More than half a month had passed since Ergouzi was driven out by his uncle’s family.
In the eyes of the villagers, Ergouzi had long since perished in some snowdrift.
When Ergouzi knocked on Old Moneybags Huang’s gate, Old Moneybags Huang nearly thought a ghost had come knocking.
Only after confirming he was flesh and blood did he let him in.
“Your uncle said you kept insisting on splitting off to live on your own, and ran away in a fit of anger.”
Running off alone in the depth of winter with neither food nor drink meant nine chances out of ten he would freeze or starve, though nobody said it aloud.
“You came to visit, so you came—why bother bringing pork all this way!”
Old Moneybags Huang spoke in a dismissive tone, yet his hands eagerly reached out to take the string of fatty meat from Ergouzi.
“It’s freezing outside. Come inside and sit down!”
Ergouzi nervously tugged at his jacket and trousers by the doorway, trying his best to shield the torn holes at the back before stepping into Old Moneybags Huang’s courtyard.
Old Moneybags Huang’s residence boasted three rammed-earth houses with grey tiles, arranged in a half-circle around a spacious central courtyard.
It was vastly more prosperous than his uncle’s homestead.
“Master Huang, I would like to rent a few mu of land from you.”
Once inside, Ergouzi hesitated for a moment. Failing to come up with any polished pleasantries, he simply cut straight to the point.
“Oh! How old are you this year?”
Seeing Ergouzi arrive with a slab of pork, Old Moneybags Huang had already guessed his purpose. Those who sought him out after the New Year invariably wanted either to rent land or to borrow grain.
Yet the boy standing before him was still unformed, barely reaching an adult’s shoulder height.
If the lad proved unable to farm properly, collecting rent later would be out of the question.
“I am fourteen this year!”
Ergouzi squared his slender shoulders, striving to project an air of capability.
“Master Huang, rest assured! I have worked the fields every single day these past years, and I know farming inside and out!”
“You have come at an awkward time. The plots everyone returned last year were all rented out just these past few days!”
At these words, Ergouzi’s heart plummeted. Without land, even with a miraculous treasure gourd, he had nowhere to deploy it.
Although barren mountains and empty hills seemed plentiful, every inch of land had an owner.
If he failed to secure a plot, he would not even have a foothold to stand upon.
“Not a scrap left? Even a single mu would do!”
As he spoke, Ergouzi’s eyes drifted to the fatty meat still held in Old Moneybags Huang’s hands.
If he failed to secure land, parting with that chunk of meat would be a bitter loss. He wondered if he could invent an excuse to ask for it back.
Old Moneybags Huang glanced down at the meat in his grasp. Returning it was entirely out of the question, yet accepting gifts from people made one feel beholden.
After a brief pause, he slapped his forehead as if struck by a sudden realization.
“Look at my wretched memory. I just remembered—there is indeed one patch left.
“However, that land is quite poor. It is newly cleared raw ground, and rather remote as well. Do you want it?”
Joy surged through Ergouzi. Armed with the Yellow-Skinned Gourd, he could coax crops from icy mountaintops; soil fertility was of no concern to him whatsoever.
As for the remote location, it suited his purposes perfectly, ensuring no one would stumble upon the secret of his gourd.
“Snake Mouth Mountain! Old Stubborn Donkey died there a few days ago!”
Old Moneybags Huang said with a meaningful look.
Everyone around Snake Creek Village knew of Snake Mouth Mountain.
At the very source of Snake Creek stood a mountain, and at its base lay a rocky hollow shaped like an open serpent’s jaw.
A spring gushed forth from that stone maw, feeding Snake Creek and nourishing the vast expanse of farmland surrounding Snake Creek Village.
Yet a local legend claimed that Snake Mouth Mountain harbored an awakened snake demon, and anyone who laid eyes upon it was doomed to die.
Fearing the monster, the villagers routinely avoided that direction unless duty compelled them.
Moreover, Snake Mouth Mountain lay upstream along the course of Snake Creek. Water was scarce there, and the slopes were choked with stones rather than soil, rendering them utterly uncultivable. It had remained a barren wilderness.
Yet last year, a contrarian in the village known as Old Stubborn Donkey had refused to heed warnings, insisting on hacking away at the wilderness on Snake Mouth Mountain.
The affair had set the entire village talking.
Setting aside whether any snake demon truly existed, reclaiming wasteland was never a light task, let alone in a desolate place like Snake Mouth Mountain.
Sure enough, after toasting his strength against the mountain for barely a year, the stubborn old man had worked himself to death.
“Old Stubborn Donkey cleared a single mu of wasteland and never even managed to sow seeds. If you take it now, the rent for the first three years will be five dou of grain annually.
“Should you manage to clear fresh wasteland on Snake Mouth Mountain beyond that, the first three years shall be rent-free!”
Observing Ergouzi’s scrawny frame—no larger than a fledgling chick—Old Moneybags Huang threw out the offer mostly as idle talk, harbouring zero expectation that the boy could actually break new ground.
