just didn’t sit right with him.

The little commotion passed, and Zhou Zhi loaded three sacks of rice onto the old wheelbarrow. Gripping the handles, he pushed the cart slowly out of the yard toward the threshing ground.

The wealthier households of Baiyue Village each owned a large threshing ground, but the poor had to share—seven or eight families would use a single, modestly sized space. The Zhou family’s threshing ground was shared with other poor families and wasn’t very big.

It wasn’t far from their house, just north of the village, right by the main road. The weather was especially fine that day, and several families were already there, busy laying out their rice to dry.

When the others saw Zhou Zhi arrive, they called out cheerfully, “Zhou Zhi, your rice never seems to run out! Your sister’s been drying it for three days already, and you’ve still got this much left. Looks like your family is in for some good times!”

Since Zhou Zhi had given Chen Wenju a sound lesson the previous day, many villagers, though silent, were secretly pleased. Their attitude toward Zhou Zhi had warmed considerably.

Zhou Zhi smiled and called back, “Not at all! This year it’s our turn to look after the 'official horse.' Since we haven’t paid the grain tax, it just looks like we have more rice.”

At this, the others remembered that the Zhou family had begun caring for government-owned horses this year, and they sighed. Caring for an official horse for three years would take years to recover from. It looked like the Zhou family’s hard days were far from over.

Chatting with the others, Zhou Zhi picked out a clean spot, stopped his cart, and unloaded the sacks. He spread the rice out in a thin layer to dry in the sun.

“Brother, Mother says to come home for lunch. I’ll watch the rice,” his little brother Zhou Shaocheng called out as he came running, cheerful as ever. Perhaps it was the chicken leg he’d eaten; his cheeks were rosier, and he seemed more grown-up.

Zhou Zhi fondly patted his brother’s head and said, laughing, “All right, then. I’ll go eat. Make sure you keep an eye on the rice—don’t let the birds steal any!”

“Don’t worry, brother!” Shaocheng nodded firmly, looking every bit the little adult.

Zhou Zhi pushed the empty cart home. There was still more than a stone’s worth of rice at home to dry in the good weather. He’d already noticed that the rice-pounding mill at the threshing ground was free today, so after lunch, he’d bring another load to dry and take the chance to pound it into rice.