Father Nie looked at his daughter’s stern little face and felt a twinge of guilt. He chuckled nervously and turned to Mother Nie.
“The dough drop soup is delicious tonight. Your cooking has really improved.”
Mother Nie shot him a cool, detached glance. “My eldest daughter made it.”
Father Nie lifted his large bowl, the soup now just the right temperature. He took a loud, satisfying slurp. “Mmm, truly delicious! Qinghe’s cooking is even better than your mother’s.”
“You’re only saying that because you haven’t tasted the oil,” Mother Nie retorted. “We aren’t farming anymore. Every vegetable, every stick of firewood, and especially this oil, has to be bought with money. Look at our neighbors—they’re getting rice, poultry, and oil sent from their families back home.”
Father Nie gave her a foolish grin. “Well, our situation is special. Big Brother is the only one farming back home. Father and Mother are old, and Little Brother is still in school…” He gave her a pointed look, signaling her to show some tact. Their eldest niece was still there, and it was unseemly to discuss such matters.
Mother Nie fell silent.
Sensing the tension, their cousin kept her eyes fixed on her own bowl, silently eating her meal.
Nie Xiaoli, however, was completely absorbed in the soup Nie Qinghe had prepared. The dough drops were slippery yet chewy, and the broth was so rich and fragrant that he sweated profusely as he ate, unable to stop.
Nie Honghua, meanwhile, kept glancing from one person to another, waiting for the right moment to chime in.
Father Nie sensed his wife was in a foul mood today, and his eldest daughter seemed different too. She used to constantly talk about Qingyuan, yet she hadn’t mentioned him once tonight. His wife had always insisted that Song Qingyuan was the reason for their daughter’s illness, but he had never believed her. Could Song Qingyuan have really bullied her? he wondered. That simply won’t do!
After finishing his fragrant dough-drop soup, Nie Xiaoli smacked his lips and wiped his mouth with a handkerchief.
“Father, I want to study!” he declared, his voice full of confidence. “I memorized the teacher’s poem after hearing it only twice. I’m a natural at this! I’ll definitely earn a xiucai degree!”
Father Nie felt he couldn’t stand up to his wife or eldest daughter, but surely he could handle this boy. He immediately adopted a stern, patriarchal tone. “What’s a little runt like you doing with books? Your Fourth Uncle is the only one in this family who needs to study.”
Before he could even savor his newfound authority, Nie Qinghe shot back. “Father, that’s a terrible argument. Why is it okay for your younger brother to study, but not for my younger brother? I think Xiaoli is smart. He should be the one studying.”
Father Nie’s confidence immediately deflated. “Your grandmother said only your Fourth Uncle is smart enough for books. The rest of us aren’t bright enough.”
Nie Qinghe stared at her father, speechless. He’s been completely brainwashed by Old Madam Nie.
Old Madam Nie’s “glorious achievements” could be recounted for three days and three nights without end.
She had given birth to four sons and three daughters. After one daughter died young, she was left with four sons and two.
Her youngest son, the fourth, was her favorite. When she gave birth to him, she’d dreamed of a man in embroidered robes and a jade belt presenting her with a child. He’d told her to raise the boy well, for he would one day achieve great wealth and honor. Old Madam Nie treated this dream as a divine decree, cherishing her youngest son like a precious jewel from the moment he was born.
When he was five, she took him to her own parents’ home. There, an old scholar—a Tongsheng—insisted on holding the child. He proclaimed that the boy’s features were those of a noble, a true Star of Wisdom descended to earth, and a natural scholar.
Convinced the old scholar had a keen eye for talent and that his words confirmed her dream, Old Madam Nie paid him generously to begin her son’s education.
In truth, the fourth son was no scholar. He struggled with his first few lessons, unable to memorize a dozen characters or a single short essay no matter how many times he reviewed them. But Old Madam Nie remained steadfast. She was certain her youngest son was a prodigy who would bring her glory and elevate her to the status of a grand matron. To silence her other sons and ensure they supported their brother without complaint, she even took the boy to a fortune teller. She returned announcing that he was destined for immense wealth and would bring honor to their entire clan.
