Volume One, Chapter Three: To Save My Sister, I Sold Myself!

At the break of dawn, Chen Zhonghe shouldered his hoe and slung a worn bamboo basket across his back, preparing to head to the fields.

Mrs. Luo pressed a coarse bran cake into his hand, her voice lowered, “Remember the stone Pingchuan mentioned.”

He swallowed the cake in a hurry, mumbling his assent, and stepped out the door with heavy footsteps.

Chen Pingchuan was already awake. He dressed quickly and caught up to his father.

Mrs. Luo watched them leave, her lips parting as if to speak, but she held herself back.

Father and son, one behind the other, made their way to the stream behind the hill. The morning water flowed clear and cold, murmuring over the stones.

The riverbank was strewn with smooth, round pebbles of various sizes and colors, polished by the running water.

Chen Zhonghe squatted by the stream, picking up a few stones, hesitating as he recalled his son’s description from the night before.

“Dad, we want the really round ones, the smoothest ones, and the white ones with pretty patterns are the best.” Chen Pingchuan crouched down too, his small hands searching carefully through the cold pebbles.

He was meticulous, selecting only the most regular in shape and the most lustrous river stones.

Watching his son’s serious expression, Chen Zhonghe stopped overthinking and bent his head to join him.

Soon, their bamboo basket was half full. Chen Zhonghe hefted it, deciding this was enough.

“Let’s go ask at Master Zhang’s house,” he said, hoisting the basket onto his back.

Master Zhang’s house was the only building in the village made of blue bricks and roof tiles, its scarlet doors tightly shut and two stone lions guarding the entrance, a stark contrast to the surrounding earthen cottages.

Standing before the door, Chen Zhonghe’s face was tight with anxiety. He raised his hand to knock several times, only to let it fall back, uncertain.

“Dad, let me,” said Chen Pingchuan.

Seeing his father’s hesitation, Pingchuan sighed quietly and stepped forward, rapping the door knocker just firmly enough.

Knock, knock, knock.

After a long moment, the side door creaked open. A middle-aged man with a neatly trimmed goatee, dressed in fine clothes, poked his head out, sizing up the father and son.

“What do you want?”

Chen Zhonghe’s palms were slick with sweat. His mouth opened, but no words came out.

“Sir,” Pingchuan replied calmly, “we heard your household is renovating the courtyard and in need of attractive paving stones. We’ve picked out some smooth, round ones from the stream and brought them for you to see.”

The man with the goatee looked at Pingchuan in surprise. This child spoke clearly and persuasively, nothing like a typical village boy.

His gaze shifted to the bamboo basket on Chen Zhonghe’s back.

“Oh? Let me have a look.”

Chen Zhonghe hastily set down the basket, fumbling to present the stones for inspection.

The man picked up several pebbles, weighing and rubbing them in his hands. These stones were indeed far better than the coarse ones sold at the town’s quarry—smooth, polished, and colorful, with a few white stones marked with delicate natural patterns.

“Hmm, these are quite good,” he said, stroking his beard and nodding. “Better than what the quarry sells. The master has been complaining that the walkway in the courtyard looks ugly and wants something more refined.”

A look of delight spread across Chen Zhonghe’s face.

“How much are you selling these for?” the goateed man asked.

Chen Zhonghe faltered, glancing at his son. He hadn’t the faintest idea what to charge.

But Pingchuan didn’t mention a price. “Sir, we picked out each of these stones from the stream by hand. They’re guaranteed smooth and comfortable to walk on, and they’ll look beautiful in your courtyard. You won’t find stones like these elsewhere.”

Quality must impress the buyer before price can be discussed.

A hint of a smile appeared on the man’s face. “You’re quite the talker, child.”

He considered for a moment, his mind made up.

“All right, since it wasn’t easy for you to collect them, I’ll take this basket as a trial and pay you… three hundred copper coins. How about that?”

Chen Zhonghe’s eyes widened in disbelief. Three hundred coins—enough to buy dozens of pounds of coarse grain!

His lips trembled with excitement, his voice breaking. “Thank you, sir! Thank you, sir!”

He looked at his son, eyes full of astonishment—this really worked!

The man waved his hand. “I’m not the master. I’m the steward of the Zhang household—my surname is Ren.”

“Thank you, Steward Ren!” Pingchuan piped up.

Steward Ren nodded. “Take them to the storeroom in the back. I’ll fetch your payment.”

“Right away!” Chen Zhonghe nodded eagerly, slinging the basket over his back and following the steward inside.

