Chapter Three: Borrowing Power

The servant Gou Wang’er standing beside Chen Wenju also seemed to sense that something was amiss. He whispered into Chen Wenju’s ear, “Third Young Master, I heard that the Zhou boy collapsed in the fields and lay unconscious about a month ago. Could it be that fall knocked some sense into him? Maybe he really does know a thousand characters.”

“Nonsense,” Chen Wenju retorted. “If a tumble could teach you a thousand characters, then I’ll have you knocked out cold and see if you come back a scholar.” The earlier interference from Zhang Hudan had already put him in a foul mood, and now he had an outlet for his frustration. He raised his hand and slapped Gou Wang’er hard across the face, sending the servant stumbling. Gou Wang’er quickly straightened up, bowing and scraping, “Young Master, I was wrong, truly wrong! Listen to this wretched mouth of mine.” As he spoke, he gave himself two more slaps.

The villagers watching dared not make a sound, only stood dumbfounded, rooted to the spot.

“Gou Wang’er, hurry, go fetch Master Wang the scholar, and make sure he brings ink, brush, paper, and inkstone,” Chen Wenju commanded. Gou Wang’er dared not delay and scurried off to summon the old scholar.

No one among the villagers could write a contract; many couldn’t even recognize a single character. In Baiyue Village, all contracts and documents were always written by Master Wang, the teacher at the village school.

Master Wang, whose given name was Ding and courtesy name Yuncai, was over sixty years old. He had passed the county-level examination in the Chenghua era but had failed to advance further. Giving up on the exams, he took a minor post at the Qingdu county office, but, unable to stomach the corruption he saw, he resigned and became an elementary teacher in Baiyue Village.

At that moment, Wang Ding was at home eating. Upon hearing from Gou Wang’er that the third young master of the Chen family was requesting his presence, he hurried to the fields. The Chen family was one of the wealthiest in Baiyue Village, and though Wang Ding’s status as a scholar was high, he had no wish to offend them.

On the way, Wang Ding learned the gist of the matter from Gou Wang’er. He couldn’t help but smile wryly to himself—this was clearly Chen Wenju making a mockery of the Zhou boy. The lad had never even attended school; how could he possibly know a thousand characters? It was true that lately the Zhou boy had paused outside the schoolhouse as he passed, but only for a moment. He neither watched him write nor listened to a full lesson—how could he possibly read? Foolishness! Alas, though these were peaceful times, it was still common for poor peasant children to suffer at the hands of the wealthy and powerful.

Wang Ding arrived dressed in a scholar’s robe and square cap. Chen Wenju hurried over to greet him. For all his arrogance among the villagers, Chen Wenju became suddenly polite before the scholar. After all, in Ming society, a scholar’s status was lofty, and as just a pupil, Chen Wenju was obliged to show respect.

“Student greets Master Wang. Forgive me for troubling you today,” Chen Wenju said with a smile.

“No trouble, no trouble at all, Young Master Chen. No need for such formality,” Wang Ding replied kindly.

Zhou Zhi also stepped forward to bow. “Sir, I greet you,” he said.

“No need for courtesies,” Wang Ding replied. As a devoted adherent of the Cheng-Zhu school of thought, Wang Ding treated everyone with impartiality.

Eager villagers hoping to curry favor with Chen Wenju quickly brought a square table and chair. Wang Ding sat down, ground the ink, and swiftly wrote out two identical contracts.

In all his years, Wang Ding had never seen such a spectacle, nor written such a contract, and when he finished, he couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. Nevertheless, he read the agreement aloud for Chen Wenju and Zhou Zhi to hear clearly.

Chen Wenju took up the brush, made a show of flourishing it in the air, and then, thinking himself quite dashing, wrote his name and pressed his handprint onto the contract. Under Chen Wenju’s watchful glare, Zhou Zhi walked over awkwardly and said with an embarrassed smile, “May I trouble you, sir, to write my name as well?”

Chen Wenju burst out laughing, more confident than ever—if Zhou Zhi couldn’t even write his own name, how could he possibly know a thousand characters? Already, Chen Wenju was savoring the humiliation he would inflict on Zhou Zhi when he lost, relishing the thrill of bullying someone weaker.

Wang Ding sighed inwardly but obliged, writing Zhou Zhi’s name on both contracts. Zhou Zhi then pressed his handprint above his name.

Chen Wenju, now impatient, said, “Zhou brat, the contracts are written. Let’s begin the wager.”

Zhou Zhi remained expressionless. “Third Young Master Chen, please wait a moment.”

“You wretched pauper, dragging your feet and making excuses—you clearly can’t read. Are you trying to weasel out of this? Why can’t we begin now?” Chen Wenju sneered.

“Third Young Master Chen, the witnesses have yet to sign,” Zhou Zhi replied softly, his voice tinged with evident timidity.

“There are plenty of villagers here—any two can sign as witnesses,” Chen Wenju retorted, gesturing at the crowd.

Zhou Zhi shook his head slightly, putting on a look of fear, as if mustering his courage just to speak. “They cannot serve as witnesses.”

“You insolent wretch, are you toying with me? If not them, then who?” Chen Wenju demanded angrily.

Zhou Zhi replied unhurriedly, “Please be patient, Third Young Master Chen. The witness will be here any moment.”

Just as he finished speaking, someone called out, “They’re here! It’s Old Master Yue!” The crowd turned to look toward the village entrance. Zhang Hudan strode ahead, followed by two sturdy attendants carrying an open sedan chair, in which reclined an elderly man with a white beard—Old Master Yue Shunde.

Zhou Zhi, seeing Old Master Yue arrive, felt a weight lift from his heart. He thought to himself, Chen Wenju, this time you’ll have no way out.

Baiyue Village was home to over three hundred households, with two prominent families: the Chens and the Yues. The village’s name, Baiyue, originally derived from the Bai and Yue families. But during the Jingnan Campaign, Baoding Prefecture suffered heavy losses; nine-tenths of the population perished. Baiyue Village was no exception. The Bai family vanished, leaving only the Yues, who seized the opportunity to claim the Bai family’s land.

To strengthen the region around the capital, the Yongle Emperor ordered mass migration from Shanxi to northern Zhili, making Baiyue Village a place of mixed surnames. The Yue family once stood unchallenged, until the Chens rose to prominence after Chen Ci became a successful candidate in the Xuande era, making them a match for the Yues.

As the saying goes, “Two tigers cannot share one mountain.” Both families vied to dominate, fighting openly and in secret for decades, each determined to outdo the other.

The impoverished Zhou family, of course, had no dealings with the Yues. Zhou Zhi had sent Zhang Hudan to fetch the Yue family as witnesses with careful calculation.

In Zhou Zhi’s mind, the villagers could not be trusted as witnesses; they all feared the Chens. If Chen Wenju lost and tried to go back on his word, not one of them would dare utter a protest. The contract would be useless—he’d still be left to till his eight mu of land by his own labor.

Thus, the witness had to wield authority—someone the Chens couldn’t intimidate. In Baiyue, only the Yue family could rival the Chens.

Zhou Zhi knew well that the feud between the Chens and the Yues had already gone beyond all pretense of civility. If the Yue family believed he could win, they would gladly serve as witnesses, eager to see a Chen scholar's arrogance humbled by a poor youth. With the Yue family’s signature and seal, the contract would be unassailable—Chen Wenju would have no way to renege.

The challenge was convincing the Yue family that he could win and thus securing their support as witnesses—a task that had required all Zhou Zhi’s wits.