Chapter 4: Child Bride

A two-courtyard siheyuan, its brick-and-tile gatehouse and spirit screen hinting at former glory, yet now the house tilts, the mud walls peel, revealing the family's decline.

This was Wang Dou's home, the place where he grew up; after Wang Dou arrived, he had returned several times.

The main gate stood ajar, faint crowing of chickens drifting out. Wang Dou pushed the door open and entered. In the main courtyard, a young girl was feeding the animals — coarse cloth, long skirt, slight and thin, with several obvious patches visible on her clothes — a flock of chickens and ducks clamoring around her.

Hearing movement, the girl turned around, a small, delicate face, somewhat pale. Seeing it was Wang Dou, a joyful expression appeared on her face: "Brother is back?"

Wang Dou nodded and walked over. The girl came to take his military cap, long spear, and bow and arrows, putting them away carefully, then softly asked if he was tired.

Wang Dou answered a few times, then seeing some wheat seeds and farm tools placed beside a wooden chair nearby, asked: "Xiu Niang, have the wheat seeds all been sorted and selected?"

The girl said: "They were all done by noon today."

This girl was precisely the Wang family's child bride, Xie Xiu Niang, seventeen this year. She had been sent as a future daughter-in-law by a Xie family from Sunjiagou in the Western Hills when Wang Dou was ten. Back then, the Wang family circumstances were relatively better than theirs; that family sent their daughter over hoping she could live a better life.

Late Ming customs were extravagant; not only did officials and the wealthy indulge in extreme luxury, but even ordinary commoners competed and flaunted against each other, reflected in their children's marriages to the point where marrying off a daughter or taking a wife could ruin a family. With a child bride, the groom's side did not need to pay expensive betrothal gifts, and the bride's family did not need to provide a dowry — both sides could greatly reduce expenses. Thus child brides were extremely common in the Great Ming at that time; even wealthy families would send their daughters to be child brides, and in many places exchanging daughters was even prevalent.

Xie Xiu Niang had been in the Wang household for twelve years, but although she and Wang Dou had both reached marriageable age, unfortunately the Wang family now lacked even the money for a formal wedding, so the marriage had been delayed again and again. While a child bride's wedding required no betrothal gifts and the ceremony could be simplified, the cost of completing the marriage was still no small sum.

Wang Dou's mother was also a strong-willed person; she did not want people gossiping when her family's only son got married, so she had been working hard to save money, hoping to hold a grand and respectable wedding for her son in the future. Her plan was to complete the marriage for her son next year or the year after.

Toward Xie Xiu Niang, Wang Dou's feelings were somewhat complicated. The former Wang Dou had treated Xie Xiu Niang indifferently; though he was considered a fool and a coward outside, in front of Xie Xiu Niang he put on great airs — scolding, beating, and cursing were common.

After the current Wang Dou arrived, with his unintentional consideration and care for women from a later era, Xie Xiu Niang could feel it. She could not describe this brand-new feeling in words, but she was very happy and eagerly looked forward to Wang Dou's return. Yet she found that every time Wang Dou came back, he was much more silent. She did not know how to respond, nor had anyone taught her such things; she simply served him with utmost care.

Toward this woman, Wang Dou felt some pity and affection in his heart, but also some helplessness — no common language, no emotional foundation, and the two of them were to live together for a lifetime? Forget it, let's not talk about this; perhaps this was his fate in this world — talking about such things was too much of a luxury.

The two exchanged a few words, then had nothing more to say. Xie Xiu Niang sensed Wang Dou's silence and stood obediently to the side without speaking.

Wang Dou said gently: "Xiu Niang, if you're tired, rest a while. Where is Mother?"

A smile appeared on Xie Xiu Niang's face: "I'm not tired, I still need to tidy some farm tools. Mother is inside."

Wang Dou walked into the inner room. His mother, Lady Zhong, was weaving cloth on a crude loom — that monotonous motion, repeated countless times a day. She worked without stopping every day, sometimes until the rooster crowed at night before resting a while, exchanging the woven cloth for some money and rice. Her skill was very good, and the cloth she wove was often well received.

Lady Zhong was now under fifty years of age, but her hair had already turned completely white, and the wrinkles on her face grew ever deeper. Yet her hair was still combed meticulously, and though her clothes were worn and old, they were washed and starched very clean.

Wang Dou had heard that his mother had married over from Weizhou, and for this marriage she had even fallen out with her family back then — in the Great Ming of that time, this was a shocking and scandalous affair that caused quite a stir for a while. When Lady Zhong married over, she was called Zhong Simei; now, of course, she had been promoted to Zhong Sishen. She and Wang Dou's father, Wang Wei, had several sons and daughters, but they died one after another, leaving only Wang Dou, this sole son.

When Wang Dou was two, his father Wang Wei fell gravely ill. To treat the illness, the family's fields were nearly all mortgaged and sold off, even the plow ox was sold. After Wang Wei passed away, when Wang Dou was sixteen, his grandfather also died, and the family's livelihood grew ever more difficult, relying entirely on Lady Zhong to manage everything alone. Her character was chaste and fierce; after Wang Wei's death, someone once had designs on her and spoke frivolously — she resolutely took a kitchen knife and chased that man through several streets until he knelt on the ground and begged for mercy. This incident stirred the whole village; thereafter no one dared have designs on her again, and the government office also greatly commended her actions.

Now Lady Zhong had kept her widow's chastity for nearly twenty years; the authorities were already discussing whether to honor Lady Zhong with a chastity archway. Regarding this matter, the village head Jiang An was also very attentive — after all, this was the glory of Sangganli.

