Volume One: A Farmer by Morning Chapter 15: A Thousand Years, Awaiting This Moment

Peasant families do not care for winter, for it is cold, yet ironically, winter is the most leisurely season of the farming year. However, with the Xie family’s new business of selling tofu, their winters had become unusually busy. Though it was exhausting, the extra effort meant more income for the household—who would begrudge a little more hard work for that?

Tofu kept fresh more easily in winter, and the villagers were willing to buy extra to store away, so the Xie family made more tofu than ever before. Not long after breakfast, Doumiao would shoulder the carrying pole and head to the neighboring village to sell tofu, while Wang Cuicui and her daughter-in-law bustled about in the kitchen, busy with the tofu-making.

In the courtyard, Xie Gensheng scattered some chaff and propped up a sieve with a short wooden stick. One end of a string was tied to the stick and the other held in his hand, ready to trap sparrows greedy for a bite. Each time a sparrow was caught, Mai Sui would squeal and dash over to watch her father grab the flustered birds from under the sieve.

Chuliu, meanwhile, sat quietly indoors reading. He had already finished the first volume of his storybook, “A Thousand Years for One Meeting,” the opening to “The Legend of the White Snake.” He was certain that, once embellished by a storyteller, this tale of a thousand-year-old snake spirit repaying a debt of love would stir up a sensation.

While writing “The Legend of the White Snake,” Chuliu discovered that stories and scenes from books and films of his previous life came together in his mind with seamless ease. His pen seemed guided by inspiration; he could weave stories swiftly and fluently, faster than any artificial intelligence. He also realized his memory was phenomenal—passages from “The Analects” could be memorized after a single reading without the slightest hesitation. At first, he’d thought this was merely because he’d memorized them in his past life while studying the likes of “The Three-Character Classic” and “Hundred Family Surnames.” But now he understood—this must be one of those unspoken blessings enjoyed by travelers from another world.

“Is Chuliu at home?” A stranger appeared at the entrance as Xie Gensheng was trapping sparrows in the yard. He walked over and asked, “And you are…?”

“Uncle, I am Su Laibao from Muddy Creek Village, Xiangyang Town. Your grandson Chuliu studies at the Su family’s private school…”

“Ah, so it’s Clan Leader Su! Please, come inside!” Xie Gensheng’s face lit up with delight, and he warmly invited Su Laibao into the house.

Su Laibao stepped in and set down his gifts. Xie Gensheng, all politeness, protested, “Clan Leader Su, your visit is honor enough—there’s no need for gifts; you’re too generous…”

Su Laibao replied softly, “Just some snacks and sweets for the children; nothing of value.”

As he spoke, Chuliu came running in and bowed respectfully. “Good day, Uncle Su!”

“It’s only been a few days, but you look taller already,” Su Laibao remarked with a smile. “Chuliu, have you finished the storybook?”

That, of course, was what truly concerned him.

“It’s ready. I’ll fetch it now for your review, Uncle Su.”

Chuliu turned to leave, just as Wang Cuicui entered to pour hot water for their guest, exchanged a few pleasantries, and went back to making tofu. Before long, Chuliu returned, holding the manuscript in both hands.

Su Laibao was immediately drawn in by the tale. “Excellent, truly excellent!” his eyes gleamed. “If this story is told in the teahouses and theaters, it will certainly cause a stir—people will be so captivated they’ll neglect their meals and sleep.”

He read with mounting excitement, but soon paused in surprise. “Only the first volume?”

“Uncle Su, profit from storybooks lies in a steady stream. Releasing them volume by volume maximizes the benefit. Once this one becomes popular, and listeners clamor for more, then we can even raise the price…”

Chuliu spoke with measured calm, outlining several money-making schemes. Su Laibao, listening, marveled inwardly: This boy not only had a gift for words but also a keen head for business.

A true talent!

“Chuliu, how did you come up with this story?” Su Laibao asked, his curiosity piqued.

