Chapter Fifty-Two: Wish Fulfilled

The following day, just as dawn broke, the Ankang brothers took Han Songyan and Cheng Zhili up the mountain with Luo Fugui and his group, gathering firewood and hunting. Luo deliberately refrained from waking Anyi, letting her sleep in. By the time she awoke, the others had already left nearly half an hour before, lost somewhere in the depths of the mountain, where the clouds hid their whereabouts.

Anyi sat in her room, her face taut, sulking in silence. She refused breakfast. She refused lunch as well. Determined to achieve her goal of entering the mountain, she resorted to hunger strikes as her threat. Spoiled by Luo these past months, she had become increasingly like an unruly eight-year-old girl, willful and pampered before her mother and brothers.

Luo, unable to bear seeing her precious daughter starve, boiled a bowl of sweet rice wine with an egg and set it before her, speaking gently, “Sweetheart, your older brothers must look after the young masters and can’t attend to you. If something were to happen in the mountain, what would I do? Wait until tomorrow, after they return to the city. I’ll have your eldest brother take you up the mountain specially, all right?”

Anyi regarded her seriously, “Mother, don’t fool me again. If you do, I’ll really be angry.”

Luo suppressed a smile, “Mother keeps her word. I won’t fool you.”

Only then did Anyi smile, picking up her spoon and drinking the sweet egg soup. Yet she missed the crucial words—“someday.” Which day, indeed?

That afternoon, Anyi happily went out to gather medicinal herbs. The herbs near the village had been nearly stripped by the villagers recently, so she wandered farther afield. While digging up the root of the stone maple, she suddenly heard faint sobbing.

She stood up, listening closely. Someone was crying. Anyi frowned slightly—this Li Yuan’er was far too weak.

A man’s voice sounded, too soft for her to make out. Li Guyu was there as well. The siblings had come here to weep together? How useless.

“Brother Fulin, what should we do?”

Brother Fulin? Anyi was startled. It wasn’t Li Guyu, but another man. Li Yuan’er was meeting this “Fulin” in secret. Though secluded, it was broad daylight—how daring of them both.

“Chunzhi, don’t cry. Tomorrow I’ll come to your house and propose marriage.”

Chunzhi! Relief washed over Anyi—it wasn’t Li Yuan’er.

“My mother said unless there’s fifty taels of silver for the bride price, she won’t let me marry,” Chunzhi cried.

“Fifty taels!” Fulin’s voice trembled.

For farmers scraping by, after the taxes, everyday expenses, and social obligations, saving six or seven taels a year was considered fortunate. Fifty taels would take nearly ten years to accumulate. Luo Xiamei’s bride price was only five taels. For Sunflower to demand so much was exorbitant.

Anyi watched as leaves fluttered down from a nearby tree, guessing that Fulin, furious and unable to vent his anger elsewhere, was taking it out on the tree.

“Brother Fulin, don’t do that! You’ll hurt your hands—how will you work then?” Chunzhi wailed, worried for him.

“Chunzhi, don’t cry. I’ll never let you marry another. I’ll marry you. Wait for me—I’ll go home now and have my mother send someone to propose.”

“Brother Fulin, it’s no use,” Chunzhi screamed, anguished. “My mother’s already asked someone to find a rich family in the county to take me as a concubine.”

Anyi nearly laughed. That Sunflower was truly delusional—surely mad with greed. One marries a virtuous wife, takes a beautiful concubine. Chunzhi’s looks were merely pleasant; she had no qualifications to be a rich man’s concubine. If word got out, she’d struggle to find a husband.

The voices ceased. Anyi didn’t know if they’d left, but she was leaving regardless. This matter was beyond her, and she had no intention of meddling. With Sunflower’s greed, Chunzhi was fated never to be with Fulin.

A snap—Anyi stepped on a dry twig, making a noise.

“Who’s there?” Fulin and Chunzhi rushed out, faces panicked.

“Xier, what are you doing here?” Chunzhi asked.

“I’m gathering herbs,” Anyi replied calmly.

“How long have you been here?” Chunzhi pressed.

Anyi glanced at her basket, “A while.”

Chunzhi inhaled sharply, “You heard everything?”

Anyi sighed inwardly. She hadn’t wanted to hear any of it and was ready to leave.