Perhaps because Lady Zhong was too focused, when Wang Dou entered the room, she still had not noticed him come in.

The light inside the room was not very good; Wang Dou could faintly make out the resolute contours of his mother's face. He called out: "Mother."

Lady Zhong turned her head, saw it was Wang Dou, and a joyful smile appeared on her face: "Dou'er is back?"

She stood up and looked Wang Dou over carefully: "You've grown thin again. Is duty at the guard post hard?"

Wang Dou smiled slightly: "It's not hard, just a bit boring."

Lady Zhong laughed: "Eating the government's rice is like that."

Toward Lady Zhong, the former Wang Dou had felt fear and dependence in his heart; the current Wang Dou felt inner respect. He accompanied his mother and spoke a few words. Lady Zhong also felt that her son seemed to have become much more sensible lately, and had taken on a steady demeanor, which made her happy. But he spoke less and less; sometimes he would just quietly watch you, and even she, as his mother, did not know what her son was thinking — perhaps it was because things were not going smoothly at Jingbian Dun.

She glanced at the sky and said: "It's getting late, time to make dinner."

She smiled and said to Wang Dou: "Mother will personally go to the kitchen and make you something good to eat."

Wang Dou smiled slightly: "Thank you, Mother."

Lady Zhong glared at Wang Dou: "This child, treating me more and more like a stranger."

Lady Zhong busied herself at the stove, a lump of white dough in her hands constantly changing shape; Xie Xiu Niang helped at the side. Wang Dou, having changed into a coarse cloth everyday robe, sat to the side watching.

Lady Zhong's skill was excellent, her movements flowing like clouds and water, a pleasure to watch. Since childhood, what Wang Dou loved most was eating the white-flour pulled noodles she rolled out. But white flour was precious — how could farming families bear to eat it casually? They mostly traded wheat for some coarse grain to eat. Those white-flour steamed buns and white-flour pulled noodles could only be eaten to one's fill during New Year and festivals.

Times were bad now; for ordinary families, being able to eat dark-flour steamed buns and baked flatbread was already good enough. Many people in Xinzhuang were now mixing bran with wild vegetables, even grass roots and tree bark, to eat.

Later ages advocated eating white flour and bran mixed together, believing this had more health-preserving and nourishing effects — that eating white-flour steamed buns every day actually lost all the nutrition. But in this era, being able to eat white flour every day was a symbol of status and position.

As Lady Zhong worked, she discussed household matters with Wang Dou — besides the farm work in the fields, there were also matters of the autumn grain tax collection. Perhaps she felt her son was now sensible enough to share her burdens, so her words were unavoidably more numerous.

The summer tax had long been paid; the autumn grain collection would soon begin again. But last month the Tatars had come to plunder, and everywhere in Bao'an had suffered greatly; many places had homes as empty as water. She hoped the government could reduce or waive the autumn grain collection, otherwise when next year came, she truly did not know what to do.

In the Ming dynasty, the land tax was collected in two seasons, summer and autumn, called the summer tax and autumn grain. It was stipulated that the summer tax was due no later than the eighth month, mainly in wheat, and the autumn grain no later than the second month of the following year, mainly in rice. After the implementation of the "Single Whip Law," both summer tax and autumn grain were largely collected in silver.

The Wang family now had only a bit over twenty mu of land left. Since it was not fertile riverside land and drought continued unceasingly, the current wheat yield was less than one shi per mu, an annual income of about twenty shi. From the Liaodong military tax of the Wanli era to the present seventh year of Chongzhen, the Great Ming had already imposed several land tax increases. The regular tax was actually not much; what was terrifying were the countless surcharges spawned locally. Moreover, local officials and gentry shifted the taxes they owed onto the heads of commoners — for small landowning farmers like the Wang family, the burden grew heavier and heavier.

Because taxes were collected in silver, they had to exchange wheat and rice for silver, enduring yet another round of exploitation by merchants. After paying taxes this way, what they received was already reduced by more than half, with costs for seed stock, farm tools, debt interest, and so on not even included. What remained was food for the family's mouths; calculated at one sheng and five ge of grain per day for a family of three, the leftover grain was only enough to last a few months. Thus by the grain production period of the following year, there were still several months of gap — this was what was called the interval when the old crop was exhausted and the new not yet ripe.

In ordinary years of good harvest, the Wang family could still be self-sufficient, or use income from weaving and sericulture to make up the difference. But encountering a famine year like this, matters became difficult. If a family had no savings, or could not find a way to get through this gap period, ordinary families, apart from selling wives and children, could only borrow at usurious interest.

But borrowing at usurious interest was even more like drinking poison to quench thirst. Like the merchant firms throughout Bao'an Prefecture, the usury within this territory was also controlled by those officials and gentry. These officials and gentry, outwardly well-read in the classics, in fact acted viciously behind the scenes. Borrowing at usurious interest once would ultimately result in further poverty and complete bankruptcy.

Just like the Li family in Xinzhuang, a famous moneylending household in Bao'an Prefecture — Wang Dou dared to be certain that if his family borrowed once from the Li family at usurious interest, within a few years, not to mention whether their remaining fields would vanish, even whether the ancestral house they now lived in could be kept would be a question.

Lady Zhong recounted these things one by one; though her tone was light, confident that the Wang family could overcome every difficulty — after all, they had come through all these years this way — the weight and hardship within Wang Dou could feel.

His heart was heavy. Survival — this was a grave problem.