Hearing Lin Yue’s words, Song Xunchun felt considerably reassured. After all, Shen Huaizhi was already an adult—he wouldn’t just disappear on the road.

“Then let’s eat first. We’ve been busy all day and are starving. Just set aside a portion for him to warm up later.”

Shen Zhengchu nodded. “That sounds good.”

They’d expected him back only a little late, but by the time Shen Huaizhi finally hurried home, night had fallen completely. His breathing was still uneven—clearly, he’d run all the way back.

Lin Yue, dozing in the kitchen, sprang up to greet him. “Why so late? Dinner’s still warm in the pot. Eat first, we’ll talk later.”

Shen Huaizhi waved it off. “No rush. I had a little something at my teacher’s place to tide me over. I’m fine now.”

Lin Yue had already brought the meal to the table. “Still, you should eat quickly. Finish up and get to bed early. You won’t be able to get up tomorrow.”

“I won’t be going to the private school tomorrow. It’s no trouble.”

Lin Yue looked up, puzzled. “What’s going on?”

Shen Huaizhi sighed softly. “Master’s health is deteriorating. Senior Brother Gao finally persuaded him to see a doctor in town tomorrow. He kept us late tonight specifically to assign homework.”

Lin Yue frowned. “He seemed quite spry not long ago. Oh dear, should we prepare something to take when we visit?”

“The teacher forbade us from visiting. I’ll check on him when I go to the private school the day after tomorrow.”

“Very well.”

Early the next morning, the Shen family went about their usual tasks. Song Xunchun sat weaving in the main hall before dawn, while Lin Yue and Shen Lingzhi followed Shen’s father to the fields. The weather was growing hotter, and rain could come at any moment, so they had to hurry with fertilizing.

The Shen family’s land was meager. If the harvest failed, they wouldn’t just struggle to pay taxes—they’d barely feed themselves. Shen Zhengchu practically lived in the fields year-round, striving for perfection in every task. After each harvest, he immediately focused on fertilizing the soil. Years of this diligence had finally paid off, allowing him some slight respite.

Fertilizing and weeding weren’t as urgent as rushing the harvest, and with the provincial exam approaching, Shen Huaizhi didn’t join them. He stayed in the courtyard studying as usual.

At noon, while the Shen family was still eating, someone rushed in from outside.

“Auntie, are you home?”

Song Xunchun set down her chopsticks and went out. “Yan-zhi, why are you here? Come in quickly for some water.”

Shen Yanzhi waved weakly. “Auntie, I won’t come in. Father says every household must send someone to the ancestral hall in twenty minutes. He needs to announce something about tax payments.”

Shen Yanzhi’s father was the village chief of Linshui Village, named Shen Guangchu. Though sharing the Shen surname, he was beyond the fifth degree of kinship. Strictly speaking, he wasn’t a relative of the Shen family, merely a fellow villager.

Song Xunchun’s expression shifted slightly. “Oh dear, why are they discussing this so early this year?”

Shen Yanzhi shook his head. “Father didn’t elaborate. He just sent me to notify everyone. I’ve only reached half the households. Auntie, I must be going.”

“Alright, alright. Go quickly then. Auntie won’t keep you.”

Song Xunchun returned to the house and shared the news with Lin Yue and the others. They were all somewhat surprised. After a long moment, Shen Zhengchu said, “Perhaps it’s not about collecting taxes early. Let’s not rush. Huaizhi and Yue-ge’er should go check it out. I’ll wrap up the farm work, and Ling-ge’er can help your mother weave cloth. Finishing early will put our minds at ease.”

Lin Yue and Shen Huaizhi nodded in agreement. They finished their meal in a few bites and headed out.

The ancestral hall in Linshui Village was rather simple, consisting of only two rooms. However, the courtyard was spacious and lacked walls, making it a common spot for drying grain. Village announcements were also made here.

Lin Yue and Shen Huai arrived early, yet several villagers had already gathered around the village head.

“Guangchu, why the early notice this year? Surely we won’t be harvesting early?”

“Right, Uncle Guang. We just finished the hemp harvest. How could we possibly be ready?”

Shen Guangchu didn’t respond, but his furrowed brow and downturned mouth already hinted at ominous news.

