CH 61

Ch61 - Snowfall

Recently, the temperature had dropped precipitously. Zhu Er was hauling a basket of bricks as he huffed and puffed toward the mountain ridge. The fresh recruits trailing behind him were also lugging all sorts of wood and stone material to the construction site.

In the shallow valley leading up to the Liang Estate, a gatehouse was slowly taking shape. It would become the first barrier standing between the Liang Estate and its enemies. On a mountaintop further away, there was a wooden hut manned every day by rotating sentries, who kept an eye on the surrounding activity. Because of how cold it’d gotten, the militia’s daily training had gradually stuttered to a halt as they joined the farmers and refugees in building new defensive structures.

The main wall safeguarding the surrounding farmsteads had been raised by a meter and buttressed by corner towers upon which soldiers could be stationed in the event of an invasion. The inner wall especially had been heightened and thickened after the fashion of a castle. Forget bandits, even the imperial court’s armies would struggle to assail those walls.

The outermost palisades and gatehouse were more of a deterrent. The new barracks were situated between the farmsteads and the gatehouse to facilitate rapid mobilization against hostile threats.

All these layers and layers of Everyone who lived in the paradise that was the Liang Estate saw it as their home; thus, not a single person complained about the corvée levy. And besides, their master had made considerate arrangements for them.

As they neared their destination, they caught scent of a mouthwatering aroma. Zhu Er inhaled deeply. He arrived at the construction, handed his bricks in, and went over to the nearby shack. There was already a gathering of people inside, taking shelter from the elements, ladling fish soup from large, steaming cauldrons. Zhu Er went over and helped himself to some food.

Working in the Liang Estate was nothing like working for the government, where peasants often died of exhaustion from being forced to slave away from dawn to dark without a moment’s rest. Here, the projects were broken down into “daily quotas.” If they were diligent, they could get it done and go home before sunset. Those who did extra even got rewards, usually in the form of food, which they brought back for their families. So, the refugees and Jie were extremely motivated – more gung ho than the soldiers even.

And that wasn’t all; those who showed up every day for two months got to receive an article of winter clothing. They cherished it too much to wear it while they were on the job, but later, it would be a lifesaver in the depths of winter.  Plus, they got two hot meals every day. There was nothing better than a bowl of hot soup after spending all day outside in the cold!

Though, that wasn’t anything special to Zhu Er. A few envious gazes lingered on him as he walked over to his comrades and sat down somewhat smugly, “Wang Wu, your team’s losing you know.”

Wang Wu tisked, “It’s barely a few bricks’ difference! Humph! Once we’re done eating, we’ll catch up before you know it!”

“That’s what you said yesterday. You might as well roll over and accept defeat,” Zhu Er snickered as he slurped a mouthful of hot soup.

“Just you wait!” Wang Wu knocked back the rest of his soup in one go, “Let’s go, hop to it!”

“But team leader, we only just started eating…” a fresh-faced rookie bemoaned.

Unfortunately, Wang Wu wasn’t having any of it. One by one, he threw them out by the scruff of their necks. Now, Zhu Er was sitting on pins and needles. He said to his subordinates, “Quick, quick, get back to work soon as you’re done! Beat Wang Wu’s team and you’ll get another day off to cuddle with your woman!”

“Team leader, you’re the only one who’s got a wife though,” someone griped.

“Pshaw! A few more days in the militia and you’ll be married soon enough!” Zhu Er retorted. Then he went back to stuffing his face.

The new recruits didn’t doubt his words in the slightest. Every militiaman was given fields, grain, and winter clothes – who wouldn’t want to marry one? So what if training was hard? So what if they had to risk their lives on the battlefield? They were lucky to be soldiers of the Liang Estate!

“Hey! It’s snowing!” Someone yelled. Everyone craned their necks to look outside. Sure enough, there were dainty snowflakes descending from the sky.

We’re sorry for MTLers or people who like using reading mode, but our translations keep getting stolen by aggregators so we’re going to bring back the copy protection. If you need to MTL please retype the gibberish parts.

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Llr afjw delmxis rmjgofv vbkc atflg obbv.

※

“Master, book sales are now a tenth of what they were at their peak. Also, due to the weather, I’m afraid the carvers might become susceptible to frostbite in the process of making new printing blocks,” Zhaoyu reported.