Pingchuan hurried along behind, his little legs scurrying to keep up.

They passed through several carved corridors, wound around a moon gate, and arrived at a storeroom in the back courtyard.

Steward Ren pointed to the entrance. “Leave them here and wait a moment.” With that, he left.

Chen Zhonghe set down the basket and let out a long breath, unable to hide his joy. He patted his son’s head. “Pingchuan, you’re amazing! Dad… Dad doesn’t even know what to say.”

He was astonished—who would have thought stones could be sold for money?

He didn’t know how much they’d be worth in the future, but at least now there was hope!

Just then, shouts and the sound of hurried footsteps rang out.

A chubby boy, about the same age as Pingchuan, rode a bamboo pole like a horse, his round cheeks flushed, and charged into the courtyard. He was followed by a panting maid, who cried, “Young master, slow down!”

Pingchuan eyed the plump boy’s fine clothes and guessed, from the maid’s address, that this must be Master Zhang’s precious son.

The boy stopped his “horse” when he saw strangers, tilting his head to study Pingchuan.

“Who are you? What are you doing at my house?”

“We’re here to deliver stones,” Pingchuan replied coolly.

The boy tossed aside his bamboo horse and strode up, commanding, “You, come play horse-riding with me!”

Chen Zhonghe jumped, pulling at his son’s sleeve, warning him not to cause trouble.

Pingchuan had no interest in playing with the boy and was about to refuse when the boy blurted out, “If you play with me, I’ll give you money!”

Oh? He pays others to play with him?

Pingchuan grinned. Clearly, this little rich kid thought money could buy anything, just like his landlord father.

But he had no intention of running around the yard on a bamboo horse like a fool.

“What’s so fun about riding a bamboo horse? It’s childish and boring.”

The boy’s eyes widened. “Then what do you think is fun?”

Pingchuan squatted down, picked up a twig, and drew a tic-tac-toe grid in the dirt.

“This is called Nine-grid Chess—much more fun than riding horses.”

The boy peered closer. “Nine-grid Chess? How do you play?”

Pingchuan explained the rules. “One person draws circles, the other crosses. Whoever gets three of their marks in a row wins.”

The boy sniffed. “That sounds easy. What’s so hard about it?”

Pingchuan raised an eyebrow. “Easy? Care to try a round? The loser must call the winner ‘big brother’.”

“Fine! Who’s afraid?” The boy immediately perked up.

Chen Zhonghe grew anxious, whispering, “Pingchuan, don’t make trouble. He’s the landlord’s son—we can’t afford to offend him…”

Pingchuan gave his father a reassuring look. “Don’t worry, Dad. I know what I’m doing.”

Chen Zhonghe could only stand by helplessly, and the maid craned her neck, curious about this new game.

The first round began. Just as Pingchuan expected, the boy concentrated on drawing his crosses without paying attention to Pingchuan’s moves. In no time at all, Pingchuan connected three circles on a diagonal and won.

“Huh? How did I lose?” The boy was stunned, then protested, “Doesn’t count! I wasn’t paying attention!”

Pingchuan let it go, wiped the grid away, and drew another.

In the second round, the boy was more cautious, trying to block Pingchuan, but his thinking was simple. Pingchuan baited him into a trap and won again.

“Hey! I lost again! One more round!” The boy was getting flustered.

By the third game, sweat beaded on the boy’s forehead as he racked his brains over every move, trying to block all of Pingchuan’s paths.

But how could he compete with someone who’d lived as an adult in the modern world? Pingchuan set a simple trap, and the boy fell right in.

Dusting off his hands, Pingchuan smiled, “Three games, three wins. You lost. Aren’t you going to call me ‘big brother’?”

The boy’s face turned red, his lips pouting in reluctance and frustration. After a long struggle, he finally squeezed out, “Big… brother…”

Pingchuan chuckled to himself—this landlord’s silly son was quite amusing.

At that moment, Steward Ren returned with their payment and frowned at the sight of the boy drawing circles and crosses in the dirt.

“Young master, what are you doing out here? Your father asked you to study your lessons!”

The boy ignored him, grabbing Pingchuan for another round.

Steward Ren asked, “Young master, of the study companions your father arranged today, did you like any of them?”

“None at all!” The boy wrinkled his nose in disgust. “They’re all as dull as fence posts. Nowhere near as interesting as my new big brother!”

Steward Ren shook his head, then handed Chen Zhonghe three hundred copper coins.

