Volume One, Chapter Four: The Mischievous Child Drives the Wealthy Father to Fury!

Zhang Family Study.

The afternoon sunlight slanted through the carved window lattice, falling just so upon one corner of the ebony writing desk.

Master Zhang, having specially hired Scholar Fang for his treasured son, now watched as the scholar pointed at the spread of rice paper upon the desk, his white beard trembling with rage.

“Zhang Jinbao!”

His voice was shrill, brimming with barely contained disappointment and fury.

“I told you to practice writing your own name! Look at what you’ve scrawled—what on earth is this nonsense?!”

“Tic-tac-toe!” retorted Zhang Jinbao, the chubby little boy, sticking out his neck with surprising bravado.

“Sir, you see, as for my name, I don’t think I need to practice it,” he reasoned, waving his plump little hand. “In the future, there’ll be servants to write it for me. I won’t have to do it myself.”

At these words, Scholar Fang nearly choked on his own breath.

“But! Chess is different!” Zhang Jinbao’s voice rose with conviction. “I have to play chess myself! Once I practice enough, I’ll beat that big brother! Then he’ll have to call me ‘big brother’ instead!”

Ever since he’d lost at tic-tac-toe to Chen Pingchuan that morning, his heart had been smoldering with unwillingness. All he could think about was how to reclaim his honor tomorrow.

“Absurd! Utterly absurd!” Scholar Fang could no longer endure it. He seized the paper from the desk, crumpled it, and hurled it to the floor.

“Incurable! You are truly beyond hope!” He flung his sleeves, unable to remain another moment, and marched toward the door. At the threshold, he spat out angrily, “I’m going straight to inform your father!”

The study door slammed with a thunderous bang.

At last, Zhang Jinbao’s head drooped. Though his words were stubborn, a trace of fear lingered in his heart—not of a beating, for he was thick-skinned and not afraid of pain, but of disappointing his father.

Yet, the endless copying of indecipherable characters was sheer torment compared to the fascinating study of tic-tac-toe.

No sooner had Scholar Fang left than the door creaked open.

In skipped a little girl in a pink silk jacket and skirt, her hair styled in two playful buns—a lively and adorable sight. With bright eyes and pearly teeth, her features charming and delicate, she resembled a porcelain doll come to life.

This was Zhang Jinshu, the cherished young daughter of Master Zhang.

Her gaze immediately found the crumpled paper on the floor, then flicked to her brother’s dejected figure. Mischief sparkled in her dark eyes.

“Stupid brother,” she piped, her childish voice brimming with barely concealed laughter. “You’ve made the teacher angry again, haven’t you?”

“You’re done for,” she declared confidently, her tone full of gleeful anticipation. “Father’s definitely going to spank you later!”

On any other day, such words would have sent Zhang Jinbao begging his sister for mercy. But today, his mind was consumed by thoughts of winning that game.

“Let him spank me if he wants,” he muttered gloomily. “I just need to find a way to beat that big brother.”

He bent to retrieve the crumpled paper, carefully smoothing it out, his eyes fixed intently on the grid as he fell into deep thought.

Seeing her brother so entranced, Zhang Jinshu’s curiosity was thoroughly piqued. What could possibly make her silly brother so fearless, even in the face of punishment?

She edged closer, stretched out a small, soft finger, and poked at the grid on the paper. “What’s this? Circles and crosses everywhere.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Even uglier than your handwriting, a hundred times over.”

Zhang Jinbao absentmindedly recited the rules Chen Pingchuan had taught him. When he finished, he frowned in distress. “It’s so hard! I played so many rounds and haven’t won once!”

Zhang Jinshu blinked her bright, watery eyes. She only had to hear the rules once before her clever little mind quickly grasped their intricacies.

She clapped her hands, her eyes shining. “Oh, that’s not so difficult! I understand now!”

She grabbed her brother’s hand, pointing at the stack of pristine rice paper nearby. “Come on, let’s play!”

Still a bit dazed, Zhang Jinbao was dragged into spreading paper and grinding ink.

