12 Matters Concerning Children
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Jiang Zhu was unaware of the "clan fight" that had erupted at home. Borrowing a cart from his elder cousin’s house, he headed straight to the town’s stone mason shop. Recently, someone had ordered a stone mill, so the mason and his apprentices had crafted a few extras. One of the leftover mills had a chipped corner on its edge, but it was still usable.
Jiang Zhu seized the opportunity and exchanged three rabbits plus an additional five hundred wen for a small stone mill and a stone mortar.
His money was completely spent; he couldn’t even afford to buy a snack as an offering for Shen Qingyue.
Yet today fortune seemed to favor him. After purchasing his items, he secured a good spot and successfully sold his bamboo baskets and bamboo mats.
An elderly woman took a fancy to the bamboo basket and wanted to exchange it for beans. Normally, Jiang Zhu would have agreed, but recalling Shen Qingyue’s advice, he clenched his fist and said, “I want wheat, or rice, millet, or sorghum—anything but beans.”
He thought the deal might fall through, but to his surprise, the woman replied, “Alright, leave these two baskets with me. I’ll finish buying my vegetables and come back to fill them with grain.”
“...Fine, fine!” Jiang Zhu set aside the two baskets she chose and kept an eye on her while waiting for business, stealing glances from time to time.
After more than a quarter of an hour, the woman returned carrying a small sack of grain.
Jiang Zhu poured the grain into his measuring container, delighted, and promptly returned the baskets and cloth bag.
It turned out that asking for what you wanted wasn’t so difficult after all.
Business was surprisingly good that day.
Whether it was the attention drawn by the stone mill on the cart or the favorable location, most of the goods sold, and he even made over twenty wen in change.
Seeing the sun high in the sky, Jiang Zhu stopped selling, bought some sugar, and happily headed home.
When returning the cart, he also bartered some eggs and tofu with his elder cousin’s wife.
Upon arriving home, Jiang Zhu found Shen Qingyue was neither in the living room nor the bedroom, yet his cane was still inside.
Panic set in.
He found it hard to believe.
Confused, he stared at the cane for a moment, then searched the yard, running to the backyard where he found Shen Qingyue sitting in the shade by the wall, chewing on a blade of grass, propping his chin as if watching a performance.
Jiang Zhu was speechless.
More often than not, he couldn’t fathom what Shen Qingyue was thinking.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Jiang Zhu asked.
Shen Qingyue replied, “I wanted to see when you’d speak.”
Jiang Zhu scratched his head, and his pounding heart began to calm.
Thinking it over, he realized he had no grounds to criticize Shen Qingyue.
He himself was not one for speaking, especially not loudly. Compared to shouting names to find someone, he preferred silently searching with his eyes while walking.
Seeing Jiang Zhu uneasy, Shen Qingyue smiled, “You haven’t forgotten my name, have you?”
Embarrassed, Jiang Zhu replied, “No.”
Shen Qingyue’s name was easy to remember, so he wouldn’t forget it, but somehow saying “Shen Qingyue” felt awkward.
He had repeated the name many times in his mind, but saying it aloud felt strange.
He squatted beside Shen Qingyue, “Why are you sitting here?”
“Shen Qingyue.”
“Hm?”
“My name. Remember it?”
“I haven’t forgotten.”
“It’s okay if you forget; it’s not important.”
Jiang Zhu hurried to explain, “I really haven’t forgotten.”
“Then why don’t you call me? Is my name unpleasant?”
“No...” It was just that, apart from a few nephews and nieces, he never called anyone by their name. Usually, it was “uncle,” “aunt,” “brother-in-law,” “sister-in-law”...
Always titles, never names. Calling someone older by their name felt especially awkward, especially Shen Qingyue—his name was unlike any others Jiang Zhu was accustomed to in the village.
Swallowing nervously, Jiang Zhu tried hard, his voice rough, “Shen... Shen...”
Shen Qingyue teased, “Calling me auntie would be too much, right?”
Jiang Zhu was speechless.
His rare burst of courage was immediately deflated.
“Come on, good boy, go get uncle’s cane,” Shen Qingyue said.
Jiang Zhu pursed his lips, glanced at him, stood up, and went inside to fetch the cane.
“How did you get out?”
“Climbed through the window.”
“???!”
Shen Qingyue pointed to the damaged vegetable patch. “A few kids tried to steal your vegetables. My sense of justice flared up, so I quickly climbed out to chase them off. I wanted to replant the vegetables for you, but my leg hurts a bit, so I can’t move much. Look at those vegetables; are they wilted from the sun? Save what you can, and stir-fry what’s beyond saving.”
