Chapter 57: I Want to Be a Wealthy Gentleman

In recent days, the celery, spinach, and chives had all been growing splendidly. Standing at the entrance of the greenhouse, one could see half an acre of lush, verdant vegetables stretching out, a sight both pleasing and delightful.

As the weather grew colder day by day and October drew to a close, Zhou Zhi had already transported all the straw mats stored at home out to the fields. He used them to completely cover and seal the southern side of the greenhouse, only lifting a small section at noon on warmer days to let in a bit of light for the vegetables.

The three types of leafy greens Zhou Zhi had chosen did not require much sunlight. On the contrary, this arrangement did not hinder their growth but encouraged them to thrive even more vigorously.

According to Zhou Zhi’s calculations, by mid-November, all the celery and spinach could be sold, with a large portion of the chives also ready for one harvest. The second batch of chives could be sold around the middle or end of the twelfth lunar month.

The more Zhou Zhi thought about it, the more cheerful he felt. If these vegetables could indeed be sold, the family’s days would certainly improve. As the family's fortunes rose, his own time and conditions for studying would also become much more accommodating.

At the very least, he could afford to buy some proper brush, ink, paper, and inkstone to practice his calligraphy.

By now, he had finished reading the Analects and could recite it fluently. Zhou Zhi planned to return all these books to Master Wang Ding after lunch today. Although the old scholar treasured his books as his very life and was quite stingy, Zhou Zhi had left a good impression on his last visit to borrow books; it should not be difficult to borrow more this time.

One should begin with the Four Books. Having already read the Great Learning and the Analects, Zhou Zhi intended to borrow the remaining two volumes—Mencius and the Doctrine of the Mean—this time.

With his foundation from a later era and his extraordinary memory, Zhou Zhi’s reading speed should have been much faster. The reason it had taken so long to finish the books from Wang Ding was due to the constant demands of daily life at home.

These past few days had been better, so Zhou Zhi resolved to speed up his studies.

There would be no preliminary exams next year, but another would be held the following February, which Zhou Zhi planned to take. The civil service exams drew questions from the Four Books and Five Classics, and he had yet to finish even the Four Books, let alone the Five Classics. Even after mastering and reciting all these works, he would still have to learn the eight-legged essay, which he had no foundation in from his previous life; mastering it would undoubtedly be much more difficult.

All things considered, while time seemed ample, it actually felt pressing to Zhou Zhi.

After lunch, he wrapped the books in cloth, prepared to return them. Just as he was about to leave, his younger brother, Zhou Shaocheng, came running over, his face bright and innocent. “Brother, are you done with your studies?”

Since recovering from his illness, the little brother had quickly regained his former liveliness and seemed even sturdier than before, his curiosity undiminished.

Zhou Zhi smiled gently, stroking the boy’s head. “I’m off to return these books, and borrow some more to read. What’s this? Does Shaocheng want to study too?”

This year, Zhou Shaocheng was six; next year, at seven, he would be old enough to start elementary learning. If their father’s words were to be believed, Zhou Zhi was a bit too old for the local school, but Shaocheng would be just the right age. As long as the family could scrape by, perhaps they could afford his tuition.

But to Zhou Zhi’s surprise, Shaocheng immediately shook his head like a rattle-drum and replied earnestly, “I don’t want to study. I don’t want to be an official. I just want to be a rich man all my life—like the Yue family, or the Chen family, or even richer than them!”

It was not the first time Shaocheng had said this, and Zhou Zhi was slightly taken aback. Truthfully, there was nothing wrong with his brother’s disinterest in scholarly pursuits. The boy had a knack for numbers; if he truly learned some arithmetic and went into business, becoming a wealthy merchant would be a fine path.

After all, this was an era of peace and prosperity, the flourishing reign of Emperor Hongzhi. Even after that, with the playful Emperor Zhengde and later the Jiajing period, the Ming Dynasty was entering a stable and prosperous age. To live a wealthy and peaceful life was no small blessing.

But Zhou Zhi was different. As someone who had crossed time, how could he settle for mediocrity? In this great Ming, he was determined to make his mark.

Perhaps afraid his brother would force him to study and not return the books to the old scholar, Shaocheng hurriedly pushed Zhou Zhi out the door. “Then you’d best be on your way, Brother. Go on, go!”

Zhou Zhi could only smile helplessly and step outside.

The village school should have been in session today, but it was now afternoon and classes were long over. Zhou Zhi went straight to Master Wang’s house.

It had been about a month since his last visit. The Wang household looked unchanged, and from the gate, one could hear the lively cackling of chickens and ducks within.

Living as Master Wang Ding did—a humble home with a rustic gate, surrounded by the sounds of animals—was a life many might envy. He seldom mingled with the villagers, as if living apart from the world.

Zhou Zhi could not help but sigh inwardly. Though Master Wang did not live in luxury, his days were as serene as those of an immortal; he was clearly a man who knew how to enjoy life.

He knocked gently on the wooden door, and an elderly woman’s voice called out from within, “Who is it?”

“It’s me, Zhou Zhi!” he replied promptly.

No sooner had he spoken than the door creaked open. Madam Zhang, the old scholar’s wife, glanced at him, her face immediately darkening, and then turned away without a word.

Zhou Zhi was puzzled. He distinctly remembered that on his last visit, she had been quite kind to him, and he had even fetched water for her. Why was she so cold today?

“Is that Zhou Zhi? Come in,” an aged voice called from inside.

Though it had been less than a month, Wang Ding’s voice now sounded much hoarser and weaker. Not knowing what to make of it, Zhou Zhi gave Madam Zhang a quick, apologetic smile and entered the house.

He saw Master Wang lying under a cotton quilt, half-reclined at the head of the kang bed. The small writing desk was gone, and the old scholar himself looked much older and frailer than before.

Last time, Wang Ding had been vigorous and animated, passionately discussing the Three Kingdoms.

With a heart full of questions, Zhou Zhi stepped forward, bowed, and saluted. “Your student greets you, Master.”

“Mm,” Wang Ding replied, at last lifting the quilt and slowly sitting up. He glanced at Zhou Zhi, listless. “Sit wherever you like.”

Seeing his master in such a state, Zhou Zhi could hardly bring himself to sit. Instead, he remained standing, full of concern. “Master, are you unwell? If you are ill, you must see a doctor, you mustn’t let it go untreated.”

“What illness could I possibly have? I am not ill,” Wang Ding replied, frowning with a hint of irritation.

“Then, Master, why are you—?” Zhou Zhi pressed gently.

“You’re here to return books, are you not? There’s no need to return them. They are of no use to me now,” Wang Ding cut him off, his tone weary and tinged with helplessness and sorrow.