They drew grid after grid and began their matches.

Though young, Zhang Jinshu was exceptionally clever. Within three or five games, she had thoroughly routed her brother. Horizontal, vertical, diagonal—those circles and crosses danced before his eyes, and he was entirely outmatched, able only to lose, again and again.

“I lost again… I can’t even beat my little sister!” Zhang Jinbao stared, dumbfounded at the page full of defeats, utterly crushed.

“I told you, you’re stupid. You don’t use your head.”

Zhang Jinshu, having won three straight games, lifted her little chin in triumph. “This game isn’t for mindless moves.”

Now Zhang Jinbao was thoroughly convinced.

He hurried to her side, his voice full of flattery. “Dear sister, please teach me! How can I win?”

Zhang Jinshu’s dark eyes sparkled with mischief as a little scheme took shape in her mind. She had been craving the new lotus cakes from Osmanthus Lane for ages, but Mother was strict and forbade sweets.

Now, with her silly brother in need of her help, it was the perfect opportunity.

Clearing her throat and imitating their mother’s stern tone, she straightened up with deliberate composure. “Mmm… Well, I suppose I could teach you,” she said slowly. “But you have to agree to a small condition first.”

Seeing hope, Zhang Jinbao’s eyes lit up. “What is it? Tell me! I’ll agree to anything!”

“The temple fair is in a few days,” Zhang Jinshu said, lowering her voice and flashing her little tiger teeth. “You have to buy me a lotus cake from Osmanthus Lane—secretly! And you can’t tell Father or Mother!”

Desperate for redemption, Zhang Jinbao agreed at once. “No problem! If it means I can win, I’ll buy you ten if you want!”

Satisfied with her brother’s promise, Zhang Jinshu grinned like a little fox with a stolen treat.

She sat beside him with a serious air, pointing at the grid as she began to impart her so-called “secret moves” for tic-tac-toe.

“Look, the first step is very important—you must take the center spot…”

Her little finger danced across the grid. Zhang Jinbao nodded eagerly, convinced his sister’s every word was golden advice.

He rubbed his chubby hands together in excitement, impatient for tomorrow’s rematch with Chen Pingchuan.

Just then, the study door burst open again.

This time, in strode the portly Master Zhang—Zhang Shengcai—his face a thundercloud, with Scholar Fang trailing behind.

At a glance, he spotted the study desk and the discarded papers scattered about, all scrawled with those messy tic-tac-toe grids.

Already inflamed by Scholar Fang’s complaints, his anger flared uncontrollably.

“Zhang Jinbao!”

His shout boomed like thunder on a dry plain.

“You useless boy! I told you to study and learn your letters, and this is what you do? Doodling these turtle-scratchings!”

Seething, he snatched up the wooden ruler used for discipline and, without a second thought, swung it toward Zhang Jinbao’s backside.

“Father, spare me!” Zhang Jinbao shrieked in terror, bolting for the door.

Zhang Shengcai, ruler raised, lumbered after his son, chasing him around the courtyard in a rage.

“You little rascal! Stop right now or I’ll break your legs!”

As he fled for his life, Zhang Jinbao shouted back, “I don’t want to study! I just want to play chess!”

“You dare defy me! Can chess fill your belly? I spent a fortune to hire a teacher—not for you to scribble nonsense! I’ll beat the life out of you, you wretch!”

Meanwhile, Zhang Jinshu stood calmly at the study door, watching her father chase her brother with great amusement.

Far from frightened, she clapped her little hands and laughed gleefully.

“Faster, Father!”

She even cheered them on. “Brother, slow down, or Father will never catch you!”

…

The sky was just beginning to lighten.

All of Peach Blossom Village was still shrouded in a delicate morning mist, soft and ethereal like a fairyland.

The small figure of Chen Pingchuan led his scrawny old ox, not toward the familiar hillside, but instead to Master Zhang’s grand estate.

He was going to sell himself as a study attendant.

After a sleepless night, this was the only way he could think of to quickly get money—to save his family and his sister, Pingyu.

