Chapter 321: Awakening

Chapter 321: Awakening

A cold wind carrying snowflakes blew open the half-ajar wooden door. The scattered snow met the warm air tinged with the scent of burning firewood, silently turning into fine raindrops. The wind rushed into the teahouse, slightly rousing the drowsy merchants. A flurry of ash danced in the air, revealing the glowing embers of cotton husks burning in the fire pit.

Second Sister-in-law Zhao yawned and stood up. She lifted a basket of cotton husks and poured them into the fire pit, then picked up a large copper kettle to pour herself half a bowl of red date water, gulping it down.

She glanced outside at the overcast sky, which looked like it was about to snow again.

On the stage, the girl singing Qiuci folk songs slowly retreated. Kurban and An'le carried waist drums onto the stage. As the drumbeats began, the drowsy mood in the teahouse quickly lifted, flowing out like water.

Small flames flickered in the fire pit, and the large copper kettle hanging above bubbled. The sweet fragrance of red dates blended with the sharp aroma of ginger, masking the smell of burning firewood.

Second Sister-in-law Zhao sat back down, swaying her legs and tapping her hands in rhythm as she watched the men from a different region on stage twisting their waists and shaking their shoulders while beating the waist drums. She thought to herself that this must be the life of immortals, no wonder the two old folks at home always looked forward to coming to Dunhuang after the autumn harvest.

Huaniu and Da Zhuang appeared at the door carrying buckets. Aqiang saw them and quickly walked over along the wall.

"Want to buy some marinated eggs?" Huaniu asked.

The villagers sitting near the door waved their hands, "We're locals. You should ask the merchants sitting in the front."

Huaniu smiled and agreed. She knew that those sitting near the door were mostly locals who wouldn’t spend money on food or drinks. But every time she entered the teahouse to sell, she would ask anyway, to avoid anyone feeling slighted, thinking that the teahouse girls only targeted the merchants and ignored them.

The two graceful girls nimbly navigated the gaps between the tables and chairs, their clear voices asking the merchants if they wanted to buy marinated eggs. Da Zhuang followed behind with the bucket, occasionally scooping an egg with a wooden ladle onto the ceramic plates on the tables.

After selling a bucket of eggs, the three quickly exited the teahouse. The cold in the snowy air was bone-chilling, and Huaniu and Aqiang both shivered. They told Da Zhuang to return the bucket and hurried towards the school.

"Brother, what does this character mean?" Zhao Erya asked.

The young boy turned to look and said, "'Bamboo.' The old teacher said it’s something that’s neither a tree nor a vine. People in the Central Plains use bamboo to weave baskets, unlike us who use sorghum stalks or willow branches."

Zhao Erya made an "Oh" sound, "You know so much."

"Not really, the old teacher taught me," the young boy said modestly. He dipped his brush in water and wrote the characters for "sorghum" on a wooden board, saying, "Write these three characters together. When you see sorghum in the future, you’ll remember that there’s also bamboo in the Central Plains that can be used to weave baskets. It’s green and stays green all year round, with leaves shaped like willow leaves, long and thin."

Zhao Dalang leaned over. He was roughly the same age as Sui Liang and had already been working as a laborer in the fields back home. The heavy farm work had left many marks on him—thick calluses and large joints—making his fingers stiff and clumsy when holding a brush, and his handwriting was barely legible.

The schoolroom was warmed by a heated brick bed, and the young boy still wore a thin coat even when sitting inside. Zhao Dalang, wearing three layers of thin clothing, was sweating profusely. He was nervous during the teacher’s lessons and anxious when practicing writing. He was in a state of agitation, and his head and hands were constantly sweaty. After a month and a half of study, he could write only a few characters, fewer than the fingers on one hand. Even when he recognized many characters, his mind went blank when asked what they meant.

"Wait, Second Sister," Zhao Dalang stopped Zhao Erya. His gaze fell on the wooden board, "Let me take another look. I think I’m almost remembering it."

"Have the young boy write it again for you. I want to take advantage of the water marks before they dry and figure it out myself," Zhao Erya felt she was also close to remembering these three characters.

Zhao Dalang scratched his head. The young boy noticed his embarrassment and offered, "Brother, sit with me. If you don’t understand something, ask me. If I don’t know, I’ll ask my mother."

