Chapter 15: An Invitation from a Classmate

As autumn gave way to winter, the days quickly grew colder and colder. In the small courtyard of the Zhao family’s elementary school, the old ginkgo tree had long since shed all its leaves.

In the center of the classroom, two small yellow clay stoves had been added, their fireboxes burning cheap charcoal, yet the chill still lingered in the air.

Wang Mingyuan rubbed his fingers, stiff from the cold, and carefully unfolded a coarse sheet of grass paper.

He focused intently on copying the characters Master Zhao had taught that day. The tip of his brush scraped softly across the paper, producing a faint rustling sound.

Master Zhao paced by, his gaze lingering briefly on the characters under Wang Mingyuan’s brush. On his usually composed face, a subtle and scarcely perceptible hint of approval flickered.

This child’s talent for calligraphy and his quiet perseverance truly exceeded expectations. In just a few short months, he had managed to produce such neat writing on this rough paper.

By now, he had grown familiar with everyone in the school. After the New Year, the three eldest boys in the front row would be leaving—one had found a bookkeeping job at a rice shop in the county town, another had gone to a cloth shop in the neighboring town, and the last, through family connections, was set to apprentice at a pawnshop in the prefectural city.

Meanwhile, Wang Mingyuan had become close friends with the chubby boy he first noticed when he arrived at the school. Unlike the other quiet, hardworking children from farming families, Zhang Wentao possessed a natural vivacity untouched by life’s burdens.

After months of companionship, the two had become the most congenial pair in the small school.

“Hey, Mingyuan, look!” At lunchtime, Zhang Wentao approached mysteriously, slipping a small oil-paper package from his sleeve. Inside were several pieces of sesame-studded crisp sugar candy, exuding an enticing sweetness.

“My mother just made these fresh. Want to try?” His round face beamed with the joy of sharing.

Wang Mingyuan, unburdened by the usual shyness or hesitation other children often showed, naturally picked one up and placed it in his mouth. The crisp sweetness instantly melted on his tongue.

“Delicious! Please thank your mother for me,” he smiled in gratitude. The next day, he brought a piece of the Zhao family’s carefully pickled salted pork and vegetable pastry as a return gift.

Zhang Wentao did not disdain the coarse rural food; he devoured it with relish. From then on, sharing food became an unspoken bond between them, and their friendship quietly blossomed through this exchange of a sweet and a pastry.

From Zhang Wentao’s endless chatter, Wang Mingyuan pieced together his background.

The Zhenyuan Escort Agency—the town’s, and even the surrounding counties’, renowned security firm—was Zhang Wentao’s family business!

Zhang Wentao was the only son; he also had an elder sister already married off. Their father spent most of his time escorting merchants across southern provinces, his footsteps covering several regions. The grandmother was elderly and nostalgic, the mother dutiful and caring, and since the agency’s roots were here, they had never moved the entire family to the more prosperous provincial capital.

Without their father’s strict supervision, pampered by grandmother and mother, and given Zhang’s own irresistible love for good food, he had grown into his plump, cherubic form.

One day after class, Master Zhao announced that due to family matters, there would only be a half-day session the next day.

Zhang Wentao’s eyes lit up, and he eagerly grabbed Wang Mingyuan’s arm, whispering excitedly, “Mingyuan! Come to my house tomorrow afternoon! My mother’s cooking all your favorite dishes!”

Wang Mingyuan saw the hopeful sparkle in Zhang’s eyes and felt warmth in his heart. He nodded in agreement: “Sure! I’ll tell my second brother to come for me at the usual time.”

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The next day at noon, the half-day’s lessons ended quickly. Zhang Wentao practically dragged Wang Mingyuan out of the elementary school courtyard by the wrist.

The biting wind hit their faces, but Zhang’s cheeks were flushed with excitement as he ran, chattering nonstop:

“Mingyuan, I told my mother you’re coming. She’s so happy! The kitchen made my favorite rock sugar pork knuckle and osmanthus-scented sugar lotus root! Plus freshly fried pastries!”

“I told my grandmother too. She said you’re the first schoolmate I’ve ever invited home!”

“My yard is huge! My father made me all kinds of toys…”

Wang Mingyuan stumbled as Zhang pulled him along, but hearing his joyful words, he was infected by that pure happiness and smiled in reply:

“Sounds delicious! That pork knuckle must be tender and falling apart, right? And the lotus root—soft and sticky?”

Zhang Wentao’s eyes sparkled with delight at the praise.

Before long, the two arrived before a grand mansion on the west side of town. A black plaque with golden characters hung above the vermilion gate: “Zhenyuan Escort Agency.”

Two imposing stone lions guarded the entrance. Several men in neat short clothes stretched and limbered on the yard, their sharp eyes scanning passersby.

Zhang Wentao, familiar with the place, led Wang Mingyuan through a side gate into the backyard, calling out as they ran, “Mother! Grandmother! Mingyuan’s here!”

Passing the screen wall, the space suddenly opened up.

In the main hall corridor stood a kindly, plump woman dressed in a deep red silk jacket—Zhang Wentao’s mother, Mrs. Liu—and beside her, an elderly woman with silver hair, leaning on a cane but eyes bright—Zhang Wentao’s grandmother—both smiling in welcome.