Before she could answer, Chunzhi grabbed her hand pleadingly, “Xier, please don’t tell anyone about this.”

Anyi glanced at Fulin, whose face was grim. Was he thinking of silencing her? She had no wish to die, so her eyes flashed as she feigned ignorance, “Chunzhi, what shouldn’t I tell anyone?”

“That Brother Fulin and I met here. Don’t tell anyone,” Chunzhi urged.

Anyi stretched out her left hand, palm open, “Chunzhi, buy me candy and I won’t tell.”

“All right, all right, I’ll buy you candy.” Chunzhi breathed easier. Xier was only eight, too young to understand—nothing to worry about.

“Chunzhi, let’s go buy candy.” Anyi took her hand, leading her away.

Chunzhi looked back at Fulin, who followed at a distance.

Entering the village, Anyi and Chunzhi went to Luo Guangnian’s general store. Chunzhi bought three pieces of malt candy for Anyi. As they left, Anyi saw no sign of Fulin and smiled, “Chunzhi, the candy is so sweet.”

“Xier, you ate the candy, so remember my words. Don’t tell anyone, not even your mother,” Chunzhi admonished.

Anyi nodded quickly.

Back home, she kept her promise, never mentioning the incident to Luo, nor did she intend to. She disliked meddling in others’ affairs—better to use her time gathering more herbs.

Just then, the carriage sent to fetch Han Songyan and Cheng Zhili arrived outside, but the two were still in the mountains.

“They went hunting in the mountains. They won’t return today. Come again tomorrow,” Anyi said.

The two attendants exchanged glances. Hunting in the mountains? Without their masters, they dared not return.

By evening, all the hunters had returned, with little firewood but plenty of game. Luo Fugui knew the two city youths had entered the mountains chiefly to hunt, so he left all the game for Ankang.

Ankang emptied his basket—four turtledoves, five wild rabbits, seven pheasants, and a fox. Near Little East Mountain, there were no foxes or wolves; most game was common. This fox, likely startled by other hunters.

Anyi eyed them, her small face stern, unmoving in her chair.

“So much game,” Luo frowned, “Did you go deep into the mountains?”

“We went about four or five miles in,” Ankang lied, not wanting Luo to worry.

“Gentlemen, the mountain paths are tough. Are you tired?” Luo asked with concern.

“Not tired at all! It was great fun. If I didn’t have to go home tomorrow, I’d want to go again,” Cheng Zhili replied cheerfully.

Han Songyan glanced at him—didn’t he see the angry little girl nearby?

“Easy enough to go again. Next time, come back,” Luo smiled.

“Aunt, since you said so, I won’t stand on ceremony. I’ll return in a few days,” Cheng Zhili said, quick to take advantage.

“If you don’t mind the countryside, come anytime,” Luo laughed, packing the game, “Rest while I cook you dinner.”

“Aunt, please cook extra. I’m starving,” Cheng Zhili called.

“All right,” Luo agreed.

Anjian brought the dead fox to Anyi, smiling to please her. “Sister, later I’ll skin this fox and have Mother sew the fur onto your new coat—it’ll look lovely.”

“This is a mixed-fur fox, not a white fox,” Anyi scoffed. “Only white fox fur looks good as trim.”

“Next time, I’ll hunt a white fox for you,” Anjian promised recklessly. None of the game was his doing; Ankang and Han Songyan had caught most, while Cheng Zhili, slowed by his bulk, couldn’t catch a single pheasant.

Anyi’s eyes sparkled, “When you hunt a white fox, take me along.”

“Ah?” Anjian dared not agree, turning to Ankang.

“Sister, if you can persuade Mother, I’ll take you,” Ankang said confidently, knowing Luo would never consent.

“Mother already agreed to let me into the mountains,” Anyi raised her brow, anticipating his response.

“Really?” Ankang frowned, suspecting she lied.

“Of course. If you don’t believe me, ask her yourself,” Anyi said, a little smug. Ankang was sure their mother wouldn’t let her go; she, in turn, was sure Luo wouldn’t let her starve. After two skipped meals, Luo surrendered.

“I’ll ask her soon,” Ankang said seriously.

“Go ahead,” Anyi said fearlessly.

