Chapter 7: As Long as You Didn't Get the Short End of the Stick

Watching Zhao Jin bounce and skip out the door, the smile on Zhao Zhenxing's face vanished. He turned, shut the door, and went back into his own room. He stood there staring at the wall, slowly reached out, and touched the two blades hanging on it. After a moment of melancholy, he let out a long sigh. Then he stepped onto the heated brick bed, reached up and took down the long spear, and carried it out into the courtyard.

The shop was now watched over by Zhao Zhenxing alone, utterly deserted and quiet. Leaning on the long spear, Zhao Zhenxing stood there in a daze for a good while before shaking his head and lifting the spear level in his hands.

When Zhao Jin got home, he saw He Cuihua in the courtyard washing and pickling vegetables. Jars big and small were laid out, and a wooden basin was filled to the brim with greens. He Cuihua bustled back and forth without pause. Spotting Zhao Jin return, she asked offhandedly, "Feeling any discomfort?" Zhao Jin shook his head. He Cuihua went on, "It's warm inside. Go stay in the house. Your mother still has work to do."

"Mother, Second Uncle said he's coming over for dinner tonight," Zhao Jin said. He Cuihua nodded. The Zhao household was well-off; one more person for a meal simply meant an extra pair of chopsticks, easy enough to arrange.

Zhao Jin headed toward the house as soon as he finished speaking. He Cuihua picked up a napa cabbage and was just about to strip off the outer leaves when she suddenly looked up at Zhao Jin's retreating figure and muttered to herself, puzzled, "This child doesn't cling to me anymore."

Before, Zhao Jin had been timid and cowardly, trailing behind his mother He Cuihua all day long. Though he now tried hard to act the same as before, many small details had already changed. Zhao Jin himself couldn't sense it, but no one knows a child better than their parents, and He Cuihua felt it clearly.

He Cuihua was standing there pondering when she heard a commotion beside her. Turning her head, she saw the monkey in the wooden basin, yanking out a radish. He Cuihua immediately roared, "You wretched macaque, stop causing trouble! Get the hell away from me!"

The monkey, clutching the radish, immediately bolted toward the other side of the courtyard, screeching loudly as it ran, looking very pleased with itself.

Zhao Jin, sitting inside the house, heard everything happening outside. He couldn't help but laugh aloud; this kind of family life made him feel warmth. But Zhao Jin quickly put his smile away. Time was precious — he couldn't afford to waste a single bit. In that other life, cut short midway, he had regretted on his deathbed the days he'd squandered. He couldn't let that happen in this life.

So far, everything was proceeding according to his plan. His uncle Zhao Zhenxing had agreed to teach him martial arts and would come to persuade his parents. However, Zhao Jin had also discovered another problem: he knew far too little about his surroundings — not just about this era, but about the place he lived, his relatives, and the people around him. He understood too little of it all.

Zhao Jin recalled something. In that other life, from the orphanage to society, he hadn't studied well or read many books. It was only during his final hospital stay, when that friend came to keep him company, reading to him every day to ease his pain and boredom, that he'd passively absorbed quite a few books, despite his irritation at the time.

Thinking back now, some of those books were useless, but others were of great use in the present. What tormented Zhao Jin, however, was how little he could recall. Zhao Jin dared not simply let himself forget. He racked his brains, and whenever he remembered anything, he had to write it down.

Fortunately, the old Zhao Jin had attended private school and left behind paper and a brush. But Zhao Jin couldn't write with a calligraphy brush. Relying on vague memories, he ground the ink, then used a small wooden stick dipped in the ink to write. The characters came out crooked and twisted.

After fussing for a long time, he'd used up several sheets of paper, yet what he'd recorded was extremely limited. Holding the ink-blackened papers, Zhao Jin smiled bitterly. He hadn't expected that all he'd remember were fragments of Western military history. He'd listened impatiently back then, but because the material was so novel, he'd unconsciously memorized it, and the impressions were deep. But what use were these things — formations, long pikes, cannons, and the like? And they were only fragments, utterly unsystematic.

