Chapter Two: The Compassionate Mother

Nervously rushing out to the front of the mountain, Chen Jianchen only managed to relax a little after encountering other travelers. He soon spotted his family's runaway donkey grazing by the roadside in the hills, grabbed its rein, and headed down the mountain toward home.

Chen Jianchen lived in Jingyang Village, which was not far from Maple Mountain, just about five li away. Jingyang Village fell under the jurisdiction of Jiangzhou, with fifty-eight households and a population of two hundred and twenty-six. A clear stream meandered around the village, its burbling waters lending the landscape a gentle charm and a hint of spiritual vitality.

On the road, the image of that unusually behaving white fox lingered in Chen Jianchen’s mind. He had a vague sense that this world was not as simple as it seemed, but he could not quite put his finger on what was amiss. After all, the former owner of this body had been a classic bookworm, wholly absorbed in his studies, oblivious to the world outside his window, rarely setting foot beyond his own gate and only visiting Jiangzhou City a handful of times. Such a sheltered life meant his experience of the wild was pitifully limited.

“Could it be that there really are demons and spirits in this world?” Chen Jianchen suddenly entertained a frightening possibility. “And if there are demons and spirits, does that mean there are immortals too? Ha, I must be letting my imagination run wild…” The more he thought about it, the more absurd and nonsensical it seemed, so he forcibly suppressed the idea.

After roughly the time it would take for a stick of incense to burn, Chen Jianchen arrived at the entrance of the village, leading his donkey straight home. The villagers greeted him respectfully, bowing and addressing him as “Young Master Chen.” As he passed, the village women and matrons whispered among themselves, full of envy, remarking how Mo Sanniang had finally made it through the hard times. With such a promising son, prosperity was surely just around the corner.

Mo Sanniang was Chen Jianchen’s mother.

Chen Jianchen had lost his father at a young age and was raised solely by his mother, who toiled tirelessly to support him and ensure he could attend school. Mother and son depended on each other for everything. Yet on the very day Chen Jianchen passed the county-level civil service exam, in his elation upon seeing his name on the list, he clapped his hands, shouted with joy, and then collapsed to the ground, eyes rolled back, frothing at the mouth—enacting for all to see a real-life version of “Fan Jin Passing the Exam.” When he awoke, everything had changed; his soul had been replaced. The earthling who had crossed over dared not reveal the truth and quietly set about adjusting to this unfamiliar life, including accepting the presence of a kindly mother.

In his previous life on Earth, he had lost both parents early and had no close kin. Thus he did not resist this new, profound maternal love; in fact, he quickly accepted it. After some time together, he genuinely embraced Mo Sanniang as his mother, honoring her with heartfelt filial piety.

…

Returning to their humble home, Chen Jianchen entered the courtyard to find his white-haired mother struggling to split firewood, sweat streaming down her forehead, too busy even to wipe it away. She was only thirty-six, yet fine wrinkles already marked her once-beautiful face, prematurely etched by the hardships of time.

Chen Jianchen hurried forward and said, “Mother, didn’t I tell you to leave the firewood for me? I’ll chop it when I get back.” He reached for the axe.

But Mo Sanniang held it fast, saying, “Liuxian, how can you handle such heavy work? Besides, you are a scholar now, with an official title. You mustn’t do such menial labor. If others see you, they’ll laugh.”

Chen Jianchen, paying her no heed, seized the axe: “Scholar or not, I’ll always be your son at home. It’s only right for a son to help his mother with chores—who could find fault with that?”

—In the Tiantong Dynasty, scholars were held in high esteem. That sense of superiority was both self-proclaimed and widely acknowledged. As the saying went, “Of all professions, only studying ranks supreme,” which implied that scholars rarely did household chores. Thus, the land was rife with “bookworms unskilled in manual labor or farming.”

The old Chen Jianchen had also been a man whose fingers never touched dishwater.

But times had changed. Though the body remained the same, the mind within had been utterly transformed. The current Chen Jianchen would never allow himself to lounge in his study over the classics while his mother sweated alone in the courtyard—that was something he could not abide. Stubborn by nature, and with little regard for the myriad conventions of this foreign era, he simply ignored such rules.

So he raised the axe and began chopping, doing his best to mimic proper technique. Splitting firewood was not a matter of skill but of strength, and that was precisely what Chen Jianchen now lacked. After a short while, his arms were weak, his palms burning. He gritted his teeth, kept silent, and pressed on, determined to finish every last log.

Watching him, Mo Sanniang felt both distressed and helpless. She could only close the courtyard gate to keep neighbors from seeing her scholarly son chopping wood—for the notion of a scholar’s dignity was deeply ingrained, especially for one who had recently earned his title. If he was seen doing such chores, it would be considered disgraceful, the subject of ridicule and gossip.

An hour later, Chen Jianchen finally finished, utterly exhausted, leaning on the axe, gasping for breath, sweat soaking his shirt, blisters swelling on his palms.

“I told you, you’re not made for such heavy work. What if you tire yourself out?” Mo Sanniang quickly fetched a cloth to wipe her son’s sweat.

Chen Jianchen forced a smile. “It’s nothing. From today on, all the heavy work at home is mine.” Inwardly, he swore to put this frail body through some serious training. In his previous life, he had been an athletic enthusiast, fond of basketball and soccer; since crossing over, he had found this feeble physique intolerable at every turn.

Watching him, Mo Sanniang was momentarily lost in thought, feeling that since that day her son had fainted from excitement at passing the exam, he had become somehow different, changed in countless little ways.

“What am I thinking? As long as my boy stands before me, healthy and whole, nothing else matters…” She quickly dismissed these scattered thoughts and went to prepare supper.

The Chen family was poor. Most of the money Mo Sanniang earned over the year was spent on her son’s education at the private school, leaving just enough to keep the two of them barely fed and clothed. Their meals were simple; a single serving of meat a month was already a luxury. Yet every day, every single meal, Chen Jianchen had an egg to eat. As Mo Sanniang put it, “A scholar needs nourishment for his studies.” She never considered that it was she, laboring from dawn till dusk, who needed it even more.

Such is the heart of parents everywhere, in any world.

Recently, though, the single egg in Chen Jianchen’s bowl had become half an egg, the other half having been forcibly added to Mo Sanniang’s bowl.

“Mother, you work harder than I do. You should eat better.”

Hearing this, Mo Sanniang was deeply gratified and secretly wept long and hard in her room.

A kind mother, a filial son—such is the joy of family. It seemed her son not only had earned his scholarly title, but had truly become a man.