Kays Translations

Chapter 20: I Herd Cattle in the Ming Dynasty

As the saying goes, excessive joy leads to sorrow, and I think that’s true.

During dinner, something unpleasant happened. Halfway through the meal, Eldest Aunt announced some news.

“Father, Mother, it’s like this. Jun’er’s maternal grandmother sees that he is clever and has decided to support his education. They don’t want to delay Jun’er and want to send him to school.”

Zhu Ping’an instinctively felt that something was odd. It was uncommon for a married woman’s natal family to offer to shoulder the cost of raising or educating her child. As the old saying went, a married daughter was like water poured out. Was Eldest Aunt’s natal family really so open-minded? Had Jun’er’s maternal uncle and aunt agreed as well?

In ancient times, there were no tuition fees for schooling, but there were “shuxiu” fees. Students would present gifts to their teachers as a sign of respect, which was essentially the same as tuition fees. This practice had already been implemented during Confucius’s time; back then, it involved ham, but now “shuxiu” was all about money.

In rural areas, “shuxiu” fees were much cheaper than in towns, typically around a thousand wen per year, paid in two installments, along with vegetables, eggs, meat, and other gifts. Overall, it could be quite a significant expense.

Still, Eldest Aunt’s natal family was said to be fairly well-off, so it was not impossible.

When they heard that Eldest Aunt’s natal family was willing to pay for Jun’er’s schooling, Grandfather and Grandmother were delighted. They already valued Eldest Uncle’s branch highly; if Eldest Uncle could study, then surely Jun’er would do well in his studies too.

Grandfather and Grandmother were pleased, especially since Eldest Aunt’s natal family would be paying the expense, so Chen, Third Aunt, and Fourth Aunt naturally had no reason to object.

“Jun’er will begin his elementary studies, and Zhi’er isn’t that small anymore. He can take over Jun’er’s job of herding the cattle,” Eldest Aunt said, emboldened by the lack of opposition. Then she turned to Zhu Ping’an. “Autumn is almost here. Take good care of the cattle so they’ll be strong enough for the farm work.”

You said just the day before that I was still young!

Did you really suggest that I take over Jun’er’s job of herding cattle? Jun’er has never even touched a cow!

Eldest Aunt wanted Zhu Ping’an to herd cattle because she kept hearing the family praise Zhi’er as clever and sensible, which only strengthened her determination to cut off any thought of educating him. For one thing, she did not want the household spending money unnecessarily when Zhi’er could simply farm like his father and support himself. For another, she worried that Zhi’er might steal the limelight from her own son, even though everyone said her Jun’er was destined for literary success.

“Sister-in-law, my Zhi’er is still young. How can he herd cattle when they are so big?” Chen frowned and opposed, thinking of things she didn’t say aloud. Your Jun’er is going to school, so why should my Zhi’er herd cattle? Moreover, when has your Jun’er ever herded cattle?

Third Aunt liked Zhu Ping’an and spoke up for him. “Exactly. Zhi’er isn’t even as tall as the cow’s legs!”

“Our cattle are very gentle and know the way themselves. Herding them only means keeping them out of other people’s fields,” Eldest Aunt insisted. “Zhi’er has gone into the mountains with his father before. Herding a cow is no great matter, is it?”

Chen was uneasy about letting Zhu Ping’an herd cattle, but Eldest Aunt would not let the matter drop, and the atmosphere at the table grew tense.

“A loving mother spoils her child. It would be good for Zhi’er to toughen up a little. If he truly can’t manage it, we can always stop later,” Eldest Aunt argued.

Grandmother sided with Eldest Aunt; every word she said showed where she stood.

Chen sulked at the dinner table, hardly eating, while her hand sneaked under the table to pinch Zhu Shouyi, not knowing how many times she had done it.

By then, Zhu Shouyi had already bared his teeth in pain and grimaced countless times at the dinner table.

