On the eighteenth day of the sixth month, it was Song Shi’an’s birthday. Jiang Chun made a table full of good dishes, even rolled out longevity noodles for him, and the family of three properly celebrated together.
The county magistrate Lu Zhengheng was quite good at handling people; he even knew about Song Shi’an’s birthday, and quietly entrusted Zheng Yi to send over a birthday gift. It was still a set of Four Treasures of the Study [wen fang si bao – brush, ink, paper, and inkstone, the essential tools of a scholar] along with a few books of the court’s new decrees.
Song Shi’an did not refuse; he directly accepted the items.
After the birthday was over, apart from practicing sword twice daily, morning and evening, Song Shi’an spent the rest of the time immersed in painting.
He finally managed to rush out Jiang Chun’s birthday gift—Planting Beans Painting—before her birthday.
That day when they entered the city, upon hearing that he was going to paint a Planting Beans Painting as a birthday gift for herself, Jiang Chun was happy, after all, his paintings were worth a lot of money now, but she wasn’t particularly excited.
After all, although she was a web literature author, she actually didn’t have much literary cultivation, had never been to a high-end place like an art exhibition, and didn’t have much ability to appreciate paintings.
But when she saw this Planting Beans Painting, she was completely shocked on the spot.
The background of the painting was exactly those three mu of land at her home. In front was a babbling stream, the West River, and behind was a mountain that wasn’t too tall nor too short, covered in lush chestnut trees and some shrubs.
In the field stood two people: one was Jiang He holding an iron shovel, and in front of him was a freshly dug small dirt pit.
The other was Jiang Chun; she was holding a wooden ladle filled with soybeans in one hand, and the palm of her other hand was facing down, with two soybeans falling from her palm, aimed at that small dirt pit on the ground.
The figures of the two people in the painting, their appearances and postures, did not need to be said—could be called vividly lifelike.
The most important part was, the gazes of the two were both directed toward this side of the painting, their faces with smiles, as if someone very close had called out to them from outside the painting.
At this moment, Jiang Chun understood why Lu Zhengheng, in order to obtain Song Shi’an’s painting, was willing to risk offending the Liu family and still step in to help settle Liu Qitan, and also understood why he was willing to offer another 1,500 taels of silver to buy another painting from Song Shi’an.
A true master’s masterpiece is something that, even if you don’t have much literary cultivation, don’t have much ability to appreciate, you can still tell at a glance that it is different from the rest.
Such a master’s masterpiece—who wouldn’t want to have it?
Jiang Chun felt she had really made a big profit, to be able to receive such a painting that could be passed down for generations as a birthday gift.
Yet Song Shi’an still lightly coughed once, humbly saying: “My figure painting can only be considered barely passable. Shifu won’t allow me to paint too many figures, says that if I paint too many, the style will become too rigid, unless I want to become a court painter in the future, specializing in painting figures for the people in the palace.”
Jiang Chun rolled her eyes at him. This is called “barely passable”? Wasn’t this guy just being Versailles1Versailles is a slang term in Chinese internet culture, used to describe someone who humblebrags or pretends to be modest while actually showing off.?
Jiang He saw himself also in the painting and was so happy that he grinned from ear to ear: “All thanks to my son-in-law. Otherwise, this countryside butcher like me probably wouldn’t have a chance to get into a painting in this lifetime.”
The father and daughter both loved this painting to bits. Despite the hot weather, Jiang Chun still took the mule cart to Hongye County town, got a painting shop’s master to mount it into a scroll.
After bringing it back, she couldn’t bear to hang it up. She rolled the scroll up, put it into a newly bought camphorwood box with moth-proofing function, locked it with a big iron lock, and hid the camphorwood box in the crevice at the bottom of her clothing trunk.
It was hidden even more securely than the family’s silver notes.
This made Song Shi’an both amused and helpless: “It doesn’t have to be this exaggerated. If it were really stolen by thieves, I’ll just paint another one for you.”