“Mhmm. Once ‘Funerary Raiment’ is completed, you can shut down the bookworks till next spring.” Liang Feng sighed. In this era, the seasons had an outsize impact on every aspect of life. The bookworks wasn’t the only workshop that had to close; the paperworks and clayworks would follow suit in a month at most. Once it began to snow in earnest, every family would shut their doors to huddle through the long brutal winter.

“Also, how’s the progress on the winter clothes?” Liang Feng asked.

The tailory was also under Zhaoyu’s management. She replied evenly, “The soldiers’ sheepskin coats and stuffed quilts have been issued already. As for the refugees, they should all be able to earn winter jackets through work-relief.”

That was another thing that Zhaoyu admired the master for. The female refugees wove hemp cloth; the Jie women made felt from wool. The cloth and felt would then go to the tailory to be made into winter clothes, then distributed as necessary. That way, the refugees could earn their keep while helping the estate help them. One could tell by the words “work-relief” just how merciful the master was.

“Very good. Make sure no one freezes to death this winter.”

It’d be such a waste if all the refugees he’d worked so hard to feed all died in one winter. Too bad that cotton wasn’t cultivated in the central plains yet. If he could get some cotton seeds from Xinjiang, he’d give it a try. He also had to get the militia started on firefighting drills, since they had nothing better to do anyway.

Zhaoyu hesitated, then interrupted Liang Feng from his thoughts, “Master, would you take lunch with the young master?”

“Hm?” Liang Feng looked confusedly at her.

So it seemed it truly hadn’t crossed her master’s mind. Zhaoyu didn’t know whether to be glad or forlorn. She said lowly, “Today is the young master’s birthday. He’d be upset to be alone.”

Only then did Liang Feng remember that it was Liang Rong’s birthday. There wasn’t a custom of celebrating children’s birthdays in this era, out of superstition that it would curse them to never reach adulthood. But for Liang Rong, his birthday was also the anniversary of his mother’s death. Just based on the former “Liang Feng’s” personality, the child must’ve spent every birthday wallowing in self-reproach. In a society that held filial piety as one of its core values, there was hardly anything more morally repugnant than causing one’s mother to die. But no one had ever told him that it wasn’t his fault.

Immediately, Liang Feng said, “You can bring Rong-er here right now. Tell the kitchen to make some steamed buns with maltose filling, and to use red coloring to draw dots on the outside. Have it ready for the next meal.”

It was too late to make the chefs learn how to make noodles – northerners preferred rice than to foodstuffs made from flour. But there were steamed buns at least. Perhaps using sweets to celebrate the child’s birthday might cheer him up a bit.

Zhaoyu’s eyes teared up at the implication in his words as she bowed. Even though she supervised both the tailor and bookworks, Liang Rong was more important; he was the child she’d nursed from infancy after all. She was overjoyed at her master’s kindness.

Shortly after, Liang Rong, wrapped in so many layers that he was round as a dumpling, entered the study. But he didn’t seem as happy as before to see him; he shrank in on himself as he kneeled before his desk and said, “You must be busy, father. I daren’t disturb…”

Liang Feng walked up to him and tugged his hand, “Come, let’s take a walk.”

Liang Rong had spent these last few days in worry and anxiousness. It would soon be his mother’s death anniversary. What if his father remembered, and his affection vanished like smoke? It was all because of him that his mother was gone. Liang Rong had been avoiding Liang Feng, at least until Zhaoyu had told him his father had summoned for him out of the blue. He almost felt that he’d explode from all the dread bottled up inside him. Liang Rong psyched himself up, thinking he just had to endure. But somehow, his father hadn’t punished him – he’d lead him over to the side courtyard, just like usual.

A layer of snow had blanketed the ground, but the father and son wore enough layers that they weren’t bothered by the cold. They walked across the courtyard and climbed up the watchtower, which had become Liang Feng’s very own vantage point after the sentries had been moved to the outer wall.

He stood by the railing with the child and pointed into the distance, “Do you see that? That is the Liang Estate’s future gatetower. Everything up to that gate, and beyond, is what the Liang family must protect.”

Liang Rong stared out in open-mouthed shock, “It’s so far!”

“It doesn’t really count as far. At present, there are four hundred serfs, three hundred refugees, and two hundred Jie living in the estate, as well as two villages that have pledged their allegiance to us. These are the people we govern. We must make sure they do not want for food or warmth, that they live well, so there will be people to plant the fields and nurture the mulberry trees, so that we can continue to live this way.”