Han Songyan listened to the siblings’ exchange, his thoughts drifting to his own family, where such warmth was rare among his brothers and sisters. His eyes darkened.

Night fell, and the two attendants couldn’t return to the city. The An family lacked beds, so Luo took them across the street to arrange lodging.

The next day, Han Songyan and Cheng Zhili, the uninvited guests, finally departed, taking two wild rabbits with them.

With the guests gone, the An household returned to normal. Unfortunately, a persistent winter rain set in, preventing Anyi from fulfilling her wish to go into the mountains.

In truth, Chunzhi needn’t have bribed Anyi to keep her secret. That afternoon, Zhou Fulin sent someone to Sunflower’s house to propose marriage.

Sunflower, ever mercenary, not only refused but mocked Zhou Fulin, saying he was a toad lusting after a swan. She told him to look in the mirror—how dare he come to propose, unable even to produce five taels for the bride price, let alone marry her daughter.

Sunflower’s tirade became village gossip. Zhou Fulin’s mother, never fond of Sunflower, had only agreed to the proposal under her son’s pressure. Humiliated, she wept and pleaded with Fulin, even threatening suicide.

Helpless, Zhou Fulin dared not insist on marrying Chunzhi.

Everyone thought the matter thus settled, that the pair would marry elsewhere, unrelated from now on. No one expected that, a few nights later during a rainstorm, the two would elope, vanishing without trace.

Sunflower searched the village in vain and, wailing, headed to the Zhou household. Villagers went to watch the commotion, and Anyi was dragged along by Qiao’er.

“Zhou Fulin, you bastard, come out! Where did you hide my Chunzhi?” Sunflower burst in, shouting.

The Zhou family, having lost a son, were furious and anxious. Already shamed by the rejected proposal, Sunflower’s insults were too much. Did she think the Zhou family would tolerate this?

“You wretched woman, what are you shouting for? My Fulin left for the city to work this morning. Next year he’ll marry and have children. Do you think your Chunzhi is the only woman in the world? Plenty want to marry my Fulin. We don’t care for your daughter. If she’s gone, she must have run off with someone else—it’s nothing to do with us. Don’t try to pin it on Fulin. I tell you, not a chance,” Fulin’s mother retorted, determined to restore her lost dignity.

“If you don’t bring Chunzhi out, I won’t leave,” Sunflower insisted, certain Fulin had taken her daughter, and sat stubbornly on the floor.

“You dream of staying here? I don’t care if you live or die—get out, don’t dirty my home,” Fulin’s mother said, grabbing her.

Sunflower refused to budge, clawing and grabbing wildly. Her long nails scratched the back of Fulin’s mother’s hand.

Fulin’s mother, now enraged, seized Sunflower’s hair and dragged her out. Sunflower, not one to submit, retaliated by ramming her head against her.

The two women grappled, rolling across the floor.

Fulin’s father and Chunzhi’s father shouted, “Stop fighting! How disgraceful!”

Anyi had seen women argue, but never witnessed such a brawl. Scratching, grabbing, biting—the basic tactics of female combat—not as imposing as men, but more bloody, as each move drew blood.

When the crowd finally separated them, their hair was tangled, clothes torn, faces and hands covered in wounds—both defeated.

Chunzhi’s father took Sunflower home; the farce ended, and the villagers dispersed.

“Xier, do you think Chunzhi left with Fulin?” Qiao’er asked.

“Why would she leave with him?” Anyi feigned ignorance.

“They’re in love, but Sunflower won’t let them marry. They eloped to be together,” Qiao’er said, hands clasped over her heart, “How brave they are.”

Anyi stared, wondering if Qiao’er was too precocious.

The elopement of Fulin and Chunzhi had no impact on village life. After a few days’ gossip, no one mentioned it again.

Early October, Luo went to Red Sleeve Workshop to deliver goods, Ankang collected his monthly stipend in the city, Anjian sold herbs at Jihuai Hall, and Anyi was guided by Doctor Lu to learn acupuncture points.

The three returned from the city with many purchases, including half a cart of charcoal. As a scholar, Ankang received more winter supplies than those of lower rank.

The ninth day of the month marked Anyi’s eighth birthday. Luo boiled two eggs for her as usual, Ankang gave her a pair of silver rabbit earrings, and Anjian presented a Luban lock.

