Chapter 3: The Chubby Boy Chen Sheng

These words completely baffled Zhao Jin. He didn't ask rashly, just followed Zhao Zhenxing home. Zhao Zhenxing's knuckles were thick and broad, and the calluses on his hands were very thick and hard.

Every military household's land was limited. With several children per generation, passed down over generations, there was simply never enough land to divide. So in the guard military households, aside from the eldest son who could inherit the military household status, the younger sons often had to find their own way in life. But a hereditary centurion family like the Zhaos could think of ways around it, like filling a military household vacancy or something. However, according to the impressions in Zhao Jin's mind, this uncle of his had trained in fine martial skills since childhood and was unwilling to live a peaceful life in the guard station. He went out to seek his fortune at sixteen and returned to Xuzhou nine years ago. No one knew what Zhao Zhenxing had encountered out there; they only knew that when he came back, he was penniless and already had old injuries.

External injuries are easy to treat, but internal injuries are hard to nurse. Zhao Zhenxing's injuries made it impossible for him to have descendants, and his body was weak, requiring regular medicine. The man was practically a wreck. It was largely thanks to Zhao Zhentang working as an executioner, a trade that left him with money to spare, that he could often help out this younger brother of his. Otherwise, life would have been very miserable.

These were things Zhao Zhentang and He Cuihua often grumbled about. He Cuihua was always complaining that her brother-in-law spent too much of their family's money, and the couple would quarrel over this at the drop of a hat. The old Zhao Jin didn't understand, but the current Zhao Jin knew his mother had a sharp tongue but a soft heart. She said harsh things, but never shorted her brother-in-law a single coin, and called him to eat together every day.

"Is your father home today?" Zhao Zhenxing asked as they walked.

"He was called out early this morning. They said he'd be back for lunch," Zhao Jin answered. People said executioners carried bad luck, yet there were truly many occasions inside and outside the city that called for Zhao Zhentang's presence. Apart from when he was carrying out executions, he rarely had the leisure to stay home.

Just after they passed an intersection, two children came running toward them. One was around ten years old, half a head taller than Zhao Jin, fair-skinned and chubby, holding a wooden stick. Behind him followed a very stocky boy, about six or seven. The two looked alike — probably brothers.

The two children were running so hard they were panting. When they saw Zhao Jin, the chubby one paused, and catching his breath, greeted him: "Zhao Jin, you're better?"

Zhao Jin nodded. The chubby boy raised the wooden stick in his hand and said with a grin, "I'll come find you to play this afternoon."

Before Zhao Jin could agree, the chubby boy turned to his younger brother and said, "Erhong, let's run faster. If we're late getting back for lunch, Mom will scold us again!"

The one called Erhong nodded vigorously, and the two brothers hurried off at a quick run.

After watching the two brothers' retreating figures for a few moments, his uncle Zhao Zhenxing said with a smile, "Xiao Jin, our branch of the Zhao family has only you as its sole heir. When you grow up, you'll have no one to support you. You should make more friends."

Zhao Jin responded with an absent-minded "Mm." Only then did he recall the names of those two children — the Chen brothers from the next street. The chubby one was called Chen Sheng, and his younger brother was Chen Hong.

This Chen Sheng and Zhao Jin had actually often played together before, but looking back on it, they couldn't really be called friends. In fact, Zhao Jin was often bullied by Chen Sheng.

……

After lunch, Zhao Jin walked out of the house scratching his head, his face full of distress as he recalled the conversation at the meal.

When he and his uncle Zhao Zhenxing got home, his father Zhao Zhentang had already returned. He had also bought a jug of wine and sliced some cooked meat — it seemed the morning's earnings had been good.

Everyone sat down to eat. A humble household didn't stand on so much ceremony, and He Cuihua also took her seat at the table. Somehow, the conversation turned to Zhao Jin's future.

His father Zhao Zhentang had downed a couple of cups of wine and was a bit talkative: "Once Xiao Jin's recovered, he still needs to come with me on a few execution runs and learn the craft of beheading. Then he won't have to worry about food and expenses for the rest of his life."

The moment this came up, He Cuihua was immediately unwilling. Right there at the dinner table, she roared without any regard for face: "Is Xiao Jin your son or not? Last time he was nearly scared out of his wits, and you still want to torment him!"