"Aunt Sui taught you," Zhao Dalang sat down, "Having worked in the fields, I’m familiar with crops. First, teach me how to write wheat, millet, soybeans, broad beans, sorghum, and rice."

The young boy agreed enthusiastically, "My mother and uncle both taught me. They started by teaching me characters for things around me—chickens, ducks, fish, meat, pigs, sheep, horses, donkeys, camels, mules, tables, chairs, benches… I’ll teach you the same way."

Zhao Dalang breathed a sigh of relief. He called over his younger brothers, who were three years younger, "You’re being lazy, why are you hiding back there? Come and learn."

"Master? Sir? Why aren’t you coming in?" Huaniu suddenly spoke up.

Sui Yu and Zhao Xiping stood up straight. The people in the school looked out, and the young boy dropped his brush and ran out, beaming, "Mom, Dad, are you here to see me?"

"I came to see if anyone’s slacking off," Sui Yu pushed him back inside, "It’s cold outside, and you’re wearing thin clothes. Don’t run out."

Huaniu and Aqiang stamped their feet and walked in. Zhao Dalang put on his sheepskin coat and came out, his face red, mumbling, "I’m slow at learning and can’t remember the characters. Uncle, let me clean the animal pens or shovel snow instead."

"You were doing well just now with the young boy. He’s willing to teach you, so keep learning from him. If he gets tired, Aning and Sui Liang can also teach you. You can ask them for help," Zhao Xiping said.

Zhao Dalang wiped his face with his hand and took the opportunity to voice his recent troubles: "I’m not a kid anymore, my memory’s not great. If I don’t practice writing for a day, I forget it by the next morning. And even if I learn them, where would I use them? What’s the point of me learning them?"

"How can you say they’re useless? At least you’ll know the characters for the crops you grow. You know that millet is called millet, and wheat is called wheat. You’re familiar with every stage from sprouting to bearing fruit. But these stages are shaped by water, soil, fertilizer, and the sun. Even without human intervention, they can sprout, grow, flower, and bear ears. However, the names of the staple crops were given by people. Our ancestors named millet 'millet' and created these characters for future generations to learn," Sui Yu spoke up. "Not everything people learn is for immediate utility. I heard from your mother that you’re great at skipping stones, making tiles skip five or six times on the water. It doesn’t help with food, shelter, or getting around, but you still take pride in it, don’t you?"

Zhao Dalang’s face turned as red as a beet.

"Just keep learning, and you’ll see how useful it is," Zhao Xiping chimed in. "Sui Liang has been learning characters from your aunt since he was a child. Now he can read laws on his own. If someone recommended him, he might even work as a clerk at a post station. Isn’t that something?"

"Impressive!" Xiao Zai shouted from inside the room.

Sui Liang turned and glared at him.

Zhao Dalang nodded and said, "I’m not quick-witted; I can’t think that far ahead. Uncle, Aunt, I’m going back in."

"Go on, quit overthinking. Spend that idle time practicing writing. The more you learn, the more skills you’ll have. Besides reading, you can also learn the abacus from Xiao Zai and A’shui. They’re fast and accurate with calculations," Zhao Xiping said. "You know your grandparents moved from the interior to Jiuquan. Farming depends on the weather. If there’s a disaster, farmers face ruin. Learn more skills. If things go south beyond the pass and the family can’t farm, you could work as an accountant and keep the family from starving."

The words hit home, and Zhao Dalang took them to heart, walking in with more determination.

Sui Yu walked out from under the eaves, and Zhao Xiping left the school with her. After they left, the school fell silent for a moment. Soon, someone started chanting, and scattered recitations followed. One group chanted laws, another focused on copying poems from wooden boards, and a third sat at the back, practicing writing while murmuring to themselves.

The crisp, strong recitations drifted into the cold wind. Sui Yu glanced back, then linked arms with her husband and said, "You Zhao men are all about pride. Dalang held it in for over a month before finally seeking help. Sanlang and Silang are still holding back. But none of them compare to you. You’d rather study in secret for years than ask me to teach you."

"You write with so many mistakes; what could you teach me?" Zhao Xiping retorted stubbornly. "I didn’t secretly learn from you."