Jiang Chun gave him a look: “Year after year the flowers look similar, but the people are different each year. Even if you paint another one for me, your state of mind wouldn’t be the same as before. If the state of mind is different, even if the painting’s content is the same, the painting itself can’t possibly be exactly the same.”
Song Shi’an looked at her steadily for a long while before the corners of his lips lifted slightly, and he teased her: “Wife can actually say such deep and meaningful words, it really makes me see you in a new light.”
Pretending again, pretending again. Tang Dynasty poets’ poetry can be casually quoted at the drop of a hat, yet she dares to pretend she can’t read?
But he could only play dumb, not daring to expose her at all.
Mainly because exposing her would be useless anyway—she could always find a reason to cover it up. At most, she’d just say that she heard scholars reciting this poem when entering the city, so she memorized it, or something along those lines.
Then she’d even turn around and play the victim, accusing him of doubting her, saying he had no conscience, was ungrateful, and burned bridges after crossing the river.
By then, in order to calm her “anger,” he’d have no choice but to apologize, make amends, and also provide some unspeakable compensations of the lips and tongue.
What’s the point of all this suffering?
••
Because of the bountiful wheat harvest, coupled with the refugees from Yanzhou Prefecture gradually returning to their hometowns, the grain prices in Qizhou Prefecture finally began to slowly decline.
Plus, it was the height of summer, wild vegetables grew abundantly in the fields, and farmers once again grew restless, wanting to raise pigs. Many families tried every means to get hold of piglets to raise.
Piglets had to be castrated to grow quickly, so the unemployed pair of Jiang Chun and her father resumed work, picking up their old trade of castrating pigs.
Especially Jiang Chun—she was the number one pig-castration expert within ten li and eight villages. Every day, someone would come to find her to castrate pigs.
Castrating a single piglet earned ten wen and starting from the end of June, Jiang Chun could make thirty to forty wen every day.
Time passed in the busy days of pig castration, and in the blink of an eye, it was already the Mid-Autumn Festival of that year.
Jiang He finally managed to procure a pig, and the Jiang family’s meat stall, after many days, resumed its business. The town’s wealthy families and common folks, upon hearing the news, rushed over. In just 30 minutes, the entire pig was snatched up.
Even the pig’s blood and the bones that had been stripped so clean they didn’t have a single speck of meat left—all of it was bought without leaving a single piece behind.
It could be seen that whether modern or ancient, whether rich or poor, the emphasis on the Mid-Autumn Festival as a family reunion holiday was the same.
Jiang Chun carried the two portions of meat she had set aside in advance, each portion two jin, each matched with two jars of wine, two jin of mooncakes, and two packs of tea, to deliver to her maternal uncle’s and maternal aunt’s households.
Zheng Yi accepted the pork, then handed her five jin of mutton and a box of Ding Xiang Zhai’s mooncakes from the county, telling her to take them back to eat.
With a laughing tone in his mouth, he said: “These were the leftover festival gifts prepared for your Cousin Peng’s and Cousin Kun’s teachers. Take them back and share with your nephew-in-law.”
This, of course, was a polite excuse. Don’t even mention that mutton was twice as expensive as pork—just that box of Ding Xiang Zhai’s mooncakes alone was worth two taels of silver. Even for the well-off Zheng Yi, buying it made his heart ache. How could there be any leftovers?
Speaking of which, it was also strange—no one knew who had persuaded her uncle, but he actually invited an old xiucai [a scholar who passed the county-level imperial exam] to teach Cousin Peng and Cousin Kun how to read and write.
He even said that once they had fully learned their characters, he would send them to the shops of wealthy families in the county town to learn skills.
It was as if he didn’t want them to inherit his own business of slaughtering pigs and selling meat.
Jiang Chun didn’t have much to say about this. The butcher trade, although it earned more than the average commoner, ultimately wasn’t very respectable.
And it wasn’t exactly stable regardless of drought or flood—like when the famine hit earlier, their butcher shop had nowhere to source pigs, and they had no choice but to shut down.