This “education” dragged on for nearly twenty years.
To fund Nie Lao Si’s education, the family sold off more than half of their hundred-acre estate.
To prevent the rest of the family fortune from being squandered, the parents devised a clever plan: they divided the household. The eldest son was given the remaining land to farm and tasked with caring for their parents and his studying younger brother. The second and third sons, meanwhile, were sent out to earn money to support them all.
At the time, Nie Erzhuang was only seventeen. His share of the family division consisted of a single thin quilt, five coarse flour cakes, two sets of patched clothes, and a few pairs of straw sandals. In all but name, he was cast out empty-handed.
Yet he complained not. With his bedding rolled up on his back, he set off for the county seat to find work.
Fortunately, his mind was sharp. While Nie Lao Si was studying, Nie Erzhuang had managed to learn some basic characters. This gave him the confidence to navigate the city, daring to speak up and ask for information. He started as a towpath laborer by the canal, then moved to the docks as a porter, and eventually began driving large carts for others.
His honest nature, combined with his willingness to work hard, caught the eye of Master Liu of Hejian Prefecture. The master took him on as an apprentice, training him for five years before eventually bestowing his daughter’s hand in marriage upon him.
Old Madam Nie contributed nothing to Nie Erzhuang’s new family. She provided no dowry, organized no wedding, and did not even help Lady Liu during her confinement or with the baby’s care.
But once Nie Erzhuang completed his apprenticeship and began earning a living as a registered artisan, she made a brazen demand: all his earnings were to be handed over to her for distribution. In return, she refused to give his young family even enough money to keep them fed.
Old Madam Nie constantly harped on the fact that her son had worked as an unpaid apprentice for the Liu family for five years. She insisted that this “debt” had to be repaid.
But back then, unpaid apprenticeships were the industry standard. Masters provided room and board, teaching their trade with the same care they’d give their own sons. Other families even paid masters to take in their children, who would then wash the master’s feet and massage his back every day—all without a cent in wages.
Nie Erzhuang’s five years with his master had been far more comfortable than his childhood with his own parents. Instead of beatings and scoldings, he received warmth and care. His master and mistress even made him clothes and eventually arranged for their daughter to marry him.
Ultimately, Lady Liu had to return to her own father. He, in turn, brought in the three village elders of Niejia Village to mediate. Only then did Old Madam Nie relent, agreeing to let the young couple keep enough money for their own food before handing over the surplus.
In those early years, Nie Erzhuang worked day and night to earn money for his fourth younger brother’s schooling. He tightened his own belt, refusing to spend a single coin on food or clothing for himself. Lady Liu, young and soft-spoken, continued to embroider even during her confinement after giving birth. The constant strain eventually ruined her eyesight.
Still, Old Madam Nie remained convinced that her son had forgotten his mother the moment he married. She was certain the young couple was hiding money from her, feasting on delicacies in the city.
To keep a close eye on her second son’s family, Old Madam Nie sent her eldest granddaughter, Nie Yunduo, to live with them when Qinghe was five or six years old. She framed it as a way for the girls to keep each other company.
Her true motives were far more calculating. By having the girl live with her second son, she saved on feeding her. Even better, the child would act as her spy, reporting back on the family’s affairs. She also hoped the girl would learn the art of embroidery from Lady Liu in the city, eventually earning money for her.
Fortunately, Nie Erzhuang was a diligent and skilled worker. His monthly wages had risen from an initial three hundred coins to two taels of silver. He had become a master craftsman in the workshop, which not only paid him a steady salary but also provided a daily meal, a cut of meat for the holidays, and a new set of clothes each year.
Yet, his earnings had reached a ceiling. No matter how exquisite a craftsman’s skill, their income remained limited unless they could establish their own workshop as a master. After all, the high price of a piece of jewelry had nothing to do with the artisan who made it. As the poem says, the one who wears the silk is not the one who raised the silkworm. The goldsmiths who crafted the finest jewelry could never afford to adorn their own wives and daughters in it.
Still, two taels a month was a respectable income for an ordinary family in Jintai City.
