Chapter 19

Wang Yang slept through the night, sunlight falling on his face, birdsong and the sound of chopping wood filling his ears—yet for a moment, he felt an illusion of peace, nearly forgetting he was burdened with debt and a false identity, a time bomb waiting to explode.

The moment he opened his eyes, he smelled food. Since his transmigration, he had never eaten a proper meal; now his stomach growled fiercely. He stepped outside to find the wooden table already set with a meal.

“Young Master Wang, you’re awake? Wash your face!”

The black-haired man set down his axe and brought Wang Yang a basin of water and a towel. Knowing Wang Yang disliked using his fingers to brush his teeth, he prepared saltwater for rinsing, just as Wang Yang had done last time.

Once the debt is paid, I’ll have to think about a toothbrush, Wang Yang thought silently.

“Where’s Xiao Awu?” Wang Yang asked after washing up.

“She went to collect snails.”

“Then wait for her to come back before we eat.”

“Young Master, you eat first—my daughter and I already ate. We didn’t dare wake you while you were sleeping.”

Sweat.

So he’d overslept.

“The food’s probably cold. Let me reheat it for you.”

“No need. I’ve been starving.”

This was his third meal since transmigration—and the most lavish: a bowl of pure millet rice, a boiled egg, a dish of pickled vegetables, and a jar of fermented fish—the very “guan zha” the black-haired man had mentioned yesterday.

His first two meals had been porridge; now, finally, real rice!

The fermented fish was delicious, with not a trace of fishiness.

Wang Yang scooped half the jar of fermented fish onto his rice and ate it with the pickled vegetables.

After eating half the bowl, he began peeling the egg, planning to mash it into the rice—but then he remembered Awu and the black-haired man, so he set the egg and the remaining half-jar of fish aside, finishing every last grain of the rest.

“Awu! What happened?!” The black-haired man dropped his axe and rushed over.

“Nothing. I got into a fight—I beat up that little master.”

“The Li Si’s little master?!” The black-haired man turned pale.

“Yes, and his lackey too—I took on both of them! They dared flip my snail bucket, so I turned them into snotty worms!” Awu raised her tiny fist, radiating the aura of “Whoever touches my snails, no matter how far, shall perish.”

The black-haired man groaned. “Little ancestor, you’ve caused trouble again!”

Wang Yang stepped outside, hearing the father-daughter exchange, and saw Xiao Awu covered in mud, clutching the small wooden bucket he’d made for her, grinning triumphantly: “Young Master, look! Snails! I’ll cook you snail porridge tonight!”

Wang Yang froze—not because of her words, nor the mud on her, nor even the snail porridge, but because he noticed: Xiao Awu’s long hair was gone. It had been cut into a short, even bob.

Wang Yang stared. “Your hair...”

Awu scratched her head, embarrassed. “Not ugly, right?”

The black-haired man brought water and a cloth, gently wiping his daughter’s face. “Awu sold her hair. She promised last night she’d make you a good meal.”

“Tomorrow morning, I’ll make you something delicious!” Wang Yang suddenly recalled Awu’s words from last night—he’d laughed it off, never imagining “a good meal” would cost this little girl so dearly.

“Young Master, was today’s meal good?” Awu asked, nervous and hopeful.

Wang Yang wanted to say yes, but his throat tightened—he simply nodded.

Xiao Awu beamed, chattering about how tonight he’d taste her snail porridge.

Wang Yang was distracted, his mind filled with the image of Awu’s long hair fluttering the first time he’d seen her—unshakable.

Then a shout shattered his thoughts.

“Heizi! Look! Look what your daughter did to my grandson! Tell me—can you control her or can’t you?!”

Zhang Lisi stormed over, followed by a little boy with a blackened eye and mud all over his body.

Awu glared—and the boy instantly hid behind Zhang Lisi.

“Master Li, calm down—I’ve already punished her severely!” The black-haired man gave Awu a sharp look and growled: “Apologize to the little master right now!”

Awu shrugged, then smiled sweetly. “Little Master, come here—I’m here to apologize.”

The boy trembled, too terrified to show himself from behind his grandfather—he knew this girl was insane!

“Look at you! With your grandfather here, what are you afraid of?!” Zhang Lisi glared at Awu and yanked the boy out from behind him.

Awu stepped forward. The boy flinched like a bird startled by a bowstring, instinctively trying to flee—Wang Yang smiled inwardly: He’s terrified of Xiao Awu.

Awu bowed. “Little Master, I’m sorry. Even though you laughed at my hair, called me motherless, flipped my snail bucket, and beat me with Dafei together, I shouldn’t have fought back—I should’ve just let you beat me. I’m sorry. I was wrong.”

The truth was, Awu had struck first—not only that, she’d matched every insult in the verbal exchange. The little master, unable to win the argument, had flipped her bucket. But now, Awu’s version turned the story upside down. Still, the boy had provoked her first—that much was undeniable.

Zhang Lisi didn’t bother asking his grandson what really happened—he only knew Awu had hit him. Hearing her words, he froze. The black-haired man was stunned too, thinking his daughter had suffered terrible injustice.

“You’re lying! You hit first!” The boy finally found his footing.

“So you and Dafei didn’t hit me at all? Dare you swear to Master Li’s face?”

Brilliant, Xiao Awu!

Wang Yang guessed her intent and watched eagerly as she outmaneuvered her opponent.

You struck first, we retaliated—that’s mutual fighting! The boy hadn’t planned to deny hitting back, but Awu’s bold accusation left him stammering—and he completely forgot to mention how she’d called him “not born of real parents.”

Zhang Lisi wasn’t a child. He’d heard Awu say “I shouldn’t have fought back,” and now she was questioning whether the boy had struck her—he saw through her words. His face darkened.

“From childhood to old age, I’ve seen it all—so young and already so vicious and spoiled. Grow up, and she’ll be a shrew or a harpy! No wonder she’s a ‘double-five’—whoever gets near her is cursed!” He turned to his grandson. “Stay away from her from now on!”

Awu whispered, “From childhood to old age? Then Master Li, you must’ve been just like the little master when you were young.”

Zhang Lisi exploded. “You think I can’t punish you?!”

The black-haired man rushed forward, pressing Awu’s head down. “Apologize to Master Li right now!”

Xiao Awu tilted her neck stubbornly, face set in defiance.

Wang Yang stepped forward. “Apologize for what? Kids fight, no one’s hurt—why apologize?”

The black-haired man immediately released her at Wang Yang’s words.

Zhang Lisi pulled his grandson close. “Look! His eye’s blackened! How dare you say he wasn’t hurt?!”

Wang Yang glanced at the boy’s blackened right eye, his expression sour. He pulled Awu aside and scolded: “You’re ridiculous—why didn’t you hit both sides evenly?”

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Note: Selling hair was common in ancient times. The author cites historical records of Tao Kan’s mother, who sold her hair to host guests. The hair was typically made into wigs. Yes, China’s wig culture predates Europe’s by far. Wigs weren’t just for beauty—they were sometimes required for ritual propriety. The topic of wigs will not appear in the “Jingzhou Volume,” but will surface in the “Jinling Volume.”