Chapter 4: Utter Poverty

“All right.” Bai Xi interrupted them, her little face serious as she declared, “It was my idea to come here. Don’t scold them. I just wanted to have a look around and see how this year’s harvest is coming along.”

Her words, so mature for someone so small, left everyone momentarily stunned before they broke into laughter. Where had the little grandaunt picked up such phrases? She couldn’t possibly judge a harvest at her age. Still, as if afraid their laughter might embarrass or anger her, the others quickly reassured her, “Don’t worry, grandaunt, the rice looks good this year. If the rains don’t fail us, the yield should be fine.”

“That’s right, you can rest easy, grandaunt.”

In truth, Bai Xi had nothing particular to do—she was simply wandering about, going wherever her fancy took her. Seeing that no one wanted her lingering by the fields for long, and finding nothing much of interest, she put on an air of elderly wisdom, nodded solemnly, uttered a word of farewell, and took her leave.

“Well then, carry on with your work. Thank you for your efforts.”

Once Bai Xi had walked away, those laboring in the fields could no longer contain their laughter.

“Where did the little grandaunt pick up such talk? She sounded almost convincing!”

“It’s true, she’s only been gone two days, but she’s speaking more and more like a learned person.”

“Hush, don’t laugh too loudly, or you’ll upset her.” Even the one cautioning the others couldn’t help but chuckle.

Though Bai Xi was only five, she had been imitating the mannerisms of adults and elders for the past couple of years, so her behavior surprised no one.

Hearing the laughter behind her, Bai Xi knew they meant no harm, yet she was still a little annoyed. This child’s body was truly exasperating. But as a dignified nine-tailed celestial fox, she couldn’t stoop to quarreling with mortals—especially when all these people treated her with nothing but kindness. Still, she was frustrated.

“Grandaunt, where would you like to go?” someone asked.

“Home!” Bai Xi replied curtly.

“Oh!” Chen Rui, listening, wasn’t surprised but also didn’t leave, obediently following after her. She felt she had to see the grandaunt home before going anywhere else.

On their way back, they passed by the ancestral hall and noticed that its great doors were strangely left unlocked. Bai Xi, curious, asked, “Why isn’t the ancestral hall locked today?”

She remembered that, usually, the hall was kept locked to prevent village children from sneaking in. Niuluo Village had three major surnames, families who had lived there for centuries and shared the ancestral hall. It was said that the three families had once been one, only splitting apart generations ago.

Chen Rui followed Bai Xi’s gaze and replied dutifully, “Little Shunzi and the others are inside.”

Li Zhu, who had tagged along, piped up, eager to earn credit, “Grandaunt, they made you fall in the water the other day, so they were punished and made to kneel in there.”

“Oh,” Bai Xi replied absently, walking a few steps before asking, “How long has it been?”

“Huh? What do you mean, grandaunt?”

Bai Xi took a deep breath, reminding herself to stay calm—not to argue with ten-year-old brats. She seemed to forget that she herself was only five.

“I mean, how long have they been kneeling?”

Chen Rui realized her mistake in not understanding right away and answered apologetically, “It’s been two days.”

Two days? The oldest of those children couldn’t be more than ten. Besides, it had been the flower sprite herself who had insisted on catching shrimp in the water, only to accidentally tumble into the stream. By the time the others noticed, she was already floundering in the deepest part, too weak to struggle, and Shunzi and the others had hurriedly called for help.

Thinking back, Bai Xi couldn’t help but inwardly scorn the flower sprite—how useless for a spirit! If the flower sprite could hear her thoughts, she would certainly protest: She had cultivated for years, but after reincarnating into this child’s body, all her remaining abilities were trapped. Even if she knew what to do, she was still just a child—what could she manage?

“That’s enough now,” Bai Xi declared, but at that moment her stomach let out a loud rumble.

Chen Rui and the others hadn’t understood her meaning at first, but the sound of her empty belly made it clear—grandaunt was hungry. However, it wasn’t yet mealtime. They were hungry too; the season’s rice was still growing in the fields, with more than two months to go before harvest. Even adults working in the fields subsisted on watery porridge, everyone rationing grain for fear they wouldn’t last until the new crop came in.

“Grandaunt, have a milk candy,” Chen Rui offered, fishing one out. She hadn’t eaten it earlier, saving it for just such a moment.

The others eyed the candy with envy, swallowing hard, but no one dared to ask for any. They all knew that grandaunt’s things were not to be coveted.

Bai Xi had never experienced such embarrassment before. Her delicate, lovely face flushed red as she snapped, “I said I don’t want it! I’m your elder—how could I eat a child’s candy?”

She wanted fish, meat—anything but another bite of those leafy greens fried in a drop of oil. She was a nine-tailed fox spirit, not some rabbit sprite.

After she spoke, seeing that Chen Rui and the others fell silent, Bai Xi finally said, “Li Zhu, Shunzi and the others have knelt long enough. Go tell the village chief, say I said they can get up now.”

“But it hasn’t been three days yet,” Li Zhu hesitated.

Even though the boys were kneeling in the ancestral hall, they weren’t starving. They just couldn’t climb trees, raid bird nests, or catch shrimp in the river. Village children were tough—climbing trees, diving into the river, rolling in the mud, crawling through caves. A meal of stir-fried bamboo shoots and pork was a rare treat, and a beating was nothing new. To say they were thick-skinned was no exaggeration.

Bai Xi put her hands on her hips, fuming, “I’m the grandaunt. What I say goes! Now hurry!”

“Oh, all right, I’ll go now!” Li Zhu darted off toward the village chief’s house, while Bai Xi’s stomach growled again.

Chen Rui quickly unwrapped the milk candy and, just as Bai Xi opened her mouth to speak, slipped it in, coaxing her, “Grandaunt, please eat. It’s very sweet.”

Caught off guard by the sudden candy, Bai Xi’s words were cut off and her cheeks puffed out. She said nothing.

“Isn’t it sweet, grandaunt?” Chen Rui’s eyes sparkled, her smile bright as if she’d eaten the candy herself.

Bai Xi nodded. It was sweet—at least her stomach stopped rumbling.

Seeing this, Chen Rui grinned even wider, delighted as if she’d won a prize.

The other children, though clearly tempted, just swallowed hard and kept quiet. The older ones wiped their mouths and looked away, pretending not to care.

“Grrr…”

“Grrr…”

One after another, stomachs rumbled. Bai Xi looked at them—pulling up their trousers, tightening coarse cloth belts around their waists, their faces resigned to hunger—and an indescribable melancholy welled up in her heart.

This place was far too poor. These people’s lives were simply too hard.

Bai Xi strongly suspected the flower sprite had fled simply because she couldn’t bear such hardship.