He tied the old ox beneath a locust tree at the village entrance, patted its back, found Erdan, and asked him to look after it.

Pulling his patched old coat tighter, he drew a deep breath of the crisp morning air, then strode purposefully toward the imposing walls of the Zhang residence.

The Zhang family mansion, in the dawn’s faint glow, looked even more forbidding—lofty walls exuding an aura of unapproachable grandeur.

Chen Pingchuan came to the side gate and rapped on the cold brass knocker.

Knock, knock, knock.

After a moment, footsteps sounded within, and the door creaked open a crack.

There appeared the familiar face of Steward Ren, with his neatly trimmed goatee.

Seeing who it was, Steward Ren looked surprised. “Oh, it’s you, boy. Here to sell stones again so early?”

Chen Pingchuan shook his head.

He lifted his young face and said, “Steward Ren, I’m not here to sell stones today.”

He paused, looking steadily at the steward.

“I’m here to sell myself to the Zhang family.”

“To serve as study attendant for the young master.”

For a moment, Steward Ren’s expression froze in shock.

“You—what did you say? Sell… yourself?”

He looked Chen Pingchuan up and down, bewildered.

Hadn’t this clever boy just been here yesterday selling stones? Why was he selling himself today? The change was too abrupt.

Steward Ren frowned, voice stern, “Nonsense! Do you even know what it means to sell yourself at your age?”

He lowered his voice, serious and grave. “This isn’t a joke! Once you sign a contract, you’ll be a servant for life—there’s no taking it back!”

Chen Pingchuan understood the steward meant well, offering him a warning.

He bowed respectfully. “Steward Ren, I know what it means.”

“I’m not a little child, nor am I being reckless. I made this decision with a clear mind.”

“You say you understand? I think you don’t!” Steward Ren stroked his goatee, persisting. “A farming boy like you, used only to herding cattle and chopping wood—how do you know how to serve gentry? The Zhangs aren’t just any family, their rules are strict! If you make a mistake, you’ll be beaten. And do your parents know? Are they willing to sell you?”

Chen Pingchuan lowered his eyes, hiding the brief flash of bitterness and helplessness there.

Of course his parents wouldn’t agree. If his mother found out, with her fiery temper, she’d raise a storm and throw herself into despair.

So he could not tell the truth.

“There’s an urgent matter at home. There’s no time to delay.”

He raised his head, his face composed once more. “I’m not afraid of hardship. I’m willing to learn every rule from the start. As long as I’m paid, I’ll do anything.”

Steward Ren studied him.

The boy’s words were measured, his bearing resolute—not the talk of someone acting on impulse.

But for a boy so young to walk this path, it felt all too tragic.

He couldn’t help but feel a pang of pity.

Ah, this world—it could drive people to desperation, even force an eight-year-old child to sell himself for survival.

“You…”

Steward Ren opened his mouth to dissuade him once more.

But Chen Pingchuan, neither servile nor overbearing, cut him off. “Steward Ren, please give me a chance.”

“If, when the master and young master meet me, they’re dissatisfied, I’ll leave at once, without complaint.”

Steward Ren was silent for a moment, then sighed softly.

“So be it,” he said. “Since you’ve made up your mind, I won’t stop you.”

He stepped aside, opening a path to the courtyard.

“As it happens, a few other families are sending children today, all hoping to serve as the young master’s study attendant. Go with them to the side hall and wait. Later, you’ll all be brought before the master and young master.”

Chen Pingchuan’s resolve firmed. He bowed deeply. “Thank you, Steward Ren!”

He followed the steward through painted corridors and archways to a tastefully appointed side hall.

Inside stood four or five boys about his age.

Without a word, Chen Pingchuan took his place at the end of the line, his gaze sweeping over the others. Their clothes were neater than his patched old coat, but their faces were blank, their eyes dull—not a spark of cleverness among them.

Suppressing the strange feeling of “selling himself” for the first time, he steadied his heart.

Those twenty taels of silver—he would get them, no matter what.

Steward Ren gave a brief explanation of the rules, then went to inform Master Zhang.