Chapter Eleven: Playing a Prank on Lord Guan

Breakfast was a simple affair—pumpkin porridge mixed with pickled vegetables. After eating two heaping bowls, Zhou Zhi wiped his mouth, then went to the kitchen to haul sacks of unhusked rice onto the small wheelbarrow.

The weather was fine today, which meant his mother and sister were kept busy as well. The cold season was closing in; winter clothes needed to be aired out, those grown too small had to be let out, and any worn garments required mending. One of his mother’s favorite sayings was: “Poor for three years, rich for three years, then three more years of patching and mending.”

Whenever he heard her say this, Zhou Zhi couldn’t help but smile. In his memory, the Zhou family’s poverty had lasted far longer than three years, and as for wealth—it seemed fortune had never once visited their home.

After exchanging a few words with his mother and sister, Zhou Zhi pushed the barrow back to the threshing ground. By then, more people had arrived, and the place was lively with activity.

Every year, the threshing ground became a place for villagers to seek a little amusement, resounding with laughter and cheerful voices. This season, the weather had been especially favorable, and every family’s harvest was bountiful. Faces all around glowed with radiant smiles.

Though even a good harvest meant the rice must be rationed carefully and bellies would never be truly full, the peasants’ expectations were simple: as long as there was food for every meal and the officials didn’t come to cause trouble, a peaceful life was enough to satisfy them.

His little brother, Zhou Shaocheng, stood by their family’s rice, clutching a long stick, eyes wide in a show of seriousness as he drove away the birds from time to time—looking every bit the responsible guard.

Zhou Zhi spread out the rice to dry, then moved a bushel that had finished drying over to the mortar.

Back in his former life, Zhou Zhi had never seen such an old-fashioned contraption as a lever mortar. Crossing over to the Ming dynasty, he supposed he’d seen an antique or two and broadened his horizons.

The mortar consisted of two parts: the mortar pit and the treadle. The mortar pit was a deep hole dug in the ground, into which a massive stone was set. A round cavity was carved into the stone, about a foot and a half in diameter and more than a foot deep, narrowing toward the bottom. The unhusked rice was poured into this cavity.

The treadle was a wooden beam, with a stone tied to one end, fashioned as a pestle. It was supported on a stone pillar in the middle, and the other end was where a person would step down.

With each rise and fall of the treadle, the rice in the cavity gradually shed its husk.

It was a laborious contraption: pounding a bushel of rice would leave even a strong man drenched in sweat.

Zhou Zhi poured about ten pounds of rice into the mortar, placed his foot on the treadle, and began the pounding.

On the other side, a group of farmers, having finished drying their rice and left with nothing else to do, gathered together in laughter and conversation.

Old Wang was the most cheerful among them. Though his own household was in constant turmoil and he had to borrow grain to get through every year, he was an inveterate optimist, always smiling. He couldn’t read a single character, but his head was full of riddles, and every time he saw someone, he’d challenge them with a few. When they failed to guess, he’d laugh self-importantly, as if it were the greatest thing.

Truth be told, when it came to riddles, no one in the entire Baiyue Village could match Old Wang—not even the village schoolteacher, Master Wang. Old Wang had even given himself a nickname, “The Riddle-Breaker Boy.” Though in his fifties, he still called himself a boy, which always drew laughter, but he was undeterred. By his own account, calling himself a boy only meant that his knowledge was still limited and nothing to boast of.

At that moment, Old Wang called out loudly, “Good neighbors, the sun is bright and the day is fine—just the time for riddles! Why don’t I, the Riddle-Breaker Boy, set out a few for you all to guess, so we don’t waste a year of good harvest and fair weather?”

“Good, good!” the farmers chorused. They all thought to themselves, since there was nothing else to do, teasing Old Wang was as good a pastime as any.

“Then listen well, neighbors,” Old Wang cleared his throat and began, “Here’s one: ‘Break the riddle, break the riddle—every house has a thief.’ What is it?”

At this, everyone burst out laughing—even little Zhou Shaocheng joined in. This was Old Wang’s favorite riddle; even the youngest children in Baiyue Village could give the answer.