Chuliu smiled lightly. “It was fate, really. I once had a dream, in which a thousand-year-old snake spirit, seeking to repay a debt from a past life, transformed into human form and came to the mortal world… Once I had that framework, I just spun the rest from my imagination…”

He was, indeed, spinning tales. Yet such explanations were always accepted.

Su Laibao sighed in admiration, then drew a silver ingot from his sleeve and placed it on the table. “This is a ten-tael deposit for the entire ‘Legend of the White Snake.’ If it sells well, there will be a share of the profits for you…”

“Oh, that would not do!” Xie Gensheng waved his hands in alarm. “Clan Leader Su, you’ve already done so much for our family; we can’t possibly take more of your silver…”

Chuliu shook his head as well. “Uncle Su, you’ve supported my studies and helped me in every way. Your kindness is immeasurable. I wrote this book as a token of gratitude; I could never accept your money.”

“Chuliu, business is business, and rules are rules,” Su Laibao replied earnestly. “You helped Biao’er improve his studies, and for that, we are grateful. But today is about business: you write the book, I profit from it. If I don’t pay you for your words, I’d be squeezing the sweat from your brow. The Su family has always been honest in business, never cheating young or old alike. I would never stoop to such disgraceful conduct…”

Even after repeated refusals, Su Laibao insisted on giving the payment. He spoke of future cooperation, emphasizing that without rules, nothing could be accomplished. After several rounds, Chuliu finally accepted.

Su Laibao prepared to leave with the manuscript, but Xie Gensheng was determined to keep him for a meal and even asked Wang Cuicui to slaughter a chicken.

Seeing this, Su Laibao quickly waved his hand and smiled. “Uncle Xie, your kindness I will remember, but business has kept me far too busy of late; I truly don’t have the time to stay for a meal. Tell you what—your family’s tofu is excellent. Let me take a couple of pieces home as a treat.”

Left with no choice, Xie Gensheng wrapped up several pieces of tofu for him and saw him off.

…

“Heavens, Chuliu has earned ten taels of silver! Daughter-in-law, come and feel it…”

In the countryside, copper coins were the common currency; silver ingots of ten taels were a rare sight indeed. Wang Cuicui turned the ingot over in her hands again and again, then passed it to Zheng Mei.

The silver was earned by the grandson, but she let her daughter-in-law admire it before locking it in the savings jar.

After a while, Wang Cuicui put the silver away and said, “Husband, why don’t we add a bit more money and buy an ox?”

Xie Gensheng had long considered it. There weren’t enough men in the family, and they simply couldn’t manage all the work—especially plowing the fields, which required muscle. Yoking a plow to till more than thirty mu of land was truly exhausting.

But a full-grown ox was expensive, and over a year, it would eat a great deal of fodder and require careful tending. The Xie family had never raised cattle before—could they really manage it?

“Grandma, why don’t we buy a donkey instead?” Chuliu suddenly suggested.

“An ox would indeed solve the plowing problem, but it’s costly and difficult to keep. A donkey would be more practical.”

“Donkeys are hardy, thrive on rough feed, and can be fed the leftover tofu dregs. They’re less prone to illness, gentle in temperament, and strong workers.”

“Most importantly, a donkey can be harnessed to the millstone, letting us make tofu more efficiently and in greater quantities.”

“We could also use a donkey cart to sell tofu farther afield. In just one winter, we might earn back half the cost of the donkey…”

Xie Gensheng fell silent again.

“Let’s go with Chuliu’s suggestion and buy a donkey. When our family has more money, we can always sell the donkey and buy an ox,” Wang Cuicui decided. “A donkey can turn the mill, pull a cart, and is easier to care for. If we get a female, it could have foals, and in a few years, it’ll have paid for itself…”

With his wife’s decision firm, Xie Gensheng made up his mind as well. He slapped his thigh and declared, “A donkey it is—tomorrow we’ll go and buy one!”