But Old Madam Nie grew more brazen with age. Using her youngest son’s expensive education and her own need to save for her funeral as excuses, she constantly demanded money from her second and third sons—especially from the second branch of the family.
The demands started small—a hundred coins, then five hundred, then six hundred, eventually climbing to seven hundred. Then, the year before last, Old Madam Nie suddenly asked for a staggering amount: one tael and two hundred coins a month.
Mother Nie was outraged.
How much do we even make in total? she wondered. This is too much.
But by the end of that year, Old Madam Nie struck. Upon hearing that her father-in-law was unwell, she rushed to his home to cause a scene. She accused Old Liu of owing her son five years’ back wages and claimed he was inciting their daughter to be an unfilial child by withholding money from her mother-in-law. She threatened to die right there on his doorstep.
Old Mr. Liu was nearly driven to death by the stress. Then, Old Madam Nie returned to Jintai City and lay down in the middle of the street, claiming she couldn’t survive without money for her coffin.
Her father-in-law was too old to endure such turmoil, and the children were of marriageable age. If she continued this public shaming, their future prospects would be ruined. To appease the old woman and buy some peace, Lady Liu reluctantly agreed to pay her one tael and one hundred coins a month. The family tightened their belts, scrimping on food and clothing, using every scrap of fabric until even the needles were worn down to stubs.
Nie Erzhuang was a filial son by nature. While his mother’s antics distressed him, he couldn’t bear to see his parents suffer. He couldn’t stand her tears, much less her threats of suicide. So, he gave her whatever she demanded.
Yet, despite his devotion, the old woman still didn’t believe her second son was truly filial. She remained convinced the second branch of the family was earning far more than they let on.
With her son and daughter-in-law earning money, and now her grandchildren contributing as well, they must be bringing in several silver taels a month. Otherwise, why would they always give in to her demands whenever she threw a fit?
“Father,” Nie Qinghe said, “we all know you’re filial, but we can’t just take Grandma’s word for everything, can we? Is she really more knowledgeable than a Xiucai? If she were, Fourth Uncle would have become the Zhuangyuan long ago. Heh.”
Father Nie found his daughter’s “heh” strangely infectious. He felt a similar chuckle bubble up inside him, though he still tried to defend his mother and brother.
Nie Qinghe turned to her younger brother with a smile. “Xiaoli, what have you learned from Teacher Xie these past two days? Recite it for Father and Mother.”
Let Father see what a truly clever child looks like, she thought. Certainly not a useless waste like Fourth Uncle.
He’d started his studies at five and begun the Four Books and Five Classics by eight or nine. Yet here he was in his twenties, still only a Tongsheng. What was a Tongsheng? A second-rate scholar. He’d passed the county, prefectural, and college examinations, but failed at the final hurdle. To put a pretty name on it, he was called a Tongsheng. If you couldn’t pass the Xiucai exam, you’d remain a Tongsheng until you were eighty years old, though those with some merit were addressed as “Young Friend.”
Nie Xiaoli immediately began to recite three Tang poems. His pronunciation was clear and precise, and he swayed his head from side to side as he spoke, perfectly mimicking the air of a scholar.
Father Nie was still struggling. “Don’t let them fool you. Some people say you’re gifted just to trick you into paying tuition.”
Nie Qinghe smiled, her tone teasing. “Father, do you think Fourth Uncle was fooled too? That Old Tongsheng just wants our money. Tsk, what a black heart, calling a block of elm wood a piece of rosewood.”
She could feel his resolve wavering. After all, who didn’t hope their child would become a dragon?
To free their family from Old Madam Nie’s schemes, Father had to stand strong. Otherwise, no matter how much money they earned, it would all just line Fourth Uncle’s pockets.
The first step to breaking Old Madam Nie’s brainwashing was to get Xiaoli reading. Once he saw Xiaoli’s progress, her arguments would crumble. And when Xiaoli surpassed Fourth Uncle, it would be a resounding slap in the face that Father couldn’t ignore.
Sure enough, Father Nie’s expression soured, but he didn’t scold his daughter. Instead, he just said, “Don’t talk nonsense. Your Fourth Uncle is a very good student.”