“Mother, eat more. Letting the cattle graze is good too. I like our cows,” Zhu Ping’an said, extending his chopsticks to help Chen with her food, his soft childish voice comforting her.

The son’s understanding made Chen feel much better, but thinking of her sister-in-law’s children going to school while her own child had to graze cattle at such a young age still left her feeling somewhat dissatisfied.

“Zhi’er needs to graze cattle. From now on, give Zhi’er an extra half pancake at every meal,” Grandfather spoke up.

Grandfather generally didn’t interfere with matters in the inner courtyard, as long as things weren’t too outrageous, he would turn a blind eye. Although he valued the eldest son’s family, he was also quite fond of his chubby grandson, Zhu Ping’an.

As night slowly fell, the moon rose gently, with light floating clouds swirling around it, like a sheer veil draping over the moon. The moonlight was gentle, the night was beautiful, and everything was peaceful.

The moonlight was quiet and gentle, but the east wing was not.

“Why should his son get to study while my son has to herd cattle? You work yourself to the bone, Dachuan has already done so much, and now Zhi’er has to herd cattle too? Do we owe Eldest Uncle’s family something?”

“You deadbeat, not saying a word!”

“Why did I marry a man like you, who doesn’t even dare to speak up!”

For Zhu Shouyi, secretly keeping a little money for his own branch was already a major step; openly opposing his parents and his elder brother and sister-in-law was probably beyond him. He also thought a little hardship was good for boys. Besides, his mother had said that if Zhi’er truly could not manage the cattle, he could stop, so Zhu Shouyi had stayed silent at dinner.

But Chen didn’t care about any of that.

Poor old dad, I mourn for you.

Zhu Ping’an ungratefully slipped away; it’s his own wife, he can coax her himself—good luck with that, Dad.

The shepherd boy rides a yellow cow, and his song echoes through the woods.

The poem perfectly matched Zhu Ping’an’s situation. He rode on the back of an old yellow ox, legs swinging, a bamboo water bottle at his waist and a fishing rod in his hand. A length of hemp line hung from the rod with a tuft of tender grass tied to the end. The grass dangled just in front of the ox’s muzzle, luring the animal steadily forward.

The makeshift saddle on the cow’s back had been woven from bamboo by Zhu Shouyi the night before, allowing Zhu Ping’an’s small body to sit securely. It was light enough not to hinder the old yellow ox.

As Zhu Ping’an sat on the ox’s back, his thoughts drifted with the rhythm of its hooves.

Speaking of it, the line “The shepherd boy rides a yellow ox” was written by Yuan Mei in the Qing Dynasty, wasn’t it? That meant Qing poems and verses were all fair game for him to borrow. Nalan Xingde’s “If life were only as it was at first sight,” Gong Zizhen’s “Fallen flowers are not heartless things,” Zhao Yi’s “Talented men emerge in every generation,” even the verses attributed to Tsangyang Gyatso—he could make use of all of them.

During graduate school, he had memorized quite a few eight-legged essays written by top Qing scholars. He could no longer recite them word for word, but he still remembered many of their ideas. Qing eight-legged essays were, after all, even more standardized than Ming ones.

Poems and verses could be borrowed or adapted, but eight-legged essays were different. Each was written in response to a set prompt drawn from the Four Books and Five Classics. There were far too many possible passages; he could not know which one an examiner might choose. If he happened to remember an essay on the same prompt, he would be set. If the prompts differed, the memorized material might be useless.

Back in modern times, he had studied Classical Chinese, but if someone had asked him to write an eight-legged essay, he would have been completely unable to do it. Modern schools criticized the form rather than teaching students how to write it. Besides, he did not even know how to use a brush properly!

In short, going to school was still very necessary.

Come to think of it, the private school in Shanghe Village was not far from the low hill bordering Xiahe Village.

The little hillside was lush with grass and had plenty of water. It would be a good place to graze the cattle.

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