Wang Mingyuan stopped promptly and stood properly. Following the etiquette he had learned, he cupped his hands and bowed to the elders, his clear voice ringing out: “Junior Wang Mingyuan pays respects to the matriarch and aunt. Pardon the intrusion.”

Though childlike, his posture was correct, neither humble nor arrogant.

Both Mrs. Zhang and the matriarch’s eyes showed clear approval and fondness.

Mrs. Zhang hurried forward to lightly support him, smiling: “Good boy, no need for such formalities! Tao always talks about you at home, says you help him at school. Come in and warm up!”

The matriarch nodded with a smile: “A polite child indeed. Come in, it’s cold outside.”

Inside, the room was warm, the charcoal brazier glowing brightly.

The two elders clearly valued their son’s “first invited friend” highly; the table was laden with exquisite snacks and dried fruits.

After some small talk and inquiries about Wang Mingyuan’s age and family, Mrs. Zhang kindly said, “Alright, you boys go play and chat. We’ll call you when the meal is ready.”

The matriarch waved kindly: “Go ahead, let Tao show you his treasures.”

With the elders gone, Zhang Wentao relaxed completely and tugged Wang Mingyuan toward the east wing where he lived. As soon as they entered, he proudly opened a camphor wood box.

“Look! These were all made by my father!”

Inside were dazzling treasures: a polished, beef tendon-wrapped small slingshot; a finely crafted willow-leaf-shaped dagger, not yet sharpened, with a matching petite leather sheath; and finely carved hardwood horses, boats, and lifelike birds—each piece showing care and ingenuity.

“This slingshot was made by my father when he returned from an escort trip last year. It’s really sturdy! Look at this beef tendon…”

“The patterns on this little knife sheath were hand-carved by my father. He said I can use it when I’m a bit older…”

“This wooden horse! Its wheels actually turn when it runs!”

Zhang Wentao handled each toy like a prized possession, his chubby hands caressing them, eyes filled with admiration and affection for his father.

Wang Mingyuan picked up the wooden horse. The mane and tail were carved strand by strand; the four small wooden wheels turned smoothly; the joints fit tightly with mortise and tenon craftsmanship. He silently marveled: the artisanship of this era was truly impressive! These toys’ exquisite quality far surpassed his former life’s simplistic notions of “ancient toys.”

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As they played with the toys, their conversation naturally drifted back to the school.

“Mingyuan,” Zhang Wentao fiddled with the small wooden knife and suddenly lowered his voice, “do you know why I don’t go to the academy at the eastern end of town run by Scholar Sun, but come to Master Zhao’s elementary school instead?”

Wang Mingyuan was taken aback and shook his head: “I don’t know…”

“My father told me!” Zhang Wentao’s face showed the solemnity of sharing a secret. “Master Zhao… actually has great talent! He should have passed the xiucai exam long ago!”

“Oh?” Wang Mingyuan’s curiosity was piqued.

“The first time he took it, his father died suddenly, so he had to observe mourning and missed the exam.”

“The second time, right before the exam, his mother fell ill and passed away…”

“Finally, the third time, he caught a cold in the exam hall and was feverish and drowsy, couldn’t finish his essay…”

Zhang Wentao sighed like a little grown-up, his chubby face full of regret:

“Ah, you see, what bad luck! My father says Master Zhao’s knowledge would have been more than enough for the academy run by Scholar Sun. But misfortune stuck at the xiucai level. Discouraged, he opened this elementary school instead… but,”

He changed tone with a hint of pride,

“My father also says what Master Zhao teaches here is more practical, and Scholar Sun is too old to manage properly anyway.”

Listening, Wang Mingyuan suddenly understood, many doubts instantly resolved.

No wonder! No wonder Master Zhao’s lectures were rich with references yet easy to grasp; no wonder when Wang practiced calligraphy, Master Zhao’s few remarks hit the mark precisely. That calm demeanor and profound foundation were not ordinary for a mere xiucai.

It turned out that the extraordinary qualities that surfaced unbidden were forged by fate’s hardships. Wang Mingyuan’s respect for Master Zhao deepened sincerely.

Unnoticed, a servant came to invite them for the meal.

The feast was indeed sumptuous: the rock sugar pork knuckle was glossy and enticing, melting in the mouth; the osmanthus sugar lotus root was soft, fragrant, and left a lingering sweetness. Mrs. Zhang and the matriarch kept offering Wang Mingyuan food with kind and natural affection, without a hint of the arrogance often seen in wealthy families. Wang Mingyuan was poised and graceful, winning the two elders’ favor.

After the meal, Zhang Wentao pulled Wang Mingyuan to play a game of touhu (pitch-pot) in the spacious backyard. They played until the sun dipped westward, and when Wang Erniu was expected to arrive, Wang Mingyuan took his leave.

Zhang Wentao reluctantly accompanied him to the escort agency’s gate, tugging his sleeve: “Mingyuan, next holiday, come over again! I’ll take you to the new pastry shop on the east side of town!”

“Sure, I’ll come next holiday,” Wang Mingyuan smiled in reply.

“It’s a promise!” The chubby boy finally let go, standing on the tall stone steps and waving his plump arms vigorously.