The mushrooms had been sold, and the next day Old Man Song brought a well digger from the neighboring village to start digging a well.
Song Jinzhao watched the well mouth gradually take shape. "Raise the well platform a bit higher. There are children at home; if it's too low, they might accidentally fall in."
Oldest Song pointed to the circle around it. "Just like the wells in the village, build a fence around it. That way, the kids won’t fall in."
The well platform was made of blue bricks, and the higher it was, the more expensive it became.
Song Jinzhao shook her head. "Fences aren’t sturdy enough. Let’s build the enclosure with bricks instead."
"Then install a well pulley on top to make drawing water easier," the well digger suggested.
"That’ll cost an extra two hundred wen," he added.
Song Jinzhao nodded. "Alright, please make it solid and durable."
Second Song, standing nearby with a hoe, felt a mix of envy and frustration. He envied her for not having to fetch water from the village well every day, but he was also downcast.
He had hoped that after the mushroom harvest, he could fetch water daily for the third branch of the family and get to eat meat every few days.
But unexpectedly, Song Jinzhao had the well dug the very next day. The eldest branch couldn’t handle the water fetching, and he got nothing out of it.
What rotten luck!
……
“Hold the brush straight. Take your time, don’t rush.”
Song Jinzhao held Song Anhao in her left arm while her right hand guided Song Shixue’s hand to write six characters on rice paper: "People at birth are inherently good."
Luckily, she had joined the calligraphy club in college; otherwise, she wouldn’t have known how to write with a brush.
Song Shixue’s round, chubby face scrunched up like a bitter melon. She had written beautifully with charcoal on stone before.
But now, her strokes looked like the eight legs of a crab—wild, twisted, and completely unpresentable.
Song Qiming puckered his lips and blew on the ink to dry it, then raised his brush with eyes full of anticipation. "Big sister, I’m done."
Song Jinzhao leaned over to check and didn’t hesitate to praise him. "Not bad at all, very good."
Each stroke was completed in one go, with no signs of tracing. Though lacking in boldness or style, the characters were clear and neat.
To be able to improve this much in just a few days showed real talent.
Given time, he would surely master beautiful handwriting.
“What are you doing?” Old Lady Song came in, curious to see them moving the table out into the courtyard.
Song Qiming looked up and proudly showed off, "Grandma, big sister is teaching us how to write."
Old Lady Song’s first thought upon seeing the ink, brush, paper, and inkstone on the table was, "That must have cost quite a bit."
Song Gaoli, the village chief’s grandson, was studying at a private school in Xining City, and his family spent one or two silver coins every month on writing supplies.
Song Jinzhao smiled gently. "It’s not cheap, but it’s worth it."
Old Lady Song averted her gaze. She didn’t understand Song Jinzhao’s way of thinking.
These things were not meant for children born into farming families like theirs. In the end, they’d only learn a little before going back to the fields. All that expense would be wasted.
“Tomorrow night, everyone’s going to your eldest uncle’s house for dinner.”
Song Jinzhao lifted her eyelids, her pupils filled with confusion.
Old Lady Song explained, "Tomorrow is the Mid-Autumn Festival."
Every year around this time, the third branch of the Song family would gather at the old house.
Song Jinzhao suddenly realized—without a phone, she hadn’t even known the festival was coming.
Counting back, Song Anhao was already over forty days old, and the full-month celebration hadn’t been held yet.
Back at the old house, Old Lady Song sat cross-legged on the kang, her expression unusual. “When I passed by earlier, Jinzhao was teaching Qiming and Shixue how to write.”
Squinting, Old Man Song, who had been leaning against the bedding, quickly sat up. “Teaching? How?”
Old Lady Song jabbed her finger hard on the table. “Properly—she moved the table out into the yard, laid out ink, brushes, paper, and inkstone, and they wrote stroke by stroke. There were books on the table too; it must have cost quite a bit.”
Old Man Song rubbed his numb face with both hands; it was definitely something they bought on the last trip back.
“Third Brother’s wife can read, and Jinzhao is the one teaching them.”
Old Lady Song straightened her upper body. “Song Gaoli, the village chief’s grandson, has been studying for three years. They’ve spent dozens of taels of silver, but he still hasn’t passed the entry exam for a student.”
“I just think it’s useless in the end. It’s all for nothing—still a hard life working the fields.”
Old Man Song lowered his head, his expression drifting as he murmured, “Jinzhao must have earned quite a bit recently. Everyone in the village wants their kids to study, but most can’t afford it. If she wants to teach, then let her.”
Old Lady Song felt uneasy, her head shaking slightly as she spoke.
