The Lizheng of Daliushu Village, Zou Lizheng, was indeed a character.
After hearing the words relayed by Jiang Zhaonian, he neither stubbornly insisted on disbelief nor panicked and hastily summoned the villagers for a meeting.
Instead, the next day, he called his eldest son Zou Mingde to hitch the cart, and took him into town personally to have a look at the situation.
Sure enough, they saw several groups of ragged refugees settling outside Hongye County, pitching up makeshift tents.
Just in the short time of the two ke (approx. 30 minutes) that they parked and observed, they saw dozens of refugees gathering from the official road.
At this rate, the number of refugees would only grow larger—the situation was far from optimistic.
Zou Lizheng hurriedly ordered his eldest son to turn the cart around and rush back to Daliushu Village, gathering all the clan leaders and elders, and shut the doors to hold a half-day discussion.
The next morning, before the sky was even light, he struck the big gong at the grain-drying square, summoning all the villagers.
With a stern face, he spoke of the matter of the neighboring Yanzhou Prefecture having two locust plagues a year, then advised the villagers: those who had grain at home should not sell it; those without grain should quickly buy it before prices went up.
Every household must stockpile enough grain to last until next year’s autumn harvest.
The crowd immediately exploded into noise. Some who didn’t have much grain or money at home questioned in confusion: “Lizheng, isn’t it enough to store grain until the summer harvest? Once we harvest the wheat, we can bridge the gap. Why must we store grain until the autumn harvest?”
Apparently, quite a few people thought this way, and no sooner had the words fallen than several others chimed in agreement.
Zou Lizheng cast them a glance and snapped, not at all polite: “Our Qizhou Prefecture is right next to Yanzhou Prefecture. The locusts have eaten up all of Yanzhou’s grain—who knows if they’ll fly over to Qizhou and eat our grain too? Even if the locusts don’t come, what if there’s a drought or a flood, and when the time comes the wheat harvest yields nothing, and the grain price gets driven sky-high by the refugees from Qizhou—will you be able to afford it? If you can’t afford grain, what will you eat? You won’t even be able to dig up wild herbs to fill your stomach—they’ll have been dug up long ago by the refugees! Might as well drink the wind!”
This round of words left those few people speechless.
Zou Lizheng then softened his tone, gently persuading: “Our village has plenty of farmland, and these past few years have been good. Everyone has managed to save up some family assets—don’t just stash it away, take it out and stockpile grain.
If you spend all your money, you can always earn more, but if someone in your household starves to death, no matter how much money you have, you can’t buy them back.”
These words were reasonable and well-spoken. The villagers had no further objections and all obediently agreed to stockpile grain.
As for whether they would secretly pay lip service and disobey in private, that was beyond Zou Lizheng’s control. In any case, he had said what he should, and advised what he should.
If they couldn’t bear to part with their money to buy grain, and didn’t want to pave their own way to survival, then that was their own doing.
During the two days when Zou Lizheng was busy, Jiang Chun bought another ten shi (one shi is approx. 100 liters) of wheat and three shi of soybeans.
Not to mention the five shi of millet in the grain storage, just the wheat alone in her house had stockpiled to twenty-five shi, enough to last a full two years.
As for the soybeans, those were entirely stockpiled to press soybean oil for Song Shi’an to eat. She didn’t even count them as part of the grain reserves.
Of course, she didn’t forget to remind her uncle Zheng Yi and her cousin Wang Yin’er to stock up on grain.
As for Zheng Yi’s house, she personally went there. The day after returning from the county town, she went to his home after selling meat.
It just so happened that as she arrived at the gate, she ran into Zheng Yi, who was about to hurriedly leave for the meat stall to look for her.
“Chun-niang, I was just about to go find you, and here you are!” Zheng Yi was overjoyed. He didn’t care about the proprieties of uncle and niece, and grabbed her sleeve, pulling her into the main room.
Once inside, Zheng Yi shut the main room door, and in a hushed, secretive tone said: “Yanzhou Prefecture has been hit by a locust plague, the fields have yielded not a single grain, and the court hasn’t sent disaster relief. The refugees are all fleeing to our Qizhou Prefecture. In a few days, grain prices will definitely skyrocket.”
“You go back and tell your father, hurry and buy grain to stockpile. It’s best to stock up enough to last until next year’s autumn harvest. If you’re late, you won’t be able to buy grain at a fair price.”
Jiang Chun smiled and said: “Isn’t this a coincidence? I came exactly to talk to Uncle about this, didn’t expect Uncle to have already known.”