By now, the sky had darkened. He Cuihua finished preparing the vegetables and placed them into the jars, then went out herself to buy a bit of fish and meat. She was already bustling about in the kitchen.

Suddenly, the courtyard gate slammed open with a bang. The monkey gnawing on a radish in the yard shrieked and shot up onto the roof. He Cuihua wiped her hands on her apron and went out to look. Before she even reached the courtyard, she heard her husband Zhao Zhentang's booming voice roar, "Zhao Jin! Get your ass out here! You little brat, you faint once and suddenly you've grown some nerve — you even dare to hit people outside now? You rotten kid, you..."

He stormed in as he bellowed. He Cuihua had been about to go out and roar back, but when she heard that Zhao Jin had hit someone outside, she froze. She turned to look toward the side room, thinking that her child had indeed been acting strange since recovering from the illness. But for that honest boy, who'd been too scared to even speak loudly, to actually hit someone — the change was simply too drastic.

Just as He Cuihua was thinking this, the house door was pushed open. The large, heavyset Zhao Zhentang walked in, carrying two parcels in his hands, both wrapped in oiled paper. As soon as he entered, he sniffed and asked, puzzled, "You're cooking meat? It's not even a holiday today!"

"Zhenxing is coming over for dinner tonight!" He Cuihua answered, then asked nervously, "Little Jin hit someone? What happened? Don't yell — don't frighten the child!"

Zhao Zhentang waved a hand and said, "I'll tell you in a moment!"

After saying that, he raised his voice and bellowed again, "You rotten kid, get out here!"

Zhao Jin had already walked out with a pained expression, thinking that children's fights were such a hassle — was he really going to get a scolding from his parents over this?

"You beat up the eldest son of the Chen family?" Hearing his father's question, Zhao Jin lowered his head and nodded. He could only use the same tactics he'd once used on his teachers to deal with his father now.

"You really beat him up?" Unexpectedly, Zhao Zhentang pressed with another question. Zhao Jin hurriedly explained, "Chen Sheng said he wanted to find someone to spar with. I said I'd do it, and then I knocked him down!"

He Cuihua's hands rested on her apron, her mouth agape, her face full of disbelief. Just then, she saw her husband walking toward their son and snapped out of it, quickly saying, "Children's fights are nothing..."

At that moment, Zhao Jin instinctively flinched, thinking he was about to get hit.

A heavy palm smacked down onto Zhao Jin's shoulder, making him stagger. But the expected beating didn't come. Zhao Jin looked up. Zhao Zhentang's face was beaming. He clapped Zhao Jin hard on the shoulder and laughed heartily, saying, "That Chen Wu is always bragging to me, saying his son's trained in martial arts since childhood and is bound to amount to something. And now my son's put him in his place! When I go to the yamen tomorrow, I'm going to rub his face in it good. You little brat, getting sick actually gave you some manly spirit!"

Seeing this scene, He Cuihua also breathed a sigh of relief. After thinking it over, a smile appeared on her face, but her words were still admonishing: "Little Jin, don't get into fights with people. It's no good whether you hurt yourself or someone else."

Zhao Jin hurriedly nodded in agreement. Zhao Zhentang raised the two oiled-paper parcels and said with a smile, "On the way back, I specially bought this brat some red bean paste dumplings and half a catty of sliced pork elbow. His mother, take these and get them ready!"

He Cuihua happily took the items. Zhao Jin finally caught on — his parents were actually pleased that he'd gotten into a fight. The old Zhao Jin had been weak-willed by nature. Zhao Zhentang and He Cuihua had, on one hand, felt reassured by how well-behaved the child was, but on the other, felt that a boy being so meek wasn't really proper. Learning today that Zhao Jin had been in a fight, and had won at that, they both felt happy at heart. In any case, their own child hadn't gotten the short end of the stick.