With the terms settled, the two parties immediately drew up a written agreement.
Ergouzi rented one mu of wasteland on Snake Mouth Mountain. For the first three years, he was to deliver five dou of rice each autumn; after three years, the rate would return to the standard one dan.
Should he manage to expand the fields through new reclamation, the initial three years would carry no rent…
Black ink filled the white paper. Ergouzi could recognize a little over half the characters, and the rest he could roughly guess.
Fortunately, before his parents passed away, they had sent him to private school for a year, teaching him a handful of characters and laying a modest foundation.
After his parents died, Dagou had drilled him relentlessly in recognizing characters every single day.
Following Dagou’s death, he had been forced to steal glimpses over his cousin’s shoulder while the other boy studied.
Checking the script against what they had verbally agreed upon, Ergouzi picked up the brush and traced out three clumsy, crooked characters: Zhang Ergou.
He possessed both a surname and a given name. Zhang was his surname, and Ergou was his given name—with the gou derived from the notion of barely clinging to survival and enduring humiliation!
Once the document was signed, each party tucked away a copy as proof should any dispute arise down the road.
“It grows late. You might as well stay and share the evening meal before setting off!”
Folding the lease and tucking it into his tunic, Old Moneybags Huang offered the invitation with a genial smile.
Ergouzi had eaten nothing since dawn and was hollow with hunger.
Hearing the landlord’s sincere prompt, he hastily bowed his thanks.
“Many thanks, Master Huang!”
Old Moneybags Huang promptly instructed his concubine to take the strip of fatty pork to the kitchen for frying.
Before long, the woman emerged carrying a steaming dish.
Set upon the table, the food released a rich aroma of meat that drifted outward into the room.
Ergouzi fought desperately to keep from swallowing, yet saliva pooled in his mouth with the force of a spring, filling his cheeks until he could no longer contain it.
He was forced to drop his head and quietly gulp down the saliva in several small increments, taking care to make no sound.
Old Moneybags Huang was watching him with an amused, smiling gaze.
Ergouzi’s face flushed crimson. How unseemly—how utterly lacking in restraint!
“Ergouzi, pull up a stool and eat. Your bowl of rice is already drawn.”
At that moment, Old Moneybags Huang and his grown sons seated themselves around the table, each before a mound of white rice.
In the center rested a single plate of pork stir-fried with dried radish.
Ergouzi lifted his bowl and instinctively prepared to retreat to a corner.
During his eight years under his uncle’s roof, ever since Dagou’s death, he had never once been permitted to sit at the same table.
He felt entirely unworthy of sharing a table with Master Huang, fearing it would breach proper etiquette.
“Sit! Just sit right here and eat without worry. When has a guest ever been sent away from the table?”
Unable to refuse, Ergouzi ended up sharing a long bench with Old Moneybags Huang’s eldest son, Huang Fugui.
He lifted his bowl and shoveled a generous mouthful of rice into his mouth.
Such luxury was surely the hallmark of Snake Creek Village’s wealthiest household—eating pure white rice at every single meal.
“Eat some vegetables, Ergouzi! Don’t just stuff yourself with plain rice!”
“Eat your fill today. We have plenty of white rice to spare!”
Ergouzi reached out with his chopsticks to claim a piece of fatty pork and two slivers of radish.
The dried radish had absorbed the rich pork lard, turning wonderfully crunchy, sweet, and savory.
The pork fat melted softly on his tongue, coating his mouth in rich fragrance. Pork was truly heavenly; it made a man want to swallow his own tongue along with it.
By the end of the meal, he had consumed three large bowls of rice alongside five pieces of fatty meat.
When everyone pushed their bowls away, over half the plate of pork and radish still remained.
In truth, Ergouzi felt as though he could easily have polished off ten big bowls.
“Thank you, Master Huang. I must be going!”
Stepping out of the Huang residence, dusk was already settling over the village.
A few scattered figures were making their way homeward through the lanes.
Just as he rounded the corner of a mud wall, he nearly collided squarely with someone coming from the opposite direction.
“You… you…”
It was none other than his uncle’s second son. Staring at Ergouzi in the gathering gloom, the youth stood paralyzed with shock and suspicion, unable to string a coherent sentence together.
“What is it? Surprised to see I’m not a ghost?”
Ergouzi glared at the cousin who had so often lorded over him under the protection of the elders.
That very cousin had stomped on his face with boot leather quite gleefully not long ago.
Casting a quick glance around to confirm no one else was near, Ergouzi lunged forward and grabbed the youth by the collar.
Crack, slap, crack—
A crisp blow to the cheek, followed instantly by a backhand across the other. Left and right alternated in rapid succession until he had delivered a dozen resounding smacks, leaving the cousin’s face visibly swollen.
“Consider that a little interest on what you owe me!”
With a final shove, he sent the howling youth tumbling into the dirt and bolted down the path.