Chapter Twenty-Six: Weighing the Greater and Lesser

After several days, Father Zhou Tie’s back had improved considerably. Now he could get off the kang and walk a few slow steps, though any exertion would still leave him in pain for quite a while.

At this moment, Zhou Tie sat at the edge of the kang, his expression calm. He no longer wore the cold, stern look he usually reserved for Zhou Zhi.

Zhou Zhi stood by the kang, watching his father, wondering why he had been summoned.

“Zhi, have you been reading these past few days?” Zhou Tie asked quietly.

He had been confined to the inner room recently, while Zhou Zhi’s sleeping and study quarters were in another part of the house. Only today had he learned from Zhou Shaocheng that Zhou Zhi had been reading.

Reading was hardly something one could hide from Father, nor was it worth concealing. Even if he tried, he would not succeed.

Zhou Zhi nodded. “Yes, a few days ago I borrowed some books from Master Wang to read,” he replied casually, as if it were of little consequence.

“Are you reading because you want to become a scholar?” Zhou Tie pressed.

“Well… Not exactly,” Zhou Zhi answered, knowing full well his father did not support his studies. “I read mostly because the past few days have been rainy, and I was idle at home with nothing to do.”

Zhou Tie fell silent for a moment before saying, “That’s for the best. Zhi, you must know it’s no easy thing to become a scholar. It takes buying many books, burning the midnight oil, spending money we don’t have, and in the end, it may all come to nothing—you might never earn a degree or a title.

“Our family has been farmers for generations. Never has a scholar come from the Zhou family. Scholars are said to be stars descended from heaven, born under auspicious signs—our family’s ancestral graves don’t bear that fortune.

“And besides, Zhi, we’re poor folk. Our land is little. Though I’m still strong, I can’t manage all the fieldwork alone. You’re sturdy and capable—I've long seen you are well suited to labor. Your younger brother, Shaocheng, is frail; he’ll have a hard time in the fields, and I worry for him. In the future, he’ll need your help.”

With that, Zhou Tie paused, his eyes fixed on Zhou Zhi.

How could Zhou Zhi not understand his father’s meaning? Ultimately, Zhou Tie feared that if his son pursued learning instead of farming, it would only make their lives harder, and Zhou Zhi himself might end up destitute.

“Father, I know all this. I only read in my spare time—it won’t interfere with my work in the fields. I know what’s more important,” Zhou Zhi replied.

To Zhou Tie, what mattered most was naturally farming; reading was secondary. But for Zhou Zhi, it was the opposite. In his heart, reading was paramount, though he knew he couldn’t simply forsake farming. If he wished to study, he needed to survive first; only a household with some extra coin could support such a pursuit.

In short, while Zhou Zhi valued learning, he knew now was not the time to devote himself to it at the expense of everything else.

Zhou Tie nodded reluctantly. Still unwilling to give up, he said, “Zhi, in my opinion, you’d be better off not bothering with books. Your Uncle Zhang has an ancestral skill for castrating pigs. He wanted to pass it on to his three sons, but none of them would learn it. Especially your cousin Tiger-Egg—he’d rather idle away his days than pick up the trade, much to your uncle’s distress!

“That skill must be passed down. Perhaps I should ask him to teach you. It would give you a way to make a living in your spare time.”

To learn the art of pig castration and become a pig-gelder in the Ming Dynasty, after having come from another world—such an idea was almost laughable.

Zhou Zhi nearly couldn’t stop himself from bursting out laughing.

But seeing his father’s earnest face, so full of heartfelt concern, he managed to hold back.

After a moment’s thought, Zhou Zhi said, “Father, I know you and Uncle Zhang are close. If you spoke to him about teaching me, I’m sure he wouldn’t refuse. But have you considered? It’s a craft handed down in his family. Passing it to an outsider might make him uncomfortable.

“In my view, it’s better not to trouble Uncle Zhang with something that might put him in a difficult position.”

He was politely refusing, but his words made sense. Zhou Tie couldn’t help but agree.

Since their argument the other day, Zhou Tie had noticed how much Zhou Zhi had changed since his accident and brief unconsciousness—he was more sensible, even a bit stubborn.

In the past, had he caught Zhou Zhi reading in secret, he would have scolded him harshly, telling him not to dream above his station and to return Master Wang’s books at once.

Their confrontation had affected him deeply. These days, seeing Zhou Zhi so thoughtful and dutiful, Zhou Tie decided to change his approach, speaking with patience instead.

Still, he was disappointed that he hadn’t persuaded Zhou Zhi to give up reading entirely.

Nevertheless, Zhou Tie said, “Zhi, you must remember, there will come a day when this household relies entirely on you. We are poor farmers, and a farmer must do a farmer’s work. Seeking scholarly honor may be good, but it is not for the likes of us.”

“I understand!” Zhou Zhi nodded quickly.

Though his father disapproved of his reading, he did not forbid it outright, and for Zhou Zhi, that was enough.

……

After several days of rain, at last the skies cleared. That morning, Zhou Zhi rose early, read a few pages of “The Elementary Text,” busied himself in the stables, then ate and headed out to the fields.

A damp mist hung over the countryside, but the eastern sun was rising, gradually burning away the fog. The scent of earth filled Zhou Zhi’s nostrils; he took several deep breaths of the fresh air, savoring the familiar fragrance—just like his childhood, when the smell of soil always lifted his spirits and cleared his mind.

The fields were soaked and perfect for wheat to sprout. It had been six days since the wheat was sown. Standing at the edge of his family’s plot, Zhou Zhi saw the sharp green tips of wheat seedlings breaking through the earth—neat rows of them, a vibrant green spreading across the field.

A smile crept onto Zhou Zhi’s lips. This, he thought, was largely thanks to Chen Wenju.

But it had been days with no word from the Chen family. Did they mean to let matters rest? Did they have no intention of seeking revenge on the Zhou family?

Shaking his head, Zhou Zhi thought, No, the Chens are not that kind of people. Hmph! I’ll be ready—let’s see what tricks they’ll try.

His thoughts wandered, then settled on the half-mu of land still uncultivated.

It was late autumn, the perfect time to put his own plans into motion. He wondered if his idea would work in the Ming Dynasty.

No matter what, he would have to try.