This was her worrying too much—Zheng Yi and his eldest son Zheng Peng went into town every day to deliver meat. Several groups of ragged refugees had set up camp outside the city gates—how could they not have seen it?
But she wasn’t upset about making a wasted trip—what if Uncle’s family didn’t know?
Zheng Yi raised his eyebrows in surprise: “You actually know?”
Jiang Chun smiled lightly: “Yesterday, I went into town to buy medicine for my husband. On the way back, I ran into a group of refugees, asked them a few questions, and only then learned that Yanzhou Prefecture had been hit by a locust plague. I figured that since there’s a locust plague, the local grain wouldn’t be enough to eat, and the price of grain in neighboring Qizhou Prefecture would definitely skyrocket. So when I got back yesterday, I went to the Qiu family’s grain shop and bought some grain, and came early this morning to remind Uncle.”
“We’re just like you—right after we got back from the county town yesterday, we immediately went to buy grain.”
Zheng Yi gave a pleased smile, then called out to his second son Zheng Peng, asking him to bring over three bags of rice to send with Jiang Chun.
Jiang Chun declined, saying she didn’t need them.
Qizhou Prefecture was in the north, where the main grain crop was wheat, and people’s daily staple food was flour made from wheat.
They didn’t grow rice—rice had to be transported up from the south, and its price could only be described as sky-high.
Jiang Chun had seen rice when she bought grain yesterday. She had thought about buying a few bags to cook porridge for Song Shi’an, but the price of one liang per shi directly discouraged her.
If they wanted to eat porridge, they could just cook millet porridge.
Millet was small rice, millet porridge was cheap and nourishing for the stomach, even more suitable for Song Shi’an than rice porridge.
As the niece and uncle tugged back and forth, Zheng Kun took the opportunity to carry the three bags of rice onto the mule cart outside the door.
Jiang Chun could do nothing and could only accept with a smile.
After leaving Zheng Yi’s house, she didn’t go directly to the Wang family. Instead, she found a corner to stand at and spent one wen to have a child call out Jiang Liu from the Wang family.
She got straight to the point and said: “Yanzhou Prefecture has been hit by a locust plague, the court isn’t providing disaster relief, and the refugees are all fleeing to our Qizhou Prefecture. In a few days, the price of grain will skyrocket. Our village is all busy buying and stockpiling grain. You go tell Sister Yin to find a way to convince Granny Cao to stock up on grain, or else you two can just wait to starve to death.”
Starving to death wasn’t likely—Wang Yin’er had quite a bit of wealth stored with her—but if it had to be spent on buying high-priced grain, she could forget about having any prospects for the rest of her life.
Jiang Liu’s face turned pale with fright. She didn’t even bother with a proper greeting and lifted her foot to run back to the Wang family.
If there was a famine, and Cousin Yin’s family hadn’t stocked up enough grain, she would definitely be kicked back home.
And her grandmother and father certainly wouldn’t be willing to give her any grain to eat—might even use her to trade for grain.
She had to convince Cousin Yin to buy and stockpile grain no matter what.
- ••
After settling the big matter of stockpiling grain, Jiang Chun finally had time to calculate the income and expenses of these three days.
First was the income and expenses from the day she went into town.
The income on the surface was only one item—selling the book that Song Shi’an had copied at the bookstore, bringing in one hundred and fifty wen.
As for expenses, there were many.
The remaining payment for the warming stove: two liang and two hundred fifty wen;
Medicine from the pharmacy: two liang of silver;
Silver hairpin for Song Shi’an: three liang six qian (one liang = 10 qian) silver;
Deerskin boots: six liang two qian silver;
Coal: one thousand three hundred fifty wen.
Along the way, she gave one hundred wen as alms to the refugees from Yanzhou Prefecture.
After returning to Hongye Town, she spent another eight liang of silver at the Qiu family grain store to buy grain.
In the following two days, she spent another nine liang and one qian to buy ten shi of wheat and three shi of soybeans. Actually, based on the grain price, it should have been nine liang two qian, but Manager Qi gave her a discount of one qian.
Jiang Chun used a charcoal stick to do the calculations on the paper scraps that Song Shi’an had cut, then couldn’t help but take a sharp breath of cold air.
In these three days, her income was 150 wen, while her expenses were 29 liang of silver, with a negative balance of 28 liang 850 wen.
The 30 liang of silver she had brought into town that day was now reduced to just a bit more than 1 liang in her hands.