Father Nie opened his mouth to repeat the same old brainwashing lines, but Nie Honghua couldn’t take it anymore. She curled her lip and rolled her eyes.
“Oh, how wonderful is that? He’s not even a Xiucai, yet he does nothing all day while everyone else supports him. Our family’s money is just being thrown down the drain. I’m only nine, and I’m already out here doing embroidery, alright? Is Grandma’s favoritism so extreme that it’s gone completely off the rails? Big Sister, don’t you agree?”
She didn’t seek validation from Mother Nie or Nie Qinghe, but turned instead to ask her cousin, Nie Yunduo.
Does she ask if Grandma is biased? Of course she was.
But Nie Yunduo had seen Old Madam Nie’s antics too many times. A deep-seated fear kept her from ever directly criticizing her elders. Yet if she remained silent, she worried her second aunt and younger siblings would think she wasn’t on their side. She could only lower her head.
“See! Big Sister agrees with me!” Nie Honghua had never been poisoned by her grandmother’s influence. Father Nie was lenient with the children, and Mother Nie didn’t constrain them, so the Nie children all had distinct personalities and dared to speak their minds.
Nie Xiaoli’s eyes darted around. He spoke up loudly, “Dad, give me six months. If the teacher says I’m not cut out for studying, I’ll quit. If he says I am, and I still can’t pass the Xiucai exam by fourteen, I’ll go find work. It’s not right for a grown man to still be supported by his family! But don’t worry, Dad, I’ll study hard. I’ll bring honor to our ancestors!”
Nie Qinghe couldn’t help but see her little brother in a new light. She’d always thought of him as just a clever, pretty little thing, but it turned out he was a cunning old soul in a child’s body.
Yes, Nie Lao Si is the one who’s not human! she thought. The man was nearly twenty-five and still only a Tongsheng. He refused to marry and move out, yet he wouldn’t find a job to earn his own keep. Instead, he spent his days sucking his brothers dry like a parasite.
The mention of “bringing honor to the ancestors” had clearly struck a chord with Father Nie. After all, Old Madam Nie never stopped droning on about how Nie Lao Si would do just that.
Yeah, right, Nie Qinghe thought. If my brother is so much more promising than Nie Lao Si, won’t Grandma and the rest of the family finally have to look at him with new eyes?
“But… our family… isn’t well-off,” Father Nie said, his voice lacking conviction. The “lack” of funds was his own doing, of course, since he’d sent most of the money back to their ancestral home.
Their cousin hesitated. Although the family earned a lot, their expenses were high. Between social obligations, medical bills, and the rising cost of living in the city, any excuse would do to send less money back home. But she didn’t dare say it aloud. If they actually reduced the remittances, Grandma would come storming in to cause a scene, and no one could endure her tantrums.
Mother Nie remained silent. It wasn’t that she didn’t resent Old Madam Nie, but she was helpless. Her husband was completely under his mother’s thumb. When Old Madam Nie threw a tantrum, she’d go to any lengths—even threatening suicide or reporting her own son to the authorities for filial impiety—just to control him. In these times, filial impiety was a punishable crime, with penalties ranging from caning to exile or even execution.
Nie Qinghe understood her mother’s position. If her husband refused to resist, any attempt by a daughter-in-law to push back against her mother-in-law would be branded as filial impiety. Old Madam Nie would use it as a pretext to forcibly divorce her.
I have to play this carefully, Nie Qinghe decided, adopting a strategy of strategic retreat.
“Father, don’t worry,” she said. “You won’t have to pay for my younger brother’s studies, and you won’t have to send Fourth Uncle any less money. Starting tomorrow, I’ll find some work in town. I can probably earn three or five hundred coins a month.”
Seeing the guilt on Father Nie’s face, she pressed her advantage. “You care for Grandma, but she only favors Fourth Uncle. It’s fine if you want to be filial, but does that mean we’re being unfilial? Don’t we care when we see you and Mother struggling? We have our own parents and siblings. Why should we break the pot and sell the iron to support an uncle? Father, do you think this is fair? Are we just weeds to be trampled on?”
Father Nie felt a sharp, agonizing pang in his chest, as if he’d been struck.