Jiang Zhu barely noticed the vegetables, “You climbed out?”
He hurriedly asked, “They didn’t hurt you, right?”
“Didn’t, didn’t, hurt, me, right?” Shen Qingyue repeated thoughtfully, suspiciously, “Did they hurt you?”
Jiang Zhu shook his head, “They wouldn’t dare.”
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Shen Qingyue laughed, “What do you mean, Master Jiang? They wouldn’t dare hurt you, but they would hurt me?”
At one meter eighty tall and in his twenties, did he look like someone who would be beaten?
Jiang Zhu smiled, “No, you’re injured and can’t run as fast as them. The vegetables aren’t worth much. Next time, just pretend you didn’t see it; they’ll just pick a few and leave.”
Shen Qingyue said, “That kind of thinking won’t do. If they steal your vegetables today, they’ll be breaking into your house tomorrow.”
Jiang Zhu shook his head, “They don’t go inside the house or steal money or anything, just vegetables and bamboo shoots.”
Shen Qingyue caught on, “So they come often?”
Jiang Zhu hesitated but nodded.
Shen Qingyue asked, “Don’t the adults care?”
Jiang Zhu said, “It’s kids’ business; usually, we don’t tell the adults...”
Shen Qingyue was about to say, “Is it really just kids’ business?” but seeing Jiang Zhu’s dark, secretive, and slightly fearful expression, he said with understanding, “Telling the adults is troublesome.”
Shen Qingyue immediately found this amusing.
There was a story behind this!
Jiang Zhu rarely showed such obvious emotions.
Shen Qingyue patted Jiang Zhu, stifling a laugh, and asked, “Have you ever been called to your parents?”
Jiang Zhu’s expression grew darker, embarrassed and a little ashamed.
“Did you get called after winning a fight?”
Jiang Zhu nodded.
“And then got scolded?”
Jiang Zhu shook his head.
It was worse than being scolded.
Since his father passed away, the others would find his elder sister-in-law. Because Jiang Zhu often fought, Jiang Zhu heard the fourth sister-in-law complaining about how she wished he’d cause fewer troubles, that she couldn’t handle his affairs every day. So he stopped fighting.
When people scolded him, he pretended not to hear and avoided them from afar.
Shen Qingyue laughed, his shoulders shaking, “You’re afraid even though you never got scolded?”
He had known since he was young that being a good child only brought grievances, nothing good.
Being called to parents was the fun part.
Especially when the teacher said, “Don’t call your grandpa, call your parents.”
Seeing his father not wanting to come, but having to because of his rebellious son, being scolded like a grandson, made him especially happy.
Even if he got a beating afterward.
Anyway, he was sick, and his father didn’t beat him.
Shen Qingyue said, “Hey, I beat them up; won’t their parents come looking?”
Jiang Zhu was speechless.
Seeing his face about to crack, Shen Qingyue realized he might have gone too far and comforted him, “Don’t be afraid. If their parents come, leave it to me. I’m the best at dealing with parents.”
Jiang Zhu hesitated, “If they come, maybe... I should talk to them. You hide; they swear pretty badly...”
Shen Qingyue paused, then laughed, “You want to take the scolding for me?”
Jiang Zhu said, “I’m used to it.”
Recalling the insults from those kids, Shen Qingyue’s smile faded. He had thought this was just childish quarrels but was now somewhat angry.
Seeing Shen Qingyue serious, Jiang Zhu suddenly felt scared, “What’s wrong?”
After a moment’s silence, Shen Qingyue smiled again, “Nothing. If they dare come, leave it to me; I might curse even worse.”
Jiang Zhu was puzzled.
Shen Qingyue asked, “Don’t believe me?”
Jiang Zhu quickly shook his head, a bit shocked, and asked, “Do you immortals really... learn to curse?”
Shen Qingyue answered seriously, “We immortals know many things.”
Jiang Zhu fell silent.
His faith swung wildly back and forth.
He had been anxious all morning, but there was no sign of trouble from down the mountain.
Jiang Zhu gradually relaxed, guessing the kids hadn’t gone home to complain.
Generally, kids’ fights didn’t involve parents; telling parents was shameful and would cause loss of face.
Though Shen Qingyue looked like an adult, he didn’t exactly behave like one.
Jiang Zhu thought it over and attributed today’s incident to kids fighting. If Jiang Hongliang was the ringleader, he wouldn’t have told the parents for the sake of face.
