Chapter 1

In the twenty‑fifth year of Emperor Jing’s reign, in Songjia Village, Fengping County, Yizhou, Huayang Province—

Before dawn, Zhang Xinghua set out for the nearby Shangxi Village.

Shangxi was the largest village in the area, and because of its size, it had a marketplace. Today her grandson Song Sheng was to be married. Normally, the items for such a ceremony should have been prepared days earlier, but she had forgotten to buy the red silk needed for the wedding rites. On top of that, the household’s supply of salt was running low. So, she had no choice but to make a hurried trip to the market once more.

To save herself some walking, Zhang Xinghua set out before dawn and caught a ride on a village ox cart.

Riding the cart cost money, so after buying what she needed and seeing that the day was still early, she decided to walk back home instead.

By the time she returned, the sun was already high in the sky. She hurried toward her house—her family lived at the western end of the village, so she had to pass through the eastern side first.

At the eastern edge ran a river, where village women and gē ér liked to wash clothes. And of course, washing clothes meant exchanging gossip.

Spotting Zhang Xinghua from afar, Liu Cuiqin, who was scrubbing laundry by the river, raised her voice: “Old Song’s widow, isn’t today your grandson Song Sheng’s wedding day? Why aren’t you busy at home, and instead wandering around here?”

Zhang Xinghua shot her a glance and didn’t answer directly. Instead, she retorted: “Well, isn’t this Cuiqin from the He family? How come you have time to wash clothes today? Your legs seem to have healed quickly. Looks like your husband didn’t hit you too hard after all, if you still have the energy to meddle in other people’s business!”

Zhang Xinghua and Liu Cuiqin had never gotten along. Years ago, Zhang Xinghua’s husband died, leaving her to raise several children alone. As the saying goes, “a widow’s door attracts trouble,” and Liu Cuiqin had spread plenty of gossip about her. Their feud had lasted more than ten years.

Liu Cuiqin was notorious in the village for her sharp tongue. Her gossiping had caused plenty of trouble. Just recently, she spread rumors about a wealthy man’s concubine in town, and the family came to confront her. Furious, her husband He Dong beat her, leaving her unable to leave the house for several days.

But Liu Cuiqin wasn’t easily intimidated. She smirked and said, “I heard your grandson Song Sheng married a gē ér, didn’t he? Hehehe… After getting married, will Song Sheng still go to school?”

Zhang Xinghua immediately understood the jab. In these times, families who could afford a wife would never choose to marry a young man instead. Liu Cuiqin was mocking them for being poor.

There were many women and gē ér washing clothes by the river, and Zhang Xinghua couldn’t let them laugh at her family.

“What’s wrong with marrying a gē ér? Do you look down on them?”

At that, several of the gē ér by the river turned to glare at Liu Cuiqin.

Embarrassed, Liu Cuiqin quickly backtracked. She didn’t want to offend so many people at once. “Of course that’s not what I meant. Gē ér are wonderful. I was saying your Song Sheng is lucky, that’s all!”

Seeing her flustered, Zhang Xinghua felt triumphant. “Naturally. Our Sheng is a scholar with great ambitions. He’ll keep going to school, so you don’t need to worry yourself about it, Sister Cuiqin.”

With that, Zhang Xinghua quickened her pace. She had no time to waste bickering—there were still plenty of tasks waiting at home.

As soon as Zhang Xinghua left, Liu Cuiqin curled her lip in disdain. “He’s just a useless scholar, isn’t he? Still hasn’t even passed the exam for xiucai. What’s he so proud about?”

Others by the river were gossiping too, though not as brazenly as Liu Cuiqin. Now that Zhang Xinghua was gone, someone muttered: “Even in this state, they still want him to keep going to school? Just look at the Song family—they’re already dirt poor, yet she insists on pushing her precious grandson to become a xiucai. She’s really bringing disaster on them!”

“Exactly. Look at Song Laoda—when he’s not busy, he goes around castrating pigs for people. He must earn a fair bit from that, right? But his children are all skin and bones, thin as sticks. What a sin!”

“Of course, all the money Song Laoda earns gets handed over to Zhang Xinghua. Their branch of the family never has any savings. Zhang Xinghua spoils that grandson from the third branch, so what good food could she possibly give to Song Laoda’s children?”

