The clan hall, which had just been orderly, now turned into a noisy marketplace. The village chief scolded impatiently:
"What's all this racket! You lot have no patience at all. With this attitude, you still think you can grab hold of such a great blessing?"
The villagers quieted a little, still muttering under their breath:
"Then hurry up and tell us! What's this great blessing? Why are they waiving school fees? Whose fees exactly?"
The chief slapped the official decree back onto the table. Well, so much for his long-winded reading—wasted effort.
No, not entirely wasted. At least the most important line had sunk into their heads.
The chief gave up on hoping for comprehension from these mud-legged farmers. He raised his hand to call for silence again, then spoke clearly:
"The imperial court has proclaimed a great policy! From now on, even we common folk can send our children to school!"
The words had barely left his mouth before the clan hall exploded again.
Clara, who had been waiting for the key point, only heard the noise rise once more. Her frown tightened so deep it could crush a mosquito between her brows.
She glanced at the chief—his frown was even deeper than hers. To have the words at your lips and be constantly cut off—it was maddening!
Clara decided to lend him a hand. She drew in a breath and shouted with all the force from her diaphragm:
"Quiet! If anyone interrupts the chief again before he finishes, I'll throw you out myself! Don't believe me? Try me!"
Her roar carried the force of a war drum and the volume of a blaring horn right in their ears. The villagers felt their very souls rattled.
In an instant, the hall fell utterly silent—so quiet not even breathing could be heard.
The chief let out a long, pent-up sigh, then gave Clara a grateful nod. His chest finally felt unblocked, and he spoke in one unbroken stream:
The imperial court had issued a new decree. From today forward, the Sheng Kingdom would implement two years of free education.
Any child aged six and above but under twelve—boy or girl, noble or commoner—could take an entrance assessment. If they passed, they would be admitted to the nearest academy for two full years of free schooling.
Tuition would be paid by the court. Families only needed to provide their own brushes, ink, paper, inkstones, and pay for books.
The decree had already swept the capital like a storm, stirring up every household.
Now that it reached the villages and counties, its heat had not lessened in the least.
The Liew Clan Village erupted like firecrackers. Families with sons felt both joy and worry.
Joy, because their children could finally go to school. Worry, because while tuition was free, books and supplies were not.
That expense, for most households, was no small burden.
And then there was the assessment. How would it be tested? How many children would they take?
These villagers had never read a single character across generations. Their children grew up rolling in mud. Could they possibly pass such an exam?
After the initial ecstasy, the villagers cooled down quickly, doubts spreading.
"Just two years? What happens after?"
"What can you learn in two years? Won't they just come back to farm? What's the point?"
"Exactly! After two years, it's the same—they still can't fill our bellies. If the boys stay home, at least they can do some chores."