Even if she added in the two strings and a half of copper coins in the kang tunnel, and the 300+ wen that Jiang He had earned selling meat in these three days, it would barely make up a total of 4 liang of silver.
What’s called “working hard for decades, only to go back to pre-liberation overnight”—Jiang Chun could now deeply understand it.
Of course, this was only on the surface.
In fact, the silver and money she had previously obtained from signing in at the bank were all stored in the system warehouse, untouched. If converted into silver, it amounted to a little over 31 liang.
But this money was stored in the system warehouse—others couldn’t see it. It was her final fallback. Unless absolutely necessary, she definitely wouldn’t touch it.
Of course, in the system warehouse, aside from the silver and money, there were also the rewards she had obtained from signing in twice, which included quite a few valuable items.
However, now that the refugees were arriving one after another in Hongye County, the situation in the city and outside was gradually becoming chaotic. At such a critical moment, going to the pawnshop to pawn items would not only get the price suppressed, it wouldn’t be safe either, so clearly, she couldn’t go.
At dinner in the evening, Jiang Chun told the other two family members about the family’s financial situation. Then she sighed and said: “Our family is really down to the bones of poverty now. From today on, we have to start living frugally.”
Song Shi’an lifted his eyes and slanted a glance at her. He didn’t ask her why she wasn’t touching those five hundred liang silver notes and fifty liang of gold.
She knew that he would rise to great heights in the future, and likely could also guess that two years later, when she returned to the capital, she would bring both herself and Jiang He along.
She was holding onto those savings without spending them, most likely to prepare for use after they entered the capital.
He wanted to say that after they returned to the capital, the court would restore the confiscated properties of the Song family, and by then, all his belongings would be handed over to her to manage. However she wanted to spend it, she could spend it—there would be no need to scrimp and save now.
But he couldn’t say it.
The matter of rebirth was too bizarre—he himself hadn’t figured out what was going on, nor was he certain whether the Song family would, two years later, really be redressed as it had been in his memory…
So, for now, he didn’t want to reveal the secret of his rebirth.
After thinking for a moment, he said to Jiang Chun: “The items that Lu Zhengheng sent—after I finish the two paintings I promised him, I should still be able to paint two more. Later, I’ll draw them, and you can take them to the painting and calligraphy shop to sell for money.”
Jiang Chun felt a wave of emotion in her heart.
For a scholar of his kind, so aloof and proud, to have his works measured by silver was a tremendous insult.
Back when the Song family hadn’t had its downfall, all the high-ranking officials in the capital, including imperial relatives, had not a single one who could obtain one of his paintings.
Only his brother-in-law, Prince Yan, had a painting in hand—and that wasn’t even gifted by him; it was part of his elder sister Song Shiyu’s dowry.
But in order to help her settle the matter with Liu Qitan, he had promised to paint a work for Lu Zhengheng.
And now, seeing the family’s money so tight, and with art supplies still on hand, he was actually willing to paint two more paintings for her to sell and exchange for money.
This could be said to be a rare and precious thing indeed.
Then she rejected it outright: “What is Husband saying? After you finish painting the piece owed to the County Magistrate, then paint one more to sell to him at a high price, and use the silver to entrust someone to search for relatives—don’t paint any more beyond that.”
“Our Hongye County is only so big, and the managers of the painting and calligraphy shops have limited knowledge. If your paintings are sent over, it’d be a lot if they can fetch twenty or thirty liang of silver—perhaps even just a dozen liang is possible.”
“Though I don’t have much knowledge, I do know the principle that ‘things are precious when rare.’ If your paintings could be casually bought at a painting and calligraphy shop in the county, wouldn’t the County Magistrate who paid a high price for your work end up looking like a big fool?”
“We don’t need to offend the County Magistrate, our parental official, over just a few dozen liang of silver.”
Jiang He, hearing his daughter’s words, felt they were very reasonable and immediately agreed: “Chun-niang is right. Son-in-law, don’t sell your paintings lightly—those people don’t know how to appreciate them and would only waste your fine paintings.”
Song Shi’an had originally wanted to say that this move wouldn’t offend Lu Zhengheng—he, that sly old fox, would surely have someone keeping an eye on the Jiang family.
Most likely, the moment Jiang Chun sent his painting to a painting and calligraphy shop, he would have someone buy it right away.
His own paintings—each and every one—would never end up in the hands of anyone but Lu Zhengheng.
But thinking further, that would seem too cheap for Lu Zhengheng. Once they returned to the capital, who knew how he’d go around showing off.
