Rebirth: Not Being a Waste - Chapter 17

After a quick breakfast, Zhang Shu goes to the yard to wash his face before heading out.

Grandma Zhang watches his back and whispers to her husband, “Do you think our Ah Shu has grown a little taller?”

“It seems so. But maybe he’s just standing up straighter. This child always used to hunch over, as if he was afraid of being noticed.” Grandpa Zhang nods in thought.

“This child lost his parents when he was young, and he always seemed a little downcast. Now, it looks like he’s finally come to his senses.” Grandma Zhang sighs, a nostalgic look in her eyes. Her eldest son has truly been filial.

Zhang Shu has no idea what the two elders are saying about him. When he arrives at the village head’s house, there aren’t many people there yet. He finds a stone bench to sit on and glances around.

Before long, someone stops in front of him.

“Hey, what are you thinking about?”

“Brother Laiwang?” Zhang Shu’s face lights up. Now he won’t have to face the village chief alone. He isn’t very good at making conversation.

Laiwang grins. “Yeah. You didn’t know? I told the village chief that you were good at bookkeeping.” Having worked with Zhang Shu for over ten days, Laiwang knows how quick he is at calculations and how sharp his memory is.

This kid is different. Laiwang has led plenty of people to work before, but none have ever shown him as much as half a chicken leg in gratitude. Some wouldn’t even spare half a bowl of water when he passed by their houses. Naturally, he never takes those people with him again.

He isn’t a bodhisattva or a saint. He doesn’t have the kindness to help others without reason. His family has almost gone hungry before—why would he take people out to work if not in hopes of earning goodwill? Maybe so that someone would lend him a hand if he ever found himself in trouble.

(Translator’s Notes: A Bodhisattva (菩萨, Púsà in Chinese, Bodhisattva in Sanskrit) is a key figure in Buddhism, especially in Mahayana Buddhism. The term means “enlightenment being” and refers to someone who has attained great wisdom but chooses to delay full Buddhahood in order to help all sentient beings achieve liberation from suffering.)

But that time, when he brought home half a chicken, his parents, his wife, and his son all ate happily, while he feels a little bitter inside. The only time he’s gotten to eat chicken outside of the New Year is when Zhang Shu gave it to him.

So when the village chief is looking for someone to settle the accounts, Laiwang doesn’t hesitate to mention Zhang Shu.

“I was wondering how the village chief knew I could do the bookkeeping. Thanks, Brother Laiwang. I’ll catch some fish from the river and treat you to a meal one of these days.” Zhang Shu, now more familiar with him, speaks more freely. It isn’t that he doesn’t know how to joke around—sometimes, he stops himself before the words leave his mouth. But now, he forces himself to speak up, even though it feels awkward.

“Haha, then I’ll be waiting for that meal!” Laiwang laughs heartily. Others who have arrived later gather around, eager to join in the conversation. For a moment, Zhang Shu finds himself at the center of attention.

Looking around, he realizes that most of the people here are those he has worked with before. That puts him at ease, and he begins chatting with them more boldly.

Just then, a deep, authoritative voice comes from behind.

“Are you all here? Why are you all gathered around?”

The village chief has arrived, and the crowd immediately disperses.

“This time, it’s the same as before,” the village chief announces. “You’ll be responsible for hauling the grain to the station—two people per cart. Load up first, then head out and wait for us there. Zhang Shu and I will go door-to-door to weigh the grain. Oh, and I’ve already spoken to Old Man Li near the grain station. You can rest at his place later—there’ll be plenty of big vegetable buns!”

The villagers cheer at this. They all praise the village chief’s generosity. After eating too many plain yellow or black corn buns, vegetable buns are a rare treat!

People are always happy about free things. It isn’t that they’re so stingy over a few copper coins, but what can they do? They’re poor!

Zhang Shu follows the village chief to the first household. A little boy is already waiting outside. When he sees them coming, he shouts, “Grandpa, the village chief is here!”

An old man quickly comes out, struggling to carry a large, heavy sack of grain. He can only take a few steps before having to pause and rest, his face strained.

Zhang Shu steps forward and effortlessly lifts the sack, placing it at the door.

A flicker of approval crosses the village chief’s face before he quickly masks it. Behind them, two men retrieve a large scale, a shoulder pole, and a rope.

With practiced ease, they tie the rope around the sack’s opening, hook it onto the scale, and thread the shoulder pole through. Two men lift it up while the village chief reads the weight aloud.

“Zhang Shu, write it down—seven dou and one liter of rice.”

Zhang Shu takes the account book the village chief has given him and carefully writes with a sharpened charcoal stick: Li Genmin—Seven dou, one sheng of rice.

(Translator’s Notes: Dou (斗) and Sheng (升) are traditional Chinese units of measurement primarily used for measuring volume, particularly for grains and liquids.)

“Old Li, are you sure that’s all you’re selling this year?” the village chief asks with a smile.

“Yes, yes, it’s enough,” the old man beams. “My son worked hard this year and earned some money, so we can cover the taxes. We don’t need to sell too much grain.”

The less grain a family sells, the better their life is. It means they have enough to eat.

Hearing this, the village chief feels relieved. Since taking on this position, he has always carried a sense of responsibility in his heart. More than anything, he wants the villagers under his care to live well.

The men load the sack onto the cart, and the group moves on to the next house.

Some families sell less, some don’t need to sell at all, while others have to part with nearly half their grain.

Each time that happens, the village chief’s expression turns solemn.

When they pass Zhang Shu’s house, the village chief asks out of courtesy, but everyone knows that Zhang Shu’s family is among the best off in the village.

As they near Li Mujin’s house, Zhang Shu’s heart pounds. Ever since he gave him the hairpin, they haven’t seen each other! He feels restless, even though it has only been a day since they last met.

Li Mujin’s family are hunters. They don’t have surplus grain to sell—their small plot barely provides enough for themselves, and most of the time, they have to buy extra food.

The village chief simply calls out across the yard, receives confirmation that they aren’t selling grain, and moves on. He can’t afford to waste time—there are still more than a dozen families left to visit.

By the time they finish collecting the grain, it’s almost noon. The village chief thinks about the carts that have already left earlier and decides not to send anyone back to the village. Instead, he leads everyone to catch up with them.

The grain station is located in the nearby town, about an hour’s cart ride away. Several large villages in the area come here to sell their harvests. While it isn’t as bustling as the county town, it’s still fairly lively.