“Don’t even mention it—Song La’er is the same. Honestly, how did the Song family end up with three sons all so simple‑minded and obedient? Even after marrying, they still hand over all their earnings to their mother. And their wives don’t even make a fuss about it?”

“Song Sheng keeps studying year after year, but what has come of it? Nothing. Yet so much money has been spent. Poor sons of the Song family—there’s no end to their filial piety.”

———

Although Zhang Xinghua walked quickly, she still caught bits of the gossip behind her.

In the village, rumors and idle talk were endless. Today they mocked one household, tomorrow another. Paying attention to it only made life harder.

Before long, Zhang Xinghua reached home. Inside, the eldest daughter‑in‑law Lin and the second daughter‑in‑law Zhao were busy washing vegetables and preparing food. At noon there would be a banquet, and the whole day would be filled with work.

In the village, whenever a family held a wedding, everyone who wasn’t openly hostile would come to “add fragrance”—that is, to bring a small gift.

Since morning, people had been arriving one after another, most carrying a basket on their arm. Inside were some harvested grains, with a few eggs placed on top. For farming households, this was considered a generous gift.

The groom was named Song Sheng, the youngest son of the Song family’s third branch. He was eighteen years old and was marrying Lu Qing, a gē ér from the Lu family in nearby Shangxi Village.

Because Song Sheng’s years of studying had left the family impoverished, his relatives had originally hoped that once he passed the xiucai exam, they could arrange a marriage with a girl from a wealthier household. But after eight years of trying, he still hadn’t succeeded.

Now that he had reached marrying age, the family was too poor to afford a good match, and no suitable bride could be found.

So Zhang Xinghua steeled herself and decided to arrange for him to marry a gē ér instead, someone who could conveniently look after him.

In the countryside, weddings were simple affairs, without elaborate rituals. Still, there were drums and gongs, and firecrackers to add to the festive noise.

After the groom brought his new husband into the house, they bowed to the elders and began the rounds of toasting.

Lu Qing, meanwhile, was escorted by Song Sheng into the bridal chamber. According to custom, Song Sheng could not lift his husband’s veil yet—he had to finish the toasts outside before entering to see him.

Song Sheng left the room without showing any trace of joy on his face.

Lu Qing sat nervously on the edge of the bed, clutching his clothes tightly in his hands. He was tense.

Before long, his stomach began to rumble. He had risen before dawn to wash and dress for the wedding, and until now he hadn’t eaten a single bite.　

After a while, Song Xia came into the room carrying some food and water.

Song Xia was the daughter of Song Laosan (the third son of the family) and Song Sheng’s younger sister. She was fourteen, with a delicate oval face and large round eyes. Yet because children from poor families had to work early, she already looked somewhat mature beyond her years.

“Sister‑in‑law, eat a little something to fill your stomach. My brother will come over once he’s finished toasting the guests.”

Song Xia set the food down and left. Lu Qing was so hungry that, after hearing the door close, he waited a moment to be sure no one would come in, then slipped a hand under his veil to take a piece of dry flatbread and quietly nibble it.

It was just after the autumn harvest. Normally this should have been a season of plenty, but the rains had been scarce, the barley had grown poorly, and the yield was cut in half. On top of that, the household still had to pay heavy taxes.

Most weddings were held after the autumn harvest, when families had sold their grain, paid their dues, and had a little money left over for celebrations.

The Song family did the same: they kept enough grain to eat, sold the rest, and Zhang Xinghua scraped together some silver from the communal funds. Only then did they manage to afford the wedding. Whatever little remained was reserved for Song Sheng’s studies.

But Song Sheng was in low spirits today. He drank too much and was already drunk. Normally, a groom only needed to toast close relatives and friends, not every single table. For some reason, he insisted on going around to all of them, and ended up collapsing from drink.

“Ai, just like a scholar—his drinking capacity is so weak. Barely a few cups and he’s already down!”　

“Hahaha, who could match your drinking capacity? And besides, he’s just a scholar—too weak to carry or lift anything. When it comes to drinking, it’s you, elder brother, who’s the real master!”

“Come on, come on, help him over to sit for a while.”

A few people supported Song Sheng to a seat, but he slumped like he had no bones, wobbling unsteadily. One slip, and his head banged against the table.

“He’s out cold,” someone remarked. “Let him sleep here for a bit. His drinking capacity is far too poor.”

