Chapter Five: A Family of Five

The autumn dusk always arrives swiftly; after the evening glow fades, curling smoke from kitchen fires mingles with the pale mist of twilight, shrouding the world in silvery gray.

Zhou Zhi walked slowly toward the village entrance, a shovel resting on his shoulder. His mood was buoyant. Tonight, Chen Wenju would send someone to plow Zhou Zhi’s eight acres with oxen and sow them with wheat. Not only did Zhou Zhi save effort, but also the wheat seed—three bushels, enough to ease his family’s hardships.

He wondered if anyone at home knew about today’s wager with Chen Wenju in the fields. His family numbered five: his father, unable to move; his mother, always tending to the father and unable to leave the house; his sister, busy with cooking, drying rice, pounding grain—never a moment’s rest; his younger brother, still a child, certainly wouldn’t wander to the fields.

What would it be like if his family learned of this stroke of good fortune? Yet Zhou Zhi feared his father would see it as disaster, not daring to accept it.

He smiled wryly to himself. No matter what, he had to return home. Picking up his pace, he entered the village.

Baiyue Village was peculiar—wealth in the south, poverty in the north. A road split the village east to west; south of the road lived six or seven wealthy families led by the Yue and Chen clans, with fine houses. The Yue and Chen estates both had crimson gates and tall, tiled houses of gray brick, their compounds sprawling over nearly a hundred acres, impressively grand.

North of the road lay poverty: over three hundred households, most with dilapidated homes, crumbling walls, an air of desolation.

The Zhou family lived in the northeast corner. The Zhou line had always been single-succession; only in Zhou Zhi’s father’s generation were there two sons, making them a small, solitary household. Their four low mud-brick rooms had been weathered by years of rain, the walls etched with deep grooves, showing their age. In front of the main house lay an open yard about half an acre, with no walls. On the west side stood an even lower thatched hut for storing firewood and sundries. To the east was a vegetable patch, where cabbages and radishes grew lush and green.

Behind the house, several elm and willow trees had leaves tinged yellow, rustling in the evening breeze, a few drifting down.

Neighbors had homes similar to Zhou Zhi’s. Some owned a few acres; others had none, working as tenants for the Yue or Chen families.

Zhou Zhi entered the yard, put his shovel in the firewood hut, and called softly, “Mother, I’m home!”

“Come inside, quickly,” his mother’s gentle but slightly anxious voice answered from within.

Zhou Zhi didn’t notice anything unusual in her tone. He washed his hands outside, intending to enter. As for the wager in the fields, he feared his father’s reaction and preferred to keep it secret as long as possible.

Before he could go in, his little brother ran out. Zhou Shaocheng, just six years old, had always been frail, but was bright and respectful, which Zhou Zhi cherished.

Shaocheng’s face was pale and anxious, as if frightened. He grabbed Zhou Zhi’s hand and whispered, “Brother, Father just scolded you. He’s angry—maybe you shouldn’t go in right now.”

Their father, Zhou Tie, was over forty, robust and sturdy—a typical northern farmer. His temper was quick and harsh, often berating Zhou Zhi, though outside he was timid and compliant, avoiding conflict, especially with the village’s wealthy families. Zhou Zhi never had much fondness for him.

Yet Zhou Tie, like all farmers, was hardworking. If not for a recent injury from carrying rice, he would be out turning the fields until late.

Zhou Zhi guessed his father had heard about the wager and was afraid of Chen family reprisal.

Fortunately, his father couldn’t move, so he could do little.

With this thought, Zhou Zhi hesitated briefly, then smiled at Shaocheng and entered the house.

He stepped into the kitchen, which doubled as the dining room. His sister, wearing a coarse apron, was busy at the stove. At the back stood a low table with several freshly baked cakes made from millet and sorghum flour. She glanced at Zhou Zhi, unable to hide her concern.

His sister, Zhou Luyun, was a year older, sixteen. Though not fair-skinned, she was delicate-featured, a beautiful and virtuous girl.

Of all his family, Zhou Zhi’s sister treated him best.

“Zhi, sit here and wait a bit—dinner’s almost ready,” Luyun whispered, pointing to a small stool, as if afraid to disturb their father in the inner room.

Indeed, before her words had faded, Zhou Tie’s violent voice boomed from within, “Hmph! You still dare come home, you rebellious child! Get in here!”

Zhou Zhi steadied himself and walked into the inner room.

Zhou Tie lay slanted on the kang, his face haggard from pain, but his eyes blazed with fury as he glared at Zhou Zhi. His mother, Zhou He, stood below, holding a bowl of plain water, about to hand it to him.

Zhou He was a diligent, honest northern woman. Though only thirty-five, years of toil in poverty had streaked her hair with gray. She was always loving to her three children, and Zhou Zhi cherished her deeply.

“Father, drink some water—don’t get angry. Let Zhi explain what happened today,” she said.

“What’s there to explain? Neighbor Aunt Li said it clearly: this rebellious son wagered with Chen’s third young master, won, and now Chen’s family has to plow and sow our fields. Hmph! Now that we’ve offended the Chen family, how can we ever live in peace?” Zhou Tie thundered.

“Father, Chen Wenju was too arrogant. I couldn’t swallow the insult, so I taught him a lesson. Today’s wager was formal, witnessed by Elder Yue. Chen’s family won’t harm us.

Father, this is a good thing. With you unable to work, I alone couldn’t possibly finish eight acres in time, and we’d miss the sowing season. Now Chen Wenju will plow and sow for us, we save the seed, and life will be much easier,” Zhou Zhi argued, frowning.

“Listen to him! Wife, just listen—still speaking so confidently! He’s reckless and will drive me mad!” Zhou Tie’s anger flared higher.

Before, Zhou Zhi had always submitted to his father, never daring to contradict him. But today, he spoke firmly, and Zhou Tie could not tolerate it.

He struggled to raise his hand to strike Zhou Zhi, but a sharp pain in his waist forced him to lower it, his face flushed purple with rage, breathing heavily.

“Zhi, hurry and apologize to your father. Do you know what trouble you brought on us today? Chen’s family plowing and sowing for us, suffering such a loss—they won’t let it go.

Zhi, your father has decided: take two chickens to the Chen family to apologize, tell them we dare not accept their help. Today’s wager was just a childish game—beg them to forgive us,” his mother pleaded anxiously.