They exchanged glances, grinning but silent, all looking at Old Wang with amusement.

Zhou Shaocheng piped up, “A mouse!”

“Haha! The Riddle-Breaker Boy’s riddles can be solved by babes—maybe you should give up the title!” the others teased.

Old Wang’s face remained calm. He coughed lightly and said, “That was just a warm-up. I wanted everyone to guess it—if you never could, it would be no fun at all. Now try this one: ‘When a guest arrives, I’m the first to be offered; when the guest leaves, I’m the last to be thanked. From the emperor to the commoner, no one can do without me.’”

He narrowed his eyes, stroking his graying beard and surveying the crowd with a look of satisfaction.

Everyone frowned in concentration, but soon someone ventured, “Tea leaves, Riddle-Breaker Boy, is that right?”

Though they could never afford tea, the villagers had seen wealthy families drink it after meals, so the riddle was quickly solved.

Old Wang nodded approvingly. “Not bad. Haven’t seen you all in a few days and you’ve gotten sharper.”

He tilted his head back, half-closed his eyes in thought, and continued, “White snake crosses the river, a red sun atop its head. Can you guess what this is?”

The farmers began murmuring among themselves. “White snake crosses the river, red sun atop its head… what could it be?”

No one could guess.

Old Wang looked immensely pleased. “Well? No answers? Did you think the Riddle-Breaker Boy earned his name for nothing? Just a little thought from me and you’re all stumped—what a shame, what a shame!”

He shook his head and added, “Let me give you a hint: every household has this, but it’s used sparingly. Think it over.”

“Everyone has it, but it’s used sparingly…” they scratched their heads, even more perplexed.

Seeing their distress, Old Wang was even more delighted. He caught sight of Zhou Shaocheng, who was also deep in thought, looking terribly earnest and adorable. Old Wang said with a chuckle, “Second Zhou boy, aren’t you the one who’s always quick to guess? Let’s see you solve this one.”

Zhou Shaocheng’s cheeks flushed; for once, he couldn’t think of the answer. He glanced over at Zhou Zhi, who was still working at the treadle, a faint smile on his lips, as if he already knew. After Zhou Zhi’s victory over the third young master of the Chen family the day before, Zhou Shaocheng looked up to his brother as someone clever and formidable.

He scampered over and whispered, “Brother, what do you think it is?”

Zhou Zhi smiled, “An oil lamp, of course.”

Zhou Shaocheng’s eyes sparkled with excitement. He spun around and called out, “I know it—it’s an oil lamp!”

At this, the farmers slapped their thighs in regret. “That’s right, an oil lamp! It was so simple, how did we not think of it? It’s Zhou’s second boy—no, it’s the eldest Zhou who figured it out.”

They all looked over at Zhou Zhi, admiration written on their faces. The eldest Zhou really had changed—he seemed much cleverer now.

Old Wang realized it was Zhou Zhi who’d solved the riddle. He’d always thought Zhou Zhi to be a dull boy, always trailing behind his father, Zhou Tie. But after yesterday, when Zhou Zhi had demonstrated knowledge of a thousand characters, Old Wang’s opinion had shifted. Still, just because the boy could read didn’t mean he could outguess the Riddle-Breaker Boy.

Age hadn’t dimmed Old Wang’s competitive spirit. He pondered for a moment, then said, “Let me try another. Let’s see if you can guess this one: ‘A bird in a cage.’”

Just three words—“A bird in a cage”—yet it was a riddle, and this time, the crowd had no clue, looking utterly bewildered.

“Haha! Well then, Zhou Zhi, can you solve this one?” Old Wang had no expectation that anyone else could guess, so he called out directly to Zhou Zhi.

Zhou Zhi continued pounding rice, his handsome, sun-darkened face relaxed and smiling. He found great joy in sharing laughter with his neighbors at the threshing ground. Farmers might live hard lives, but should never lose their joy—there was much wisdom in the notion of finding happiness amid hardship.

He glanced over at Old Wang and laughed, “Old Wang, it’s hardly fair to poke fun at Lord Guan, is it?”