Jiang Zhu’s guess was correct.
Before the kids descended the mountain, Jiang Hongliang already warned them not to tell the adults.
He intended to reclaim his lost face himself.
The kids nodded repeatedly.
It wasn’t to save their elder brother’s face but because they were genuinely intimidated by Shen Qingyue.
In their minds, adults’ punishments were all bark and no bite; if they did hit, it was only their own kids, not others’. They had never fought with kids before; Shen Qingyue clearly wasn’t normal.
Plus his flashy lighter and cigarettes...
Whose torch dances on their hand and never goes out?
That smell wasn’t familiar wood smoke, incense, or mosquito-repelling herbs.
And he could blow smoke rings.
After thinking it through and reviewing carefully, they concluded—
Shen Qingyue was probably a monster.
According to stories, the monster on the mountain either wanted to absorb the vitality of Jiang’s illegitimate son or eat him.
The more they thought about it, the more afraid they became. They never dared to provoke the monster again, and of course, wouldn’t tell the parents.
If parents found out they had provoked a monster... it was more serious than playing with fire or swimming in the river; a beating was inevitable. So they kept quiet.
The group reached a consensus and vented their anger by snapping bamboo shoots at the foot of the mountain. Each carried several heavy shoots home.
On the mountain, Jiang Zhu replanted the salvageable cabbages back into the garden; the wilted ones were cooked.
He sowed some radish seeds in the empty spots.
The doctor had said radishes were good for Shen Qingyue’s condition.
After finishing the planting, Shen Qingyue taught Jiang Zhu how to make steamed egg custard.
When he was young, his aunt occasionally made it for him; it was one of the few dishes he knew.
However, his knowledge was only theoretical since his aunt forbade him from entering the kitchen, fearing the smoke would aggravate his illness.
Shen Qingyue, unable to enter the kitchen, helped by washing vegetables outside, directing Jiang Zhu by voice to beat eggs, add water and seasonings, and steam.
As for how much water, salt, and other seasonings, Shen Qingyue said, “You decide.”
Jiang Zhu had no choice but to decide for himself.
He couldn’t remember ever tasting this dish, though his elder sister-in-law said he had eaten it as a child when he couldn’t chew hard food.
He had no impression of its flavor.
Fortunately, Shen Qingyue remembered the steaming time was about ten minutes. While washing leaves one by one, he checked the clock now and then.
He had no idea how to tell if the vegetables were clean.
He figured washing three times with no mud was good enough; besides, there were no pesticides here.
The wash water wasn’t wasted; Shen Qingyue ladled it onto the garden.
Jiang Zhu started cooking porridge, this time without mixed grains, using only two handfuls of millet.
Waiting for the vegetables, Shen Qingyue took longer washing, so Jiang Zhu began cutting tofu.
By the time they ate, it was almost noon.
A dish of tofu, a plate of stir-fried greens, pickled vegetables, and steamed egg custard.
The custard was barely successful—too little water and slightly overcooked.
They split it evenly, grateful for anything to eat, no complaints.
Shen Qingyue’s portion was plain, drizzled only with soy sauce and sesame oil; Jiang Zhu’s had soy sauce, sesame oil, and diced pickles. Taking a bite, his eyes lit up, “So soft!”
No wonder it was for toothless children.
The small bowl finished in a few bites; both wished for more.
Shen Qingyue gave feedback, “Add more water next time.”
Jiang Zhu nodded in agreement.
Shen Qingyue started drinking the porridge and was quite satisfied. It was a bit watery but fragrant, more so than the tiny packaged millet his father bought, though it was not thoroughly hulled, with bits of husk here and there.
“Should we get a wooden pestle?” he pointed to the stone mortar Jiang Zhu had brought.
“Yeah, we’ll go chop wood this afternoon.”
“What about the mill? Didn’t you buy one?”
“Bought it, but it’s heavy. Left it at my cousin’s house. His donkey was borrowed today; I’ll borrow a wheelbarrow tomorrow and use the donkey to carry it up.”
“Then why not leave this one for the donkey to carry too?”
“This one’s not heavy.”
“Not heavy? Are you a stubborn kid or what?”
“...Even too many donkeys couldn’t carry it.”
“Hm.” Shen Qingyue thought silently, donkeys were more precious than him.
But since donkeys could climb the mountain to carry goods...
He put down his chopsticks and asked Jiang Zhu, “Hey, how much does it cost to buy a donkey?”