If he stayed holed up in Daliushu Village as a live-in son-in-law for the rest of his life, that would be one thing. But in two years, he would return to the capital, and he still needed to keep his face.
Moreover…
Song Shi’an’s gaze shifted subtly, glancing at Jiang Chun’s right hand.
He didn’t believe she only had that little bit of silver, with no other valuables—after all, she had the ability to conjure items out of thin air.
So although the household’s silver seemed tight, it wasn’t that tight.
Before he could respond, Jiang He grinned and added: “Besides, we still have silver notes and gold. If we really run into an urgent need for money, we won’t be caught off guard.”
Jiang Chun nodded, agreeing: “Exactly. When I said we were ‘down to the bones of poverty,’ I only meant we were running out of loose silver for daily use. I didn’t say we were truly destitute—how could that be?”
Song Shi’an followed along, giving a slight nod: “I’ll listen to Father and Wife’s words—just two paintings, then stop.”
Jiang Chun was very pleased with Song Shi’an’s initiative to suggest selling paintings to help with household expenses. To return the favor, that night, after they lay down to sleep, she took his feet—still a little cold after soaking in hot water—and placed them against her own belly to warm them up.
Song Shi’an was startled, and quickly tried to pull his feet back, scolding as he did: “Don’t fool around! A woman’s lower abdomen cannot bear cold.”
This woman kept going on about wanting to have two little babies, yet she didn’t even know to protect her own body.
Many women struggled to conceive because of gonghan (宫寒) [uterine cold, a Traditional Chinese Medicine concept of cold in the uterus]. His own elder sister was the same—during her confinement she got chilled, and it took years of treatment by the imperial physicians before she finally conceived.
Jiang Chun was stunned by his scolding. After realizing, she hurriedly let go of his feet and instead trapped them between her calves.
Then she reached out and pinched his chin, grinning as she said: “Husband, you’re so concerned about my lower abdomen—have you been secretly thinking a lot about having little babies with me?”
Song Shi’an let out a soft hum and said blandly: “I’m just afraid that if your lower abdomen gets chilled and causes gonghan, and you can’t have little babies later, you’ll blame me, saying it’s because my body is too weak to father children.”
Jiang Chun scooted closer, pressing up against him, and leaned in by his ear, laughing softly: “Husband’s ability to father children, I know all too well. After all, I’ve already inspected the goods more than once.”
Although she hadn’t touched with her hands, when they hugged and kissed, she had felt his ability very clearly.
Song Shi’an’s ears turned red, and he couldn’t respond to such shameless words, so he stiffly changed the subject: “I want to drink white rice porridge tomorrow morning.”
Jiang Chun shot him a glance. Worried that the oil lamp was too dim for him to see the look in her eyes, she also let out a light snort: “Uncle gave us rice, but to make white rice porridge, we have to pound the rice first. Tomorrow morning, I still have to help Father slaughter pigs—how would I have time to pound rice for you? I’ll do it after selling the meat, and when it’s done, you’ll have it for lunch. Have millet porridge again for breakfast tomorrow.”
Poor people cannot possibly buy rice or flour directly from the grain shop—it’s not cost-effective. They all buy unhusked rice or wheat, then pound it into rice or grind it into flour themselves.
No matter if it’s the rice husk pounded off during rice milling, or the wheat bran sifted out when grinding flour, these are all good things.
In years of abundance, they can be used to feed chickens or pigs. In years of famine, people can eat the rice husk or wheat bran to stave off hunger.
Song Shi’an obediently replied: “Alright, then I’ll have millet porridge.”
He could drink whatever—bringing it up was just to find an excuse to change the subject.
But Jiang Chun was a person with an exceptionally good memory—not so easy to get her to drop a topic.
After the breakfast matter was settled, she went back to the previous topic: “Husband, speak honestly—haven’t you spent quite a bit of time secretly pondering the matter of having little babies with me?”
Song Shi’an buried his head in front of her, closed his eyes, and pretended he had fallen asleep, not saying a word.
Jiang Chun reached out and pushed his back.
Song Shi’an’s breathing was long and steady, he looked as if he was already fast asleep.
She pushed his back again, huffing in annoyance: “You don’t want to have babies with me? Fine, I won’t force you—there’ll be others who are willing to have babies with me.”
“Shut up!”
Song Shi’an was like a cat whose tail had been stepped on—he suddenly sat up, his expression dark and frightening, the phoenix eyes flashing a cold glint as he glared at her fiercely.
He coldly said: “You—say—that—again?”