It wasn’t unfair to say so. The wine at these weddings was brewed from grain, low in alcohol and inexpensive. Farming families always bought this kind for celebrations. Even if one drank a lot, it usually didn’t cause drunkenness so quickly.

—

It was the weekend, so Song Sheng didn’t have work. He had stayed up late the night before reading a book, and had only just fallen asleep when he began to hear noisy voices outside. The sounds were mixed together, like the bustle of a marketplace.

“Ah, congratulations, congratulations! Your Song Sheng is married now. From now on, he’ll have someone caring for him, so he can focus on his studies!”

“Yes, indeed. The emperor has expanded the civil service exams, and every year there are more candidates. They say it’s getting harder and harder to pass. But Xinghua, your Song Sheng has been studying for years—he has more experience than most. Perhaps next time he’ll succeed. Don’t worry, your good fortune is still ahead.”

“Exactly! People say first you marry, then you establish a career. Now that he’s married, it’s time for him to build his future.”

Song Sheng felt like his head was about to explode. He was clearly at home, asleep—so why was it so noisy? Was something happening downstairs?

Were they talking about him?

He tried to open his eyes to see what was going on, but his eyelids felt as heavy as lead, impossible to lift.

After a while, the voices faded, and he heard someone speaking nearby:

“Little Xia, your brother drank too much. If he stays slumped here, he’ll catch a chill. Help your cousin carry him back to his room to sleep.”

Song Sheng felt as though he was being lifted up and half‑dragged along, stumbling as he was supported.

The door creaked shut behind him. He was laid down on the bed.

His head felt heavy and he drifted back into sleep. He didn’t know how much time had passed before he slowly began to wake again.

At last his eyes could open—the crushing weight on his eyelids was gone. But because of the deep sleep, his vision was hazy, as though covered in a white mist. He rubbed his eyes instinctively, frowning, and after a while things gradually came into focus.

Something wasn’t right.

This wasn’t his room!

The house was shabby, with a thatched roof and mud‑plastered walls already showing cracks. Looking around, he couldn’t find a single decent piece of furniture—only an old blackened table and a faded wardrobe by the bed. On the table sat a water jug and two chipped teacups, one leg of the table broken and propped up with bricks.

Most striking of all, beside the bed sat a bride in bright red wedding robes, her face hidden beneath a red veil. Though the room was poor, it had been decorated festively. Glancing at the red candles on the table and then down at his own red wedding robes, Song Sheng realized—he was married?

Was this a dream?

As he sat stunned, suddenly a new set of memories flooded his mind—memories belonging to another person also named Song Sheng.

This Song Sheng grew up in Songjia Village, Fengping County. From childhood he showed extraordinary talent for learning. At only ten years old he passed the exams organized by the county and prefectural schools, becoming a tongsheng.

The news delighted the Song family. In the surrounding villages, most children didn’t pass until fourteen or fifteen, but Song Sheng succeeded at ten. Naturally, everyone called him a prodigy.

Word spread quickly—people said Songjia Village had produced a child genius. Even the county magistrate, upon hearing of it, sent praise.

Soon, many local gentry wanted to see what this ten‑year‑old prodigy looked like. Song Sheng received numerous invitations and attended gatherings.

Gradually, he grew proud, spending his days visiting households and boasting about his studies. Over time, his schoolwork fell behind.

Later, when he tried to pick up his studies again, he found he could no longer pass the exams. For eight years he failed to achieve the rank of xiucai. His story resembled that of “Zhong Yong”—a child prodigy who wasted his gift and became ordinary.

As a tongsheng, he could study in the county or prefectural school. Song Sheng was enrolled in the county school. But studying there required paying tuition, and paper, ink, and especially books were very expensive. After years of this, his studies nearly drained the family’s savings.

The villagers lived off farming. Besides working the land, they sometimes took odd jobs to earn a few coins. Even so, their yearly income was meager, and the Song family remained desperately poor.

Seeing that Song Sheng was already eighteen and of marrying age, people realized his studies might never lead to success—what if he kept studying for another seven or eight years and still didn’t marry?

That was impossible, so Zhang Xinghua simply took charge and arranged for him to marry a young man, someone who could also look after him.

After recalling this memory, Song Sheng grew increasingly uneasy. Wasn’t this exactly the plot of the book he had been reading before he fell asleep?