Chapter 13: As If They Could!

Mother Song explained the situation to Huan Ya, though she kept the matter of removing her slave status a secret, telling her only that they were heading to town to register her as a resident.

"Whatever you say, Auntie, that is what I shall do. I am not picky," Huan Ya said with a grin. "I already had the audacity to beg you to save my life yesterday; I am nothing but grateful, so how could I be dissatisfied?"

Mother Song thought to herself that this girl was truly well-behaved, if only she hadn't been born into such misfortune. She sighed inwardly, then put on a stern expression and said, "I am telling you this in advance: we are simple country folk, and in this village or anywhere nearby, you never hear of anyone buying a maid to serve in their home. My son is a scholar. Even though his leg is injured, his reputation still carries weight, and we cannot have his name dragged through the mud."

Thinking of the villagers' attitudes, Mother Song added, "However, I must warn you: if the village folk say anything they shouldn't, treat it as if they are merely passing wind! Do not listen to a single word, understand?"

"I understand," Huan Ya nodded eagerly. She was not foolish; she could tell whether her employer was a good person or not. Her parents had always told her that you shouldn't listen to what others say; you must look with your own eyes and feel with your own heart. Only over time can you truly know a person's character.

Seeing how sensible she was, Mother Song’s mood improved. She glanced at the stove, which had been cleaned immaculately after use, and felt even more satisfied. "Start by stewing the chicken. I’m taking you to the fields. The weather isn’t looking good, and it’ll likely rain in a couple of days, so we need to get that corn harvested quickly."

"Yes!" Huan Ya replied. After putting the chicken on to stew, she shouldered a basket and followed Mother Song out.

The fields belonging to the villagers of Apricot Blossom Village were all located near the village entrance. The village itself was nestled at the foot of the mountain, with the Song family’s plot situated furthest in. The farmland lay on the flat land below the mountain, so it took about a quarter of an hour to walk from the Song house to the fields. By the time they arrived, there were already many people working in the surrounding plots.

"This is our plot," Mother Song said, pointing to the land on the edge. "The village fields and dry plots are separate. Our family has two mu of paddy fields, three mu of dry fields, and two mu of garden plots—this right here is the latter."

Mother Song gave a rough gesture, and Huan Ya took note of it. "Is all of this planted with corn?" she asked.

"Yes, but we had several heavy rains this year, so the harvest isn't great," Mother Song said. "I worked for two days before going to the market; there should be a little over a mu left now. We need to finish harvesting this corn today, or it will get ruined by the rain."

"Understood."

"I’ll be heading back now," Mother Song said, seeing her obedient demeanor. "Rest if you get tired. If you really can't finish it all today, tomorrow will be just fine."

Huan Ya agreed. Once Mother Song left, she took a cloth from her bodice and wrapped it around her head, leaving only her eyes and nose exposed. She then bound her palms with two strips of rags before picking up her sickle and stepping into the field.

She took a quick look and saw that it was just as Mother Song had described—a little over a mu. It wouldn't take all day; she could likely finish it in the better part of a day.

With that thought, Huan Ya raised her sickle and swung—*snap!* The sickle severed the base of the corn stalk. She tore open the husks, snapped the ear off with a *pop*, and pressed her foot against the stalk, causing the previously upright plant to collapse into the soil. Her movements were clean and efficient, and every ear of corn landed precisely in her basket.

As the sun climbed higher, fine beads of sweat broke out on Huan Ya’s forehead, and the rags on her hands became soaked with perspiration. As if she didn't even notice, she wiped her brow with her arm and, with another sharp *snap*, felled the next stalk of corn.