Before Zhao Zhentang could speak, He Cuihua declared: "Military households have no future, and beheading is too cursed with bad luck. Xiao Jin should study, earn an official degree to bring glory to the ancestors — who knows, he might even become a grand chancellor!"

Hearing this, Zhao Zhentang set his wine cup down on the table, pointed at Zhao Jin, and said: "Your family are butchers, my family are military households — there's not a drop of ink on any paper in this house. Do you think this boy is cut out for studying? Two years in private school, can he even recite the Thousand Character Classic? You woman, daydreaming all day long — official degrees, official degrees! If you want scholarly glory, you've got to see if we even have that kind of fortune!"

Zhao Jin just kept his head down and ate. This wasn't a situation where he could get a word in. The old Zhao Jin, being the only son, had been doted on by the family since childhood and had grown into a timid, cowardly nature. And since there was no scholarly atmosphere at home, his studies at the private school were a complete mess. Otherwise, Zhao Zhentang wouldn't be thinking of having him inherit the executioner's trade.

Just as a quarrel was about to erupt, his uncle Zhao Zhenxing, who had been listening with a smile the whole time, spoke up. His voice was very soft and he spoke very slowly: "Elder Brother, Sister-in-law, in times like these, having a strong body and learning martial skills is what truly matters. But for this period, Xiao Jin has just recovered. Let him go out and move around more, have a few good days of fun!"

"Learn martial skills — you certainly learned a fine set of martial skills, and just look at you..." Zhao Zhentang's words were cut off halfway by a vicious glare from He Cuihua.

The smile remained on Zhao Zhenxing's face. He reached out and patted Zhao Jin on the head, saying with a smile, "Xiao Jin, go out and move around more, make a few good friends. It will benefit your future, understand?"

The reason Zhao Jin was distressed wasn't his parents' argument. In fact, this kind of quarreling felt very warm and intimate to Zhao Jin. Having people who cared about your future, who worried about your future — the old Zhao Jin had never experienced that.

What distressed Zhao Jin was what he himself should do with his future. A ten-year-old child wouldn't worry about this, but Zhao Jin was different. He had a clear awareness.

He had been given a chance to start over, and of course he had to treasure this opportunity. In that other life, he had begun his hard, bitter struggle from a starting point far lower than others, all to prove himself, to achieve success and glory — but it had all ended halfway, everything cut short.

Back then, he had studied history very sloppily. Zhao Jin knew about the Ming Dynasty, had a vague impression of hearing about Wanli, but what exactly happened before and after this period of history, and what happened in this era's Xuzhou city — he was completely clueless about it all.

What should he do in this life? Zhao Jin didn't know yet, but he didn't want to live an ordinary life like his last one. Since he had come to this era, he absolutely had to prove that he had been here, to leave his name in the long river of history!

At this thought, a look of determination surfaced on Zhao Jin's face, and his small fists clenched tight. Just then, he heard someone shouting from behind: "Zhao Jin, you came out!"

He turned his head — it was exactly the chubby boy Chen Sheng he had seen that morning. Chen Sheng's younger brother Chen Hong was behind him. The two little brothers quickly walked over, and Chen Sheng asked with a face full of curiosity: "Zhao Jin, my grandpa said you were scared to death. How did you come back to life?"

"I didn't die, I just fainted from fright!" Zhao Jin answered irritably.

Chen Sheng was still holding that three-foot-long short stick. He didn't care at all about Zhao Jin's answer and continued excitedly, "Come on, let's go play over by Wu'an Gate."

Wu'an Gate? Zhao Jin paused for a moment before realizing it was Xuzhou's western city gate. There used to be a few merchant shop warehouses over there. Now the shops were closed, and the empty warehouse grounds had become a playground for the children.

Before Zhao Jin could answer, Chen Sheng grabbed him and started walking quickly. Chen Sheng was a bit taller than Zhao Jin, but his strength was far greater. With this tug, Zhao Jin was compelled to follow along against his will. Chen Hong followed behind with a giggle. Zhao Jin couldn't help but smile bitterly again. Looking at the situation right now, achieving fame and success seemed very difficult.