“Thank you, Mother, thank you, eldest brother, thank you, second brother,” Anyi said sweetly.

The tenth was the birthday of the reigning emperor, now established as the Day of Longevity, celebrated nationwide.

Birthdays in the Luo and Zhang families mostly fell in October and November. Luo’s own birthday was the first of November, marking her thirty-first year. Rural children rarely celebrated birthdays; they often slipped by unnoticed, only remembered much later.

As winter settled in and rain fell, the cold deepened. Anyi wore thick cotton clothes—rose-red, trimmed with white rabbit fur at collar and cuffs, a gift from the Zhang family.

Her pink cheeks were even rosier against the snowy fur. Luo, delighted, cupped her daughter’s face and kissed her hard.

Anyi laughed, hugging Luo’s neck, returning the affection.

With the cold, many fell ill, but villagers, keen to save money, avoided doctors. Doctor Lu, compassionate, visited each home annually to treat villagers for free. Anyi, spared from lessons at Lu’s, stayed home to read.

Soon, the eighteenth of November arrived—Winter Solstice. Han Songyan sent a “Nine-Nine Cold Dispelling Chart,” and Ankang responded with a square seal. Only then did Anyi realize her brother could carve seals, marveling, “Brother, besides studying and carving, what else can you do?”

“The academy teaches the Six Arts; these are nothing special,” Ankang replied modestly.

“What are the Six Arts?” Since her grandfather and mother passed, Anyi had focused on medicine and knew little of such traditions.

“They are ritual, music, archery, charioteering, calligraphy, and mathematics. Ritual is etiquette, music, archery, driving, calligraphy, arithmetic,” Ankang explained simply.

“So many things to learn! Brother, you must work so hard.”

“It’s not hard. Learning isn’t hardship,” Ankang smiled. “Do you want to learn how to play the zither?”

Anyi’s eyes lit up, “I do! Will you teach me?”

“Tomorrow I’ll go to the city and buy a zither for you,” Ankang said, noting that Anyi was less playful than last year and ready to teach her more.

“I want to go with you—I want to pick my own,” Anyi said, having not gone to the city for months.

“All right, you can pick it yourself,” Ankang agreed.

The next day, the three siblings rode a cart into the city.

They went first to Jihuai Hall to sell herbs. Master Chen was there; Han Songyan and Cheng Zhili were too. Hearing Ankang intended to buy a zither for Anyi, Cheng Zhili volunteered to help, dragging Han Songyan along.

Anyi had learned the guzheng in modern times, passing level six, but being able to play wasn’t the same as picking one; her guzheng had been purchased at great expense by her grandfather. She was glad to hear their advice.

The group went to the music shop on the next street. Cheng Zhili, generous as ever, called out, “Shopkeeper, bring your best zither here!”

“No need. These zither out front are fine,” Ankang hurriedly stopped him. If the shopkeeper listened, the best zither would be unaffordable.

Han Songyan nodded approvingly, “The highest price isn’t always the best. When choosing a zither, listen, play, and look. The resonance should linger, the harmonics bright and clear; as fluid as water, with smooth technique; the surface naturally curved—then it’s a good zither.”

Anyi quietly memorized his words, running her fingers over the strings. Music was universal—listening and playing came easy. She soon selected a zither matching Han Songyan’s criteria.

Ankang and Han Songyan tested it, confirming her choice. The zither wasn’t made by a famous craftsman and was affordable, costing one tael and three coins.

Ankang also chose a zither manual for her and paid for both.

Leaving the music shop near noon, Cheng Zhili insisted on treating everyone to a meal at Baiwei Restaurant.

After lunch, the siblings parted ways with the two young men, purchasing necessities before returning home. Anyi had a new skill to learn.

“Feet flat, back straight, shoulders relaxed, elbows down,” Ankang taught her posture, then fingering. “Playing requires both hands—right plucks, left presses. Right hand must be crisp, not sloppy.”

Anyi treated learning the zither as a hobby, practicing when time allowed. Yet gathering and sorting herbs remained her unwavering daily routine.

Luo continued to take needlework home from Red Sleeve Workshop. Ankang, not wishing his mother and sister to work so hard, had tried persuading them several times, but they were unchanged. He resolved to wait until he became an official and improved the family’s situation before trying again.