“One is enough to learn—Qiming will do. Shixue is a girl; studying won’t help her. Buying two sets of everything is such a waste of silver.”
Old Man Song looked up at his wife, exhaled, and said, “Who says girls are useless? Jinzhao is especially promising.”
Old Lady Song frowned and retorted, “Shixue isn’t like Jinzhao. She’s weak in character.”
The next day, just as the sun began to set, Jinzhao arrived at the old house with her three younger siblings for dinner.
Elder Aunt Song looked pleased as she took the clay pot of goat’s milk and stir-fried pork with garlic sprouts they had brought.
While accepting the dishes, she warmly greeted them, “If you’re coming, why bring all this?”
Qiming and Shixue played outside in the yard with Song Yongnian and the others, while inside, Old Man Song cradled Song Anhao, teasing him gently.
Wrapped in a soft, bright red swaddle, the baby’s cheeks were plump and fair. He babbled softly, drooling, a far cry from the frail newborn he had been.
Old Man Song said, “This child is really well cared for.”
So far, he hadn’t been sick. Maybe when he grew up, he’d be just as healthy as any other child.
Jinzhao nodded. “Shixue is very attentive. When Qiming and I aren’t home, she takes good care of Anhao.”
As a doctor, she knew that with scientific care, feeding, and attention, a premature baby wouldn’t differ much from one born full term after the first month.
“Grandpa, I was so busy these past days I forgot about Anhao’s full-month celebration. I’m planning to hold a belated party for him in a couple of days.”
Old Man Song held the child tightly, his eyes thoughtful.
When Third Brother and his wife suddenly passed away, the midwife had said the youngest was hard to keep alive. He hadn’t expected the baby to survive long, so he hadn’t thought much about the full-month celebration.
These days, busy with fetching water and gathering mushrooms, he hadn’t remembered at all.
“This is a happy occasion. When will you hold it? I’ll ask your grandmother and the two elder sisters-in-law to help.”
Jinzhao had already decided on the date before coming. “The day after tomorrow. Any later, and everyone will be busy with the autumn harvest.”
Second Aunt Song came in carrying a basket. Seeing the four children in the yard all dressed in new clothes, the smile in her eyes slowly faded.
Song Yaozu didn’t notice the expression on his mother’s face; he happily ran over to join Song Qiming and the others in play.
Song Laidi quickly grabbed Song Pandi’s hand and followed along.
If they didn’t leave soon, she and her younger sister would be the ones getting scolded again.
Entering the kitchen, Old Lady Song saw the basket filled with wild vegetables and millet dumplings and felt a pang of discomfort.
Recently, three families had made money picking mushrooms. The second branch had the most guests coming for meals, yet they were still so stingy. Who were they trying to fool?
Oldest Song, sitting at the doorway lost in thought, immediately pulled Second Song along to the village well to fetch water when he saw him arrive.
The house was filled with the noisy chatter of children—so loud it was enough to drive anyone mad.
After holding him for a while, Song Anhao’s slender hands stretched out from the swaddling cloth, struggling.
Song Jinzhao carried him back and placed him on her lap to soothe him.
Thinking of what Old Lady Song had said yesterday, Old Man Song spoke up, “You’re teaching Qiming to read and write—are you hoping he’ll take the imperial exams?”
Song Jinzhao replied, “That’s the idea. If he can follow the path of the imperial exams, that’s best. But even if he can’t pass, studying more will still benefit him.”
Old Man Song’s expression grew serious. He nervously rubbed his hands together, which were resting on his lap.
“The village chief’s grandson studies at a private academy in the city. The annual tuition fee alone is six taels of silver. Adding the cost of brushes, ink, paper, inkstones, and books, it costs more than ten taels a year to study.”
Song Jinzhao raised her eyebrows slightly, a little surprised.
Six taels of silver just for tuition seemed quite steep.
Old Man Song saw her reaction and knew she hadn’t looked into it before.
“There’s also a private academy in the town, taught by a student who’s passed the county exam. Tuition there is only two taels a year. If Qiming really wants to study, he can start there.”
Song Jinzhao didn’t respond further, only saying, “I’ll think about it.”
Between Song’s village and Yunqiao Town was a river. Taking the detour to cross the bridge added nearly an hour to the journey compared to going directly to Xining City.
Especially during floods, when the bridge was submerged, people couldn’t cross at all.
If she were to send Song Qiming to a private academy, she preferred the city.
Town schooling was cheaper, but the round trip took twice as long.
The private academies in Xining City were taught by scholars who had passed the imperial exams, definitely more knowledgeable than those taught by a student who’d only passed the county exam.