If the two cousins were ambitious and learned literacy, accounting, and shop management skills, then whether they became stewards for a wealthy family or if their uncle paid for them to open a shop each, it would all be a good path.
After leaving Zheng Yi’s home, she took a detour to the Wang family.
Wang Yin’er, after over half a year of care from Jiang Liu, was already able to, like a toddler just learning to walk, take a few steps with someone supporting her.
Bones and tendons take a hundred days to heal—let alone someone like her, who had been outright crippled? For her to recover in just over half a year to the point where she could stand and take a few steps—this could already be considered a miracle.
Wang Yin’er was optimistic, and even told Jiang Chun: “Some time ago, I had Dr. Cao come to give me a follow-up consultation. Dr. Cao said my recovery was excellent. If I keep moving around like this, maybe after a year or so, I won’t need anyone’s help and can walk on my own.”
Of course, there was another thing Dr. Cao had said that she didn’t mention.
“But your injury was too severe. To recover to how you were before—that’s impossible. You won’t be able to walk long distances, and you absolutely mustn’t do heavy labor. Also, it’s best not to get pregnant or give birth—otherwise, you might end up paralyzed on the kang, never able to get up again.”
Wang Yin’er cried a round behind people’s backs, and when Liu Second Miss came to visit her, she sold misery and cried another round, making Liu Second Miss also cry along, and left her a large sum of one hundred taels of silver.
Then she put this matter aside.
As long as she could stay alive, as long as she didn’t end up paralyzed on the kang, not being able to have children wasn’t a big deal either. After all, she had money—at worst, she’d just find an adopted son to raise, so that in the future, there’d be someone to provide for her in old age and send her off when she passed.
Of course, when looking for an adopted son, she’d have to keep her eyes sharp—couldn’t end up like Aunt Liu, that aunt of hers, who raised an ungrateful white-eyed wolf of a foster son, ending up with nothing but an empty basket after fetching water from the well [a Chinese idiom meaning all efforts wasted].
Not knowing the inside story, Jiang Chun was genuinely happy for Wang Yin’er: “That’s really wonderful. Remember to exercise every day, don’t let your bones waste away.
Of course, don’t be too hasty either—if the activity is too intense, the bones that have just healed can’t withstand that much strain.”
Wang Yin’er grinned and said, “Got it, Jie. I know my limits, I’ll take it easy.”
Jiang Liu chimed in, “Jie, don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on Yin Biaojie.” [Biao Jie = elder female cousin from mother’s side]
Jiang Chun merely gave a reminder—someone like Wang Yin’er, with both brains and opinions, wasn’t someone she really needed to worry about.
Just look at her, recuperating at home for over half a year now, and not only hadn’t she spent a single bit of the wealth she had entrusted to Jiang Chun, she even handed her another hundred taels of silver some time ago.
This showed her capabilities.
After going home, Jiang Chun braised the pig’s head and offal, then began preparing for the Mid-Autumn family banquet that night.
As usual, there were eight dishes: braised spare ribs, farmhouse stir-fried chicken, lamb stewed with radish, dry-fried green beans, scrambled eggs with chives, amaranth with garlic paste, stir-fried oil wheat with wild mushrooms, and a plate of braised meat.
Song Shi’an had never eaten wild vegetables before. He couldn’t stop praising the amaranth with garlic paste, breaking from his usual restraint—more than half the plate ended up in his belly.
As a cook, seeing her dishes so loved by others, Jiang Chun couldn’t be more pleased.
In her delight, she couldn’t stop herself, and drank a few more cups of wine.
By the time Song Shi’an noticed, her cheeks were already tinged red, and her speech was starting to slur.
He hurriedly snatched away the wine cup in front of her, his face stern: “You can’t drink anymore. Be careful or you’ll wake up tomorrow with a headache.”
Jiang Chun naturally refused, shouting, “I’m not drunk! Why won’t you let me drink? Give me back my wine cup—I still want to have a few more cups with Dad!”