“This is for the stones. If you have more like these in the future, bring them straight here.”

“Yes, yes—thank you, Steward Ren! Thank you!” Chen Zhonghe stammered, his hands trembling as he took the money. Three hundred coins—three hundred!

He thanked Steward Ren profusely and left the Zhang house with his son. Behind them, the boy shouted, “Big brother, come again tomorrow! I’ll beat you for sure next time!”

Pingchuan pursed his lips; with Steward Ren back, there would be no more paid games today. Still, gaining a wealthy little follower wasn’t a bad day’s work.

Father and son made their way home, pockets heavy with copper coins.

As they neared their courtyard, they saw Third Aunt Wang peeking suspiciously around their garden wall. The moment she saw them approach, she ducked away.

A sense of foreboding crept into Pingchuan’s heart.

Sure enough, as soon as they set foot inside their own yard, they found their eldest uncle, Chen Zhongwen, his wife, and the old patriarch and matriarch, all sitting in the main room with dark faces, occupying every battered bench.

Mrs. Luo stood to the side, her eyes swollen from crying, her body trembling.

Chen Pingyu hid behind her mother, her face pale as paper.

The moment Chen Zhonghe and Pingchuan entered, the eldest uncle’s wife sneered, “Oh, Second Brother’s back? I heard you sold some stones for money? Hand it over, then!”

Uncle Zhongwu and his wife stood in the doorway, munching melon seeds and waiting for a show.

If stones could be sold for money, then no family would want for anything—let’s see how much the second family made.

But when Chen Zhonghe, with shaking hands, produced three hundred copper coins, the entire family fell silent, shock plain on every face.

“You… you made this selling stones?” The old patriarch was astonished.

The eldest aunt curled her lip. “Three hundred coins for a bunch of rocks? Who are you trying to fool? You must have stolen it!”

Her words were sharp and venomous.

Pingchuan retorted loudly, “We didn’t steal it! If you don’t believe us, ask Steward Ren at Master Zhang’s house!”

The old matriarch snatched the string of coins, quickly counting them. “Only three hundred? Is there any more?”

Chen Zhonghe shook his head. “That’s all. That’s what we got.”

The eldest aunt snorted, “That’s not enough—not nearly twenty taels. What now, Mother?”

“I say selling stones is a dead end. Better sell Pingyu for cash! I’ve already arranged for the broker to come for her tomorrow morning!” The old matriarch pocketed the money and resumed turning her prayer beads.

“Mother!” Mrs. Luo shrieked, her face draining of color. “How can you force us like this?”

Chen Zhongwen fanned himself leisurely, drawling, “Sister-in-law, you’re wrong. Our parents are only thinking of the family. As the saying goes, ‘Sacrifice the small for the sake of the whole.’ When your brother here passes the imperial exam and brings honor to our clan, do you think I’d forget your family’s contribution?”

“Pah!” Mrs. Luo spat, glaring at his sanctimonious face. “By the time you pass your exam, we’ll all be dead of starvation and rot in a ditch!”

“You shrew!” the eldest aunt slammed the table.

“I’m telling you all!” Mrs. Luo’s eyes blazed, her voice hoarse with desperation. “No one is selling my daughter! If you force me, I’ll dash my head against this wall!”

With that, she turned and made to hurl herself at the mud wall.

“Mother!”

“Wife!”

Pingchuan and his father cried out together, rushing to seize her.

The courtyard erupted into chaos—cries and screams filled the air.

Even the patriarch and matriarch hadn’t expected Mrs. Luo to be so fierce, willing to risk her life. They were momentarily at a loss.

After all, if someone died, it would reflect badly on them too.

In the end, Mrs. Luo’s threat to die brought the confrontation to a temporary halt.

The eldest branch and the old couple stormed off, cursing and swearing, leaving a final warning: they had three days to produce twenty taels, or face the consequences.

Only the four members of Chen Pingchuan’s family were left.

Mrs. Luo collapsed to the ground, clutching her trembling daughter and weeping in silence.

Chen Zhonghe squatted beside them, furiously smoking his pipe, his brow furrowed deep with worry.

Just as hope had begun to glimmer, it was snuffed out once more.

Pingchuan looked at his frail sister, his parents steeped in despair, and recalled Master Zhang seeking a study companion for his son. A thought slowly crystallized in his mind.

Better to sell himself as a study boy to save his sister, than to watch his mother driven to death.

He clenched his little fists, a glint of determination in his eyes.

He would go to Master Zhang’s house, become a study servant, and save his sister.