As villagers gradually gathered, Shen Guangchu finally addressed them: “Quiet, everyone. I’ve called you here today because we’ve received notice from the county: the summer taxes must be delivered to the county office by the first day of the sixth lunar month. That leaves only five days. Everyone must hurry. Those unable to submit hemp cloth must pay cash instead, at a rate of one hundred wen per bolt of coarse hemp cloth.”

In previous years, the collection had been delayed until late June. This year’s sudden advance by a full month sent the village into an immediate uproar.

Overall, the summer tax burden wasn’t heavy—one wen per foot of cloth meant a family of five owed only twenty-five wen. But beyond summer taxes, autumn brought grain taxes and poll taxes.

The grain tax was one-twentieth of the harvest, while the poll tax demanded either one hundred wen per person or five days of corvée labor. Alternatively, a family could send one representative to perform the labor—for instance, a family of five would fulfill twenty-five days of service. This might sound manageable, but the corvée entailed grueling manual labor, requiring workers to bring their own food and endure relentless, unbroken days. Year after year, some returned wrapped in straw mats—dead. And even death offered no release: families had to either find a replacement laborer or pay a fine.

It was only thanks to several years of favorable weather that no one in Linshui Village had chosen to perform corvée labor. Yet they barely scraped by, and this sudden advance summer tax left them utterly unprepared.

When someone asked if a few days’ grace might be possible, Shen Guangchu felt utterly helpless. Earlier that morning, when the county constables came calling, he’d already tentatively inquired—only to be met with a sharp retort. How could he dare say more?

“Fellow villagers, I know this is sudden, but there’s no choice. With mutual support, our village can manage. Those who harvested hemp early—if you can afford it, borrow to pay now. But remember: whatever you borrow must be repaid. On the thirtieth, everyone must still come here to deliver their hemp cloth.”

He glanced around and addressed several individuals: “You young folks, remember to tell your elders back home that the village elders will also come to witness the process on the thirtieth.”

He then singled out a few more young men. “If you’re free on the first day of the new month, I’ll need you to accompany us to the county town. Especially you, Huaizhi—you’re the only educated person in our village. If you can spare the time, you absolutely must come.”

Shen Huaizhi: “Understood, Uncle Guang. If there’s nothing else, we’ll head back now.”

“Go ahead, go ahead. I should be heading back myself.”

Having mentally prepared herself, Song Xunchun wasn’t overly shocked by the news. “I started weaving yesterday. With five days left, I’ll speed up my pace. Twenty-five feet should be manageable. Leave the household chores to Yue-ger and Ling these days.”

Lin Yue shook his head. “How could we let Mother handle everything alone? I’ll take turns with you.”

Song Xunchun smiled softly. “I’m used to this work. You just assist me. Weaving is demanding, but other household chores still need attention.”

Lin Yue finally stopped arguing, gathered his things, and prepared to go out to the fields.

With the taxes paid, the Shen family relaxed considerably. Only Shen Zhengchu still wore a worried look. After decades of sharing a bed, Song Xunchun knew exactly what troubled him without needing to ask. Yet she said nothing, heading straight to the main hall.

As night fell, Shen Zhengchu tossed and turned restlessly in bed. Song Xunchun couldn’t bear it any longer. “If you truly can’t sleep, just get up.”

She rarely lost her temper, and when she did, Shen Zhengchu grew uneasy. He immediately froze.

After a long while, Song Xunchun sighed. “If I hadn’t asked today, you wouldn’t have spoken, would you?”

Shen Zhengchu hadn’t caught on. “I…”

“It’s just that taxes were collected early this year, and you’re worried Yunchu can’t pay, right? Our hemp harvest was late this year, so the cloth won’t be ready. Take some money over to him the day after tomorrow. Bring some melons, fruits, and vegetables too.”

Caught off guard, Shen Zhengchu was speechless for a long moment.

Song Xunchun shot him a look. “Do you think I don’t know you’ve been secretly supporting Yunchu all these years? I handle all the household finances. If I didn’t know you were helping your brother, would I have given you that much private money?”

But Shen Zhengchu had always visited in late autumn before—right after the harvest, when he had some money of his own. Combined with what Song Xunchun gave him, he could manage a decent gift. This year, he was going earlier, and his secret stash probably wasn’t quite enough yet.

Shen Zhengchu’s face flushed red, and he grew flustered. “I—I didn’t! When did you find out?”

