To be fair, as the village head, Liu Youzong naturally did not want matters to escalate to reporting to the authorities.
Villagers were inexperienced—just hearing “reporting to officials” was enough to frighten them. In truth, filing a case wasn’t simple either. In a situation like Zhong Yizhu’s—no serious injury and no concrete evidence—even if it went to court, he might not necessarily win.
At first, Liu Youzong couldn’t tell whether Zhong Yizhu truly intended to push things to the brink, or if he was merely using the threat of officials to intimidate others.
Now it was clear—it was the latter.
After all, he was a young man from the prefectural city. Even fallen on hard times, his knowledge and perspective were beyond that of ordinary villagers.
Yet what impressed Liu Youzong even more was Zhong Yizhu’s composure and method of handling the situation. He couldn’t help but sigh inwardly—if this had been a young master instead of a “young husband,” he might have accomplished great things. How had he ended up in such a predicament…?
“I can choose not to report this,” Zhong Yizhu said, “but Madam Wu nearly cost me my life. She must pay a price.”
His words pulled Liu Youzong back from his thoughts.
“Of course. Our village has never seen such malicious behavior. Wu Cuijuan disrupted the village order—she must be punished.”
Wu Cuijuan never expected the knife she wielded to turn back on herself. She tried to argue, but no one was willing to listen anymore.
Liu Youzong turned to Zhong Yizhu.
“You are the wronged party. How would you like her punished?”
By now, even more villagers had gathered. Madam Li’s family began directing their anger at Wu Cuijuan, scolding loudly on her behalf. Li Siniu was still out in the fields and hadn’t returned yet, leaving Wu Cuijuan isolated. Her usual fierceness was gone—she could only cry helplessly.
Zhong Yizhu knew that while Wu Cuijuan spoke nonsense, she had been right about one thing—
To Liushan Village, he was still an outsider.
Even if he had reason on his side, he couldn’t push things too far.
Lowering his gaze, he said quietly,
“I’ll leave it to the village head to decide.”
After some thought and discussion with the elders, Liu Youzong announced:
“Wu Cuijuan deliberately caused harm. She will kneel in the ancestral hall for two days and compensate Zhong Yizhu for his damaged clothing.”
Zhong Yizhu wasn’t surprised.
Since he hadn’t suffered serious harm, the village would never impose a heavy punishment. If anything, this result likely came from the elders being wary of his threat to report to officials and wanting to appease him.
He nodded in acceptance.
After all, his goal wasn’t revenge—
it was to make an example and secure dignity and footing to continue living here.
But Wu Cuijuan wasn’t willing to accept it.
“The clothes fell by the river—I didn’t take them! Why should I pay? If they’re gone, someone else picked them up! Search my house if you don’t believe me—if you find even one piece, I’ll jump into the river and die!”
Compared to kneeling in the ancestral hall, losing money was far harder for her to accept. She cried miserably, swearing oaths, sounding more convincing than before.
Before anyone else could respond, Zhong Yizhu said:
“I won’t argue over the lost ones. But the clothes I’m wearing were ruined because of you. You can compensate for this set.”
His clothes were soaked in mud, their original color unrecognizable—clearly beyond saving. Seeing he wasn’t asking for more, the elders nodded in agreement.
Wu Cuijuan had no choice but to accept.
Zhong Yizhu’s clothes had been made in the city. Even as second-hand items, they were not cheap. He rounded down and named a price:
one tael of silver.
Wu Cuijuan immediately started shouting again, but Liu Youzong firmly silenced her.
For farming families, who lived off their own land, a year’s expenses might only amount to a few taels. Paying one tael at once was like cutting flesh from her body.
When her husband Li Siniu finally rushed back from the fields, she didn’t even dare meet his eyes—only crying endlessly.
Some villagers began to sympathize with her.
At that moment, Zhong Yizhu raised his voice:
“Since everyone is here, I have another matter to discuss with the village head—about my family’s farmland.”
The moment “farmland” was mentioned, the murmuring crowd quieted. Everyone listened closely.
The Zhong family still owned thirty mu of prime paddy fields, which had long been managed by Zhong Lao San’s in-laws—the Wu family.
