Chapter Seventy-Two: Stopping the Car

With his sister’s help in the vegetable greenhouse, Zhou Zhi found his workload much lighter. In the daylight hours, apart from tending to the vegetables, he could spare quite a bit of time to read. As a result, his reading progressed even faster.

Five tranquil days passed in this way. After nearly two months of growth, the celery had reached over a foot tall, the spinach was about half that, and the chives, with their tender green leaves, were particularly appealing. It was clear that all three vegetables were ready for the market.

Today was November seventeenth, a major market day in Gaochang Town. Zhou Zhi decided to harvest some vegetables and take them to sell at the market.

Before dawn, around the fourth watch, Zhou Zhi used a sickle to cut about ten pounds each of celery and spinach, and nearly twenty pounds of chives. Carefully, he bundled the vegetables into one-pound bunches with straw, then wrapped them all in a quilt.

By the time he finished, the sky was lightening. His sister, Zhou Luyun, brought over breakfast and pushed their battered old wheelbarrow. Zhou Luyun seemed quite excited, a rosy flush brightening her delicate face as she smiled softly at Zhou Zhi and said, “Little Zhi, you’re off to sell vegetables today. I wonder if anyone will buy them in this harsh winter? Will they fetch a good price?”

Biting into a millet and pumpkin cake, Zhou Zhi replied, “Don’t worry, sister, all these vegetables will sell. Just this half-acre plot is enough to make life much better for our family!”

“I’m hoping so too. No matter what, you really grew fresh leafy greens in winter. My little Zhi is truly capable,” Zhou Luyun said, looking at him with pride.

The siblings chatted and laughed, full of hope for Zhou Zhi’s trip to Gaochang Town.

After breakfast, Zhou Zhi dressed warmly, putting on his father’s old rough cotton vest over his winter clothes. After bidding his sister goodbye and reminding her not to forget the fire for the kang bed to keep the greenhouse warm, he set off with the wheelbarrow.

It was the depths of winter—frozen earth and snow, the countryside shrouded in a white mist.

The Zhou family’s fields lay southeast of the village, so to reach Gaochang Town, Zhou Zhi first had to pass through Baiyue Village. The cold had emptied the village streets, and he hardly saw a soul as he walked through most of it. Not until he reached the outskirts did he spot a few farmers slowly leaving the village, likely also heading to the market in Gaochang.

Zhou Zhi walked with steady, swift steps, soon catching up to the group of farmers. Among them was Old Wang, known as the “Lost Boy.” As fellow villagers, Zhou Zhi greeted them warmly. They responded with hurried smiles, their eyes clearly filled with respect.

Even Old Wang regarded Zhou Zhi differently than before. Still, he said, “Zhou Zhi, you really are something. In the dead of winter, you actually grew vegetables—remarkable, truly remarkable!”

Zhou Zhi responded with a few hearty laughs. He had intended to walk with them, but sensing their changed gazes and noticing how they deliberately slowed their pace, he quickened his own, soon leaving them behind.

Leaving Baiyue Village, Zhou Zhi followed the main road north for thirteen or fourteen miles towards Gaochang Town. Along the way, he encountered many travelers, most of them poor farmers carrying baskets of eggs or leading hens that no longer laid, with a few herding sheep or pigs. All were making their way into town via the southern road.

Gaochang was one of Qingdu County’s larger towns, home to more than a thousand families—many landowners and wealthy households, and even more families of moderate means.

As he neared the town, the crowds grew denser.

The sun was just rising, scattering the mist, and the day promised to be clear. With only about three miles left to town, Zhou Zhi began to feel a wave of anxiety. Would anyone buy the vegetables? Would they fetch a good price? There was no way to know for sure.

After all, this was the Ming dynasty he’d been transported to, and while the idea of growing fresh vegetables in a greenhouse seemed promising, that was only his personal judgment. The real test would be the market—and, in a larger sense, the test of the era.

As Zhou Zhi hurried along, a sudden shout rang out ahead, “Make way! Move aside!”

He saw a carriage hurtling toward him, the driver nearly standing in his seat, face stricken as he yanked the reins. The carriage rocked wildly, threatening to overturn at any moment.

Behind it, eight or nine servants, some old and some young, gave chase, waving frantically and shouting hoarsely, “Stop that carriage! Catch the horse!”

The horse was clearly panicked, galloping madly—no one dared step in its path.

The others on the road scattered to the sides; Zhou Zhi also hurriedly pushed his cart aside. The runaway carriage approached rapidly, about thirty paces away, when a child’s cry of terror sounded from within, sending a jolt through Zhou Zhi.

Without another thought, he toppled his cart to the roadside and stepped into the middle of the road.

“Are you crazy, boy? The carriage will kill you!” some bystanders shouted in alarm.

The carriage bore down on him. Zhou Zhi fixed his eyes on the horse’s head, seized the reins in a firm grip, and braced himself, pulling with all his might. The horse, still in a frenzy, could not stop at once; encountering the resistance, it reared and thrashed, hooves pounding.

The snowy road was slippery, and Zhou Zhi was dragged a great distance by the horse’s momentum.

The driver, too, pulled with all his strength, and together they managed to slow the horse. Seizing the opportunity, Zhou Zhi stepped directly in front of the animal, blocking its way. With a few shrill neighs, the horse finally shuddered to a halt under Zhou Zhi’s forceful grip.

The onlookers breathed a collective sigh of relief. “You’re a brave one, lad. If that carriage hadn’t stopped, you’d have been killed or maimed for sure!”

The driver, able now to dismount, gave the reins a few more strong tugs until the horse settled down. Turning to Zhou Zhi, he clasped his hands in gratitude. “Thank you, young man! If not for you, who knows what disaster this beast would have caused.”

“It was nothing. Just a small matter,” Zhou Zhi replied, hastily bowing in return.

Just then, the carriage curtain was gently lifted, and a middle-aged woman with a silk scarf wrapped around her head peered out. She had eyebrows like willow leaves, wore light makeup, and carried herself with dignified grace—a beautiful woman, though still visibly shaken, her breathing unsteady.

She parted her lips and said softly, “Thank you for your help, young man.”

With that, she let the curtain fall. Soon after, a child of seven or eight leapt from the carriage. He was a handsome boy with rosy cheeks and white teeth, dressed in a green padded jacket with a fox-fur cloak draped over his shoulders.

He walked up to Zhou Zhi and bowed deeply. “You just saved my mother and me, sir. Please accept my respects.”

He bowed with perfect form, looking very much like a little adult.

Zhou Zhi quickly reached out to steady him, but before he could speak, the boy noticed the fresh blood staining Zhou Zhi’s leg. With a cry of alarm, he exclaimed, “Oh no, brother, did you get hurt saving us?”