Poor but talented scholar

Chapter 9 Going to the Ground

Lu Shouye finished the last dose of his medicine a few days ago.

That day, Lu's mother put away the empty medicine packet and stayed in the kitchen to heat the fire a little longer, making the porridge in the pot thicker.

The money for the medicine was finally raised in this way: the few coins Lu Chuan earned running errands for Uncle Qi, the few coins he earned resolving disputes in the village, and the bag of copper coins by Lu Shouye's pillow—all put together, it was just enough.

Lu Chuan originally wanted to return the money he received for running errands to his seventh uncle, but his seventh uncle waved his hand and refused to accept it.

And so, the third dose of medicine was brought back. After drinking it, Lu Shouye's cough gradually subsided, and his complexion improved day by day.

On the third day of the fifth lunar month, before dawn, Lu's mother got up to start a fire and found that the door to the east room was already open.

She came out with a bowl of porridge, but the yard was empty; the carrying pole and the hoe were gone.

She stood in the courtyard, glanced towards the village entrance, sighed, put the porridge bowl back on the stove, and turned down the heat again.

When Lu Chuan got up, his mother was sitting under the eaves mending clothes, pulling the needle and thread very hard.

"Your father went to the fields." She didn't even look up. "He left before dawn; we couldn't stop him."

Lu Xiaoman peeked out from the inner room and looked towards the courtyard gate: "Did Dad go to the fields?"

"Um."

"Will that work?"

"Whether it will work or not, he knows." Mrs. Lu poked the needle and thread into the cloth. "You two, don't worry about it. Eat your food, and then go do what you were doing."

Lu Xiaoman muttered something, picked up the porridge bowl, and squatted on the steps to drink it.

After finishing his studies at his seventh uncle's place in the morning, Lu Chuan didn't go straight home. Instead, he took a detour and headed towards the fields at the west end of the village.

In May, the wheat in the fields had already sprouted ears of grain. When the wind blew, the green ears of grain swayed, one after another.

He spotted Lu Shouye from afar.

His father was bent over, pulling weeds along the edge of the field. After he finished pulling them, he held them in his hand until he had a handful, then threw them onto the edge of the field.

Lu Chuan walked over and stood on the edge of the field.

Hearing footsteps, Lu Shouye straightened up, turned around and saw that it was Lu Chuan. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve.

"Finished reading?"

"Um."

Lu Shouye took two steps toward the edge of the field, sat down, and patted the ground next to him to indicate that he should sit down.

The father and son sat on the edge of the field, the wind blowing through the fields carrying the scent of fresh wheat.

"What did you recite today?" Lu Shouye asked.

"The Three Character Classic, and a few more words were written."

Lu Shouye hummed in agreement, his gaze falling on the field. He said, "The wheat in this plot is growing alright this year, except for the southern part, which didn't get enough water, so the ears are a bit small."

Lu Chuan followed his gaze and saw that the wheat ears in the southern area were indeed shorter than those next to them.

"Once summer arrives, there are still two more seasons in the fields," Lu Shouye said. "Your mother can't manage all the work by herself, and it's time for me to get moving."

Lu Chuan looked at his father's hands. There were calluses on the back of his hands, thick knuckles, and an old scar on the web of his hand, which was from a farm tool many years ago.

"Dad, don't sit for too long today; you're feeling much better now."

"I know." Lu Shouye stood up, brushed the dirt off his trousers, and said, "I'll just pull some weeds; it's no trouble."

He bent down again and continued pulling weeds.

Lu Chuan sat on the edge of the field for a while without leaving.

A breeze blows, and the wheat ears sway gently. The sun is high in the sky, shining on the ground, making it scorching hot.

Lu Shouye pulled weeds, his back to him, his back bent, one weed at a time.

Looking at that figure, Lu Chuan recalled the man who had been leaning against the headboard a few days ago, unable to even hold a bowl properly.

It's only been a little over a month.

He stood up, walked down the ridge, squatted down next to Lu Shouye, and began to pull weeds as well.

The father and son, one in front and one behind, slowly moved forward along the ridge.

They returned home at noon, and the two of them came back together.

Lu's mother was drawing water from the well when she saw Lu Shouye return. She put the bucket on the ground, walked over, and looked him up and down.

"You look alright," she said. "Are you tired?"

"Not tired."

"She's not tired, she's just not saying it." Mrs. Lu wiped her hands on her apron. "Go inside, eat your food. It's the leftover porridge. Don't go out this afternoon."

"Is there still one piece of land left...?"

"Didn't you hear me?" Mother Lu's voice rose a notch.

Lu Shouye shut his mouth.

Lu Xiaoman peeked out from the kitchen and whispered to Lu Chuan, "Dad's back. Mom's definitely going to scold him again."

Lu Chuan didn't reply, went inside, and put his bag down.

Outside, Lu's mother was still talking, her voice getting louder with each sentence. Lu Shouye didn't say a word in response, only occasionally humming in agreement to show that he was listening.

As expected, Lu Shouye did not go out again in the afternoon.

Lu's mother left him in the yard to sit and bask in the sun, saying it was good for his health. Lu Shouye didn't object. He moved an old wooden stool, sat under the eaves, leaned against the wall, squinted, and seemed lost in thought.

Lu Chuan drew words on the ground next to him, while Lu Xiaoman squatted on the other side, tracing them with a twig.

It's rare to see the courtyard so quiet.

After a while, Lu Shouye suddenly asked, "How many kilograms of wheat will we get this year?"

Mother Lu poked her head out from the kitchen: "Three mu of land, in previous years it would yield a little over five shi (a unit of dry measure), but this year the water supply to the south hasn't been good enough, so it's likely to yield less."

"Father," Lu Chuan began.

Lu Shouye raised his head.

"If we irrigate the southern area again before summer, the ears of grain can be somewhat recovered."

Lu Shouye glanced at him: "You understand this?"

"I read it in a book. It says that after wheat heads, if there's still moisture in the soil, the ears will be well-filled and the grains will be heavy. If it's too dry, the grains will be light and the yield will be low."

"That's not entirely wrong." He raised his eyelids, "but getting water won't be easy. Our land is at the west end, far from the irrigation canal. To get water here, we'll have to discuss it with several other families first."

"I'll go tell them."

Lu Shouye shook his head: "It's not appropriate for you to go and talk to them. You're too young, and they won't take it seriously. Let me calm down for a couple of days, then I'll go and talk to them."

Lu Chuan nodded and did not insist further.

Lu Xiaoman, who had been listening intently the whole time, leaned closer and whispered, "Brother, did you really read about this in a book?"

"Um."

"Are these in Seventh Uncle's books?"

"have."

Lu Xiaoman lowered her head, drew two lines on the ground, and muttered thoughtfully, "That book has everything."

She thought for a moment, then looked up and asked, "Does the book say how to thicken porridge?"

Lu Xiaoman said seriously, "Exactly, can we cook the same rice a little thicker?"

"Yes," Lu Chuan said. "Soak the rice before cooking; if it's fully soaked, the porridge will be thicker."

After listening, Lu Xiaoman drew two lines on the ground, as if seriously memorizing the matter, and muttered softly, "Then I'll tell Mother later."

Lu Shouye leaned against the wall, his eyes still closed, and his lips twitched slightly.

As the sun gradually slanted westward, the light became slanted, illuminating the crooked characters on the ground, making them appear as if they were engraved in varying shades.