A few days later, Cheng Zhili somehow convinced his father to let him return, accompanied by an attendant. Armed with bow and arrows, he was determined to redeem himself, “This time, I’ll be the one to bag a wild boar!”

Ankang frowned, “Where’s Brother Songyan?”

“Fourth cousin went to the capital for New Year,” Cheng Zhili laughed.

While Ankang fretted over how to dissuade Cheng Zhili, Anyi approached Luo, solemnly repeating her request, “Mother, this time I want to go into the mountain with eldest brother.”

Luo, helpless before her daughter’s persistence, finally gave in, “If you must go, wear plenty. It’s cold up there.”

The next day, Anyi was bundled in thick cotton, her head wrapped in a scarf, leaving only her lively eyes visible. She looked as round as a ball, much like chubby Cheng Zhili.

Luo, uneasy about letting the children go, told Ankang to gather more relatives, and repeatedly reminded Ankang and Anjian to watch their sister closely.

They went to the Luo family’s three brothers’ homes, but by coincidence, all the men were out. Luo Fugui and Yang had taken their sons and grandsons to Yang’s mother’s house. Only the daughters-in-law and four-year-old Luo Jinpeng were home. Luo Guangzong and Zhou had taken their son to arrange a marriage; Luo Xiaochuan and Luo Xiaohai delivered gifts; Luo Yaozu and Fang took their sons to the city to sell goods and buy New Year’s supplies.

“Brother, let’s hunt on Little East Mountain, not the big one. There won’t be trouble,” Anjian suggested.

Ankang agreed, and the five set off, climbing the mountain. Anyi, overdressed, struggled and relied on Ankang to pull her along.

The weather was poor, but hunters still ventured out in groups, moving quickly and soon disappearing ahead. Gradually, only the four siblings lagged behind.

After more than an hour, Anyi was exhausted, panting as she unwound her scarf, cheeks flushed. “Brother, let’s rest before continuing.”

Ankang hadn’t answered before Cheng Zhili plopped on a stone. He’d been struggling, but as the youngest, Anyi hadn’t complained, so he dared not admit his fatigue. Now he could finally rest.

“Sister, you insisted on coming—now you’re tired,” Anjian sighed, worried.

“I’m not tired,” Anyi insisted, about to sit, when she spotted some chinaberry trees nearby and rushed over.

“Little sister!” Ankang and Anjian hurried after her.

Anyi stared at the tree, murmuring, “The bark is gray-brown with vertical grooves, young branches yellow-gray with star-shaped scales, leaves twice pinnate, leaflets narrow ovate, often asymmetrical, with smooth or faintly serrated edges. Yes, this is chinaberry!”

“Sister, is this tree medicinal?” Anjian, after months of helping Anyi gather herbs, recognized the look.

“Yes, it’s chinaberry. The fruit is bitter, cold, slightly toxic, moves qi, relieves pain, treats stomach and flank pain, kills parasites, cures ringworm, abdominal pain, and scalp ringworm,” Anyi explained, delighted to find new herbs.

“Anyi, you’re amazing—almost as good as my fourth cousin,” Cheng Zhili praised.

Anyi barely acknowledged him, turning to Anjian, “Second brother, the tree is so tall—can you climb it?”

“Don’t underestimate me! I’m a tree-climbing expert—watch,” Anjian said, removing his coat, spitting on his hands, and climbing rapidly.

He tossed down fruit, while Ankang and Anyi gathered it. Even Cheng Zhili’s attendant joined in.

After half a basket, the reachable fruit was gone. Anjian wanted to climb higher, but Ankang was alarmed, fearing a fall. “Enough, come down—don’t go higher.”

“There’s still plenty above—I’ll get more,” Anjian insisted, climbing.

“Second brother, we’ve gathered enough. There are many herbs up here—I want to find others, not just this one,” Anyi said.

Only then did Anjian descend.

After resting, the five continued deeper. Passing through a patch of wild grass, they suddenly heard rustling. All five stopped, alert, watching the source of the sound.

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Note: This Thursday, Qianxue is returning home for a few days to be a dutiful daughter-in-law, so updates will be limited. Please be understanding! Married Chinese women have little say!

This book is originally published—please do not repost!