Kays Translations

Chapter 232: The Car-Owning Class

“From a distance, it’s a skin, up close, four hooves.”

After entering the yard, Father Zhu tied up the black horse while explaining to Zhu Ping’an what he knew about choosing a horse. The old Zhu family had never owned one before, so most of it was secondhand knowledge, but Father Zhu had clearly done his homework. At the very least, this Shamate black horse looked sturdy and strong.

After Mother Chen had looked at the black horse, she went to the kitchen to prepare dinner. Today, Father Zhu had returned a little earlier. After tying up the black horse, he fed the big black cow with feed and water, which made the cow quite pleased. The cow mooed loudly at the black horse, showing off.

The Shamate black horse ignored the cow’s showing off. It flicked its tail and circled the post, looking almost as though it were keeping time.

After feeding the big black cow, the village blacksmith arrived at Zhu’s house carrying a large box. This was the blacksmith Father Zhu had arranged to meet in town. He was supposed to come in the evening to fit horseshoes on the newly bought horse.

The black horse had only just reached adulthood and had never been shod. Father Zhu figured that Zhu Ping’an would be traveling to the capital for the metropolitan examination and might have to cross mountains and rough roads, so horseshoes would help the horse handle the terrain.

Horseshoes protect a horse’s hooves. Warhorses in particular could easily injure their hooves on stones, iron spikes, and other hazards; once a hoof was badly hurt, a horse could hardly run. A horseshoe was, in effect, an iron shoe fitted to the hoof, and putting one on properly was skilled work best left to a blacksmith.

“I made this saddle in my spare time. Consider it a congratulatory gift for Ping’an,” Blacksmith Sun said. He took a saddle from the box, set it on the Shamate black horse, and demonstrated how to secure it.

“Thank you, Uncle Sun, but I can’t let you work for nothing,” Zhu Ping’an said, cupping his hands in gratitude, though he insisted on paying.

Father Zhu, being straightforward, also said that he couldn’t let Blacksmith Sun work for free and that he should be paid.

“If you must pay, then I’ll go ahead and nail the horseshoes,” Blacksmith Sun shook his head and insisted on not accepting payment.

“That won’t do; the materials cost money, so we must pay,” Father Zhu said helplessly, stepping back.

After a bit of back and forth, Blacksmith Sun finally agreed.

The Shamate black horse might have looked a little eccentric and proud, but it did seem intelligent. While Blacksmith Sun fitted the saddle, it merely turned its head to watch curiously instead of kicking up a fuss.

Though it had only just reached adulthood, the Shamate black horse didn’t seem to reject human contact. It ought to be fairly easy to ride.

Blacksmith Sun’s box was packed with tools: files, nails, horseshoes, and all the other things he needed. Zhu Ping’an examined the horseshoes curiously. Each was shaped like a small C, with seven nail holes around the edge – three on one side and four on the other.

Fitting horseshoes took both skill and strength. With Father Zhu assisting, Blacksmith Sun first trimmed and leveled the Shamate black horse’s hooves so the shoes would fit properly.

On the other side, the charcoal fire in the forge burned hot, and Blacksmith Sun selected four horseshoes of the right size for the black horse and threw them into the fire to heat them up.

The Shamate black horse craned its neck and watched the whole process with extraordinary curiosity written across its long face.

This horse had a big heart. If it were any other horse, it would probably have kicked up a fuss by now.

Blacksmith Sun quickly hammered the horseshoes into shape on the anvil, then used tongs to quickly press them onto the hoof that Father Zhu had lifted. He left an imprint, then threw the still-hot horseshoe into cold water to cool it, saying that it would increase the horseshoe’s wear resistance.

Once the shoes had cooled, Blacksmith Sun fitted them to the prepared hooves and drove in the special nails at the proper angle so they would hold firmly without injuring the hoof. After a round of hammering and adjustments, all four horseshoes were in place.

The Shamate black horse kept tapping its newly shod hooves against the ground as if they felt surprisingly comfortable. Its four hooves struck out a rhythm as it pranced around the wooden post.

The horse’s head was held high, with a tuft of split mane fluttering in the wind…

It looked every inch an arrogant, ridiculous Shamate horse.

After seeing Blacksmith Sun off, Father Zhu fed the Shamate black horse some fodder sprinkled with salt water, and it ate happily.

Speaking of which, the black horse showed no signs of being unfamiliar with its new surroundings. It seemed to have adapted quickly, as if it had always been familiar with the place. One couldn’t help but admire the horse’s big heart.

After the big black horse finished eating its grass, Father Zhu kept an eye on it, and Zhu Ping’an tried to mount the horse, stepping into the stirrup.

Uh, it’s a bit heavy.

The black horse turned its head and looked at the poor creature sitting on its back, who could only walk with two hooves. Then, it lowered its head and went back to eating its grass.

After dinner, Mother Chen worked overnight to make a saddle pad from rabbit fur and coarse cloth to prevent Zhu Ping’an from sitting on the cold saddle during winter.

Once the saddle pad was ready, Mother Chen tied it securely to the saddle with straps. She touched it, and it was soft and warm. Satisfied, she placed the saddle aside and asked Zhu Ping’an to try sitting on it.

“It’s really warm, thank you, Mother.”

Zhu Ping’an placed the saddle on a stool and sat down to try it. It was soft, comfortable, and warm. He couldn’t help but thank his mother, Chen.

In the days that followed, besides reading, practicing calligraphy, and writing Eight-Legged Essays and policy essays, Zhu Ping’an added another item to his routine: taking the Shamate black horse to the gentle slope below the school to practice riding.

Before riding practice, whenever Zhu Ping’an had time he worked on bonding with the proud, ridiculous Shamate black horse – feeding it, watering it, and brushing its coat.

I have to admit, this horse has a big heart.

Each time Zhu Ping’an mounted the Shamate black horse, it would turn its head to look at him before setting off. Once it broke into a gallop, he initially struggled to keep his balance, and only the saddle and stirrups kept him from being thrown.

Come to think of it, owning a horse in this era was rather like owning a car in modern times. Zhu Ping’an laughed inwardly at himself. Back then he had envied those rich second-generation kids with cars; now, in ancient times, he had somehow joined the car-owning class himself.

“Hehehe… Zhu Ping’an, you look like a clumsy frog sticking to the horse’s back.”

While Zhu Ping’an was awkwardly practicing riding, he suddenly heard a mocking voice from behind, as light and sweet as a lark.

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