"Right, right, that’s exactly your character," Sui Yu stepped on his foot and said, "Thankfully, our son’s not like you."

Zhao Xiping had no response; he too felt relieved.

Da Zhuang ran out from the kitchen courtyard, his mouth full of meat. When he saw his masters, he wanted to greet them, but the meat wasn’t chewed well enough to swallow. In a panic, he almost tried to spit it out to speak.

Zhao Xiping waved his hand, telling the kid to get lost.

Da Zhuang strode away, following the dog paw prints in the snow. A black dog emerged from the kitchen courtyard, clutching a pork bone in its mouth. Not wanting to drop the bone, it whimpered, wagged its tail vigorously, and trotted into the warm tea house, crunching through the snow.

Sui Yu breathed in the cold, meaty air and led Zhao Xiping into the kitchen courtyard. The couple helped themselves to bowls of tender stewed pork and sat in the storeroom next to the kitchen to go over the accounts.

...

As the year drew to a close, Sui Yu and Zhao Xiping led their camels to the government office to pay taxes. Between the inn and the caravan, they had to pay over 32,000 coins.

"Isn’t that Song Congzu?" Zhao Xiping recognized him and called out, "Congzu, are you here to pay taxes today too?"

"Ah, yes," Song Congzu nodded and gestured for his servant to help move the money chest.

"How much are you shelling out in taxes this year?" Sui Yu asked.

Song Congzu held up five fingers and said, "47,900 coins. Auntie, your taxes must be substantial too?"

"15,000 coins less than yours. Our inn doesn’t bring in as much as your camels," Sui Yu replied.

"Our two families are the top taxpayers in Dunhuang," Song Congzu joked.

As soon as he finished speaking, a clerk came out with a smile, eagerly helping to move the money chest.

"Didn’t I tell you? Auntie, you can still enjoy a fresh pot of tea if you go in now," Song Congzu said.

Sui Yu glanced sideways. It had been over half a year since she last saw him, and Song Congzu seemed much more composed, with none of his former restlessness visible.

Song Congzu couldn’t miss her scrutiny. He smiled sheepishly and asked candidly, "Auntie, do I seem different to you?"

"Your mom will be thrilled to hear this," Sui Yu said.

"I was so immature back then, making her angry and disappointed," Song Congzu said. "Last year, I was arrogant and foolish, making a fool of myself. Looking back now, I’m too embarrassed to show my face. After my mother left, I stayed in the desert with an old servant raising camels. I only came back to the city just before the New Year, so I haven’t had the chance to apologize to Uncle Zhao. Last year, he kindly came to advise me, but I was ungrateful and disrespectful to him."

"It’s nothing. Young folks are always a bit restless. We’ve been through that age ourselves and can understand," Sui Yu said.

Song Congzu shook his head and said, "Will you be at home on New Year’s Day? I’ll come by to wish you a Happy New Year."

"Sure, come over. We’ll be waiting for you," Sui Yu agreed, thinking of the endless chanting from the schoolhouse. She asked, "Are you still going back to the desert to raise camels after the New Year? Will you come back to learn characters with Chen Lao? Last month, Uncle Zhao’s nephews and nieces from his hometown arrived, and they’re also learning characters with Chen Lao. If you come, you can start learning how to hold a brush with them."

"I’ll come. When does the class start after the New Year? I’ll be there on time," Song Congzu said excitedly. He had long regretted his past actions but felt too embarrassed to bring it up, fearing that suddenly showing up might disrupt the teacher’s progress.

"The sixth day of the New Year," Sui Yu said. "Before that, you can come to my house if you have time. Liang Ge can give you some extra lessons so you won’t fall behind when the class starts."

Song Congzu happily agreed. He stood outside with Sui Yu, waiting until Zhao Xiping came out with the servants before he left with his camel caravan.

Sui Yu told Zhao Xiping about Song Congzu’s sudden realization. He responded with an "Oh" and said, "It’s good that he’s come to his senses. People at this age are often restless, but staying busy helps."

"Liang Ge isn’t like that. I’ve never seen him restless," Sui Yu couldn’t help but say. "It’s about the person, not the age."

Zhao Xiping sighed, "How can you say that with a straight face? He often provokes me or hits me and then runs away, being a little brat."