Back then, the Zhong family had been poor, and Zhong Lao San had married into a neighboring village. The Wu family, also poor, had many children and married them off early to reduce burdens.
Later, the Zhong family prospered. Though it was Zhong Lao’er who built the fortune, Zhong Lao San benefited as well. The Wu family, by association, rose in status—building a large house and sending their sons to work in the city.
Over the years, they had leased out the land and simply collected rent, living comfortably.
Many villagers had envied them—resentful that such fortune had gone to outsiders.
Now, Zhong Yizhu spoke clearly:
“My family’s land has now been entrusted to me. After discussing with my mother, we’ve decided to designate ten mu as communal village land, as thanks for everyone’s care over the years.”
“What?!”
The crowd erupted in shock.
Even Liu Youzong stared in disbelief.
“You’re serious?”
Zhong Yizhu nodded.
“The land deeds are in my possession. I can sign an agreement today. The village may assign people to farm it, and the harvest will be used for public needs. I won’t interfere.”
The crowd buzzed with excitement.
Communal land meant funds for irrigation, repairs, and shared needs—this was undeniably a great benefit.
Some were grateful. Others felt indifferent. A few, narrow-minded and envious, secretly thought him foolish while burning with jealousy.
Zhou Shaofen quietly advised him to reconsider—but Zhong Yizhu knew exactly what he was doing.
No one in the village knew:
Those thirty mu had long been meant as repayment by his father for the village’s kindness during their hardship. Over the years, his father had also sent money back—
But none of it ever reached the village.
Zhong Lao San had taken it all.
Without proof, Zhong Yizhu couldn’t expose this. And speaking of gifts never received held no meaning.
What he could control—was the land.
Now, with his mother isolated and powerless, reclaiming the land alone would be nearly impossible. But with the village’s support—
Things would be different.
Giving ten mu was both strategy and survival.
With the land donation, Wu Cuijuan was quickly forced to pay the one tael compensation.
Zhong Yizhu returned home, washed, changed, and immediately went to sign the agreement.
His mother, Sun Yunniang, worried for him—but he knew this wasn’t over yet.
And indeed—
Before noon, the Wu family arrived in force.
They had expected to intimidate a widow and her son.
Instead, they faced the entire village.
With the deed in hand and the villagers backing him, Zhong Yizhu held firm. In the end, it was agreed that the Wu family would harvest the current crop—then return the land.
They left bitterly, threatening to complain to Zhong Lao San.
Zhong Yizhu, exhausted, reassured Liu Youzong:
“The deed was given by my grandmother. They won’t get it back.”
Liu Youzong finally relaxed.
“Then on behalf of the village, thank you.”
Voices of thanks rose all around.
Zhong Yizhu felt he didn’t deserve them.
This had been his father’s intention all along—yet he could not speak of it.
Looking at the unfamiliar faces, he said:
“You’ve all helped me. Please don’t call me ‘Young Master Zhong’ anymore. I’m just a villager now—call me as you would anyone else.”
After some hesitation, Zhou Shaofen smiled:
“Alright—then we’ll call you Zhu-ge’er. Don’t worry, your land is safe here.”
Others chimed in, offering support.
By the time everything ended, the sun was already setting.
On his way home, Zhong Yizhu was exhausted, lost in thought—until someone tapped his arm.
Startled, he turned—it was Qiao Zhen, Zhao Auntie’s daughter-in-law.
She handed him a wooden basin.
Inside were the clothes he had lost.
“I found them this morning… I recognized they were yours.”
Zhong Yizhu accepted it, softly thanking her.
She hurried away, flustered.
As he walked home under the sunset, warmth replaced the memory of the cold river.
For the first time, the feeling of having survived truly sank in.
And he found himself thinking of the man who had saved him—
A stranger whose name he didn’t even know.
“Mother, it’s me.”
The door opened quickly. Seeing him safe, Sun Yunniang finally relaxed.
She pulled him inside, fussing warmly:
“You came back just in time—the steamed egg custard is ready. And I’ll make ginger soup—you need to warm up after falling in the water…”
The courtyard gate closed.
Their voices faded into the evening.
Above them, the last light of sunset disappeared beyond the horizon.