Liang Rong nodded uncomprehendingly and asked, “But aren’t they all the Liang Estate’s slaves and serfs?”

Wasn’t it thanks to his father that they were alive? He’d heard ah-Liang and Zhaoyu talk about how much money had been spent on the refugees. How were they the ones providing for his dad?

“You are not suited to neither heavy work nor handicraft. Where will your food and clothes come from if no one tends the land or the loom?” Liang Feng rebutted.

“From the court?” Liang Rong guessed after wracking his brains.

“Where does the court’s crop and coin come from?” Liang Feng asked.

This time, Liang Rong was stuck. He’d never learned anything about that before.

Liang Feng smiled, “From taxes of course. Every tribute I receive is made through other people’s toil and diligence.”

Liang Rong was surprised by his father’s choice of topic. He looked intently and curiously at the ant-like crowd bustling about the gatehouse and asked, “And that’s why you do so much for them, father?”

“Mhm. How else can you repay the fruits of their labor if not by leading them rightly? In the future, they and this estate will become your responsibility,” Liang Feng said placidly.

Shocked, Liang Rong instantly responded, “You’re still well, father! It won’t happen!”

Liang Feng reached over, hugging him by the shoulder, and said gently, “Birth, age, sickness, death, they come for everyone eventually; just like with your grandfather and grandmother. But the blood of the Liang family passes down from generation to generation. Rong-er, your mother gave her utmost to bring you into this world. So long as you exist, then your mother’s, and the Liang family’s, bloodline will live on – as will these people.”

Staring blankly at the tiny silhouettes below, Liang Rong pressed his lips, “Mother died because of me…”

“It wasn’t because of any wrongdoing on your part. It was your mother’s wish and choice to bear you and birth you. If don’t want to let her down, then live happily and grow up healthily.”

Tears rolled down his cheeks and plopped on the ground. Liang Rong clutched Liang Feng’s sleeve, “Then what about you dad? Do you blame me?”

If his wife had died giving birth to his son, would he hate the child? Liang Feng sighed, bent down, and rubbed Liang Rong’s head, “You’re the precious treasure your mother exchanged her life for. How could I hate you, and disappoint her love for you?”

Unable to hold it in any longer, Liang Rong started bawling. This time, Liang Feng didn’t say anything. He scooped the child into his arms and let him give vent to his feelings. This old splinter would prick Liang Rong for a lifetime if it wasn’t pulled out. He was the most adorable child he’d ever seen, and he was his son in name and blood. If he didn’t teach him, love him, who would?

A long while later, Liang Rong’s ebbed into stuttering sobs. Liang Feng used his sleeve to wipe away his undried tears, “I’m just a bit hungry now, would you eat lunch with me?”

With red-rimmed eyes, Liang Rong nodded vigorously.

Liang Feng chuckled and held Liang Rong’s hand as they returned. Lunch was already set out. There weren’t many vegetables in season. Since napa cabbage didn’t seem to be around yet, bok choy was the only option, and that wouldn’t be around for the whole winter either. That’s why lately the chefs had been making all sorts of bok choy dishes. Thank goodness Liang Feng had made them learn how to stir-fry, or he’d eat himself sick on all the boiled vegetables.

Liang Rong, though, wasn’t picky. After washing his face, he sat down at the table. To his surprise, Zhaoyu set another plate before him. It was full of steamed buns, white, round, and charmingly polka-dotted. Liang Rong blinked and glanced at his father.

Liang Feng smiled, “I had the chefs make some sweet buns for your birthday. Have a taste and see if you like it.”

“Dad…” Liang Rong’s eyes instantly reddened again.

“You ought to be happier when having desert, smile some,” Liang Feng said as he patted his head. “Dig in before it gets cold, but don’t eat too many or it’ll be bad for your teeth.”

Liang Rong sniffed as he held the bun up and took a big chomp, getting the syrup inside all over his face. It wasn’t mannerly at all, but Liang Feng didn’t care. He chuckled and dug in as well.

Zhaoyu furtively dabbed her eyes at their familial warmth as she quietly exited.

Outside, the light snow had already stopped. The snow had come too early, but perhaps it signaled an end to Bing Province’s two-year-long drought.

The author has something to say:

I did have a mistake before. There was cotton already in the Wei Jin era, but only in the far western or far southern regions. I don’t think it’s possible to buy, so they’ll just have to settle with furs and hemp