Look at him—so flustered he can’t even speak properly.

Song Xunchun hadn’t really wanted to expose him. Watching him sneak out every year was rather amusing. Besides, she suspected that over the years, given Shen Zhengchu’s personality, he probably hadn’t dared say a word to Yunchu. It must have been tough on Yunchu.

But seeing him so distressed, she couldn’t bear it anymore. She decided to call him out outright, saving herself the trouble of finding excuses every year.

“Alright, it’s settled then.”

Shen Zhengchu hadn’t fully accepted reality yet. He asked in confusion, “Huaizhi got married this year. Shouldn’t we discuss spending money with him?”

Song Xunchun couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “You think Huaizhi doesn’t know? I specifically told him not to ask about it. Only Ling-zhi is foolish enough to believe you.”

Tonight’s revelations were too much for Shen Zhengchu to bear. He silently rolled over to face the wall, lost in thought.

But Song Xunchun pressed on, “Tomorrow I’ll have Huaizhi tell Yue-ger. Our family doesn’t keep secrets from each other. Oh, and we should tell Ling-zhi too.”

Shen Zhengchu: “…”

If there had been another room, he would have left already.

Shen Huaizhi had only been home for a day. By the time he mentioned this to Lin Yue, it was already the following evening.

Lin Yue: “I didn’t realize Father was so concerned about his reputation. I think Uncle Shen could accept Father’s financial support without holding a grudge. If either side had taken the initiative, this family connection wouldn’t have remained dormant for so many years.”

Shen Huaizhi nodded. “My father and Uncle really are alike in this way. Father feels he failed Uncle—that his own inadequacy forced Uncle into that marriage. Uncle probably feels he’s a burden on Father, afraid that Father’s financial support might strain their relationship, so he avoids contact altogether.”

Lin Yue had never met this uncle, but from what the Shen family said, he sounded like a decent man. Curiosity piqued, and since Father Shen had always been kind to him, he suggested, “Perhaps we could help bridge the gap. It’s a shame they clearly care for each other yet remain estranged. Our father is already in his forties—delaying any longer might be too late.”

Shen Huaizhi had privately urged his father several times over the years, but to no avail. His voice carried hesitation as he replied, “Then we’ll find a suitable opportunity to try. We’ll come up with a reason to give them a way to bridge the gap.”

“Sounds good. By the way, you went to the academy today. How is Old Master Gao?”

Shen Huaizhi’s voice was hoarse. “The physician said it’s due to old age and prescribed restorative herbs.”

Birth, aging, sickness, and death—such has been the way since ancient times, beyond human control.

Lin Yue also lowered his voice. “Then we should find some food to send over another day, as a token of our concern.”

”But with Master Gao like this, why did you two return so late today? Shouldn’t he be resting peacefully?“

Shen Huaizhi clasped Lin Yue’s hand, his face saddened. ”The teacher is worried about us taking the exams this year. He refuses to rest and insists on continuing until we’ve all finished our exams before he’ll settle down to recuperate.”

Among the nearby villages, only Old Xiucai Gao’s private school existed, with two more in the town itself. Those studying under Old Xiucai Gao were all children from families of modest means, even poverty-stricken farmers. After teaching for so many years, he hoped to see his work through to the end, nurturing another Xiucai.

Lin Yue’s heart also grew heavy. He leaned closer and whispered words of comfort to Shen Huaizhi.

The next day, under the watchful eyes of his family, Shen Zhengchu left alone, carrying his belongings.

He returned in less than two hours. No matter how much Song Xunchun pressed him, he refused to discuss their meeting, infuriating her to no end. She lowered her head to weave cloth, ignoring him completely.

Before they knew it, the day for tax payment arrived.

As dusk approached, Song Xunchun and Lin Yue finally finished weaving the cloth, urging Shen Huazhi to deliver it to the ancestral hall immediately.

This was a small concession granted to Shen Huazhi, who would be helping transport the tax cloth to the county town the next day. While others were urged to submit their payments early in the morning, the Shen family was allowed to delay until evening, and the village headman did not come to urge them.

When Shen Huaizhi arrived at the ancestral hall, it was still bustling with people counting cloth and verifying names.

He approached the village head and bowed his hands, saying, “Uncle Guang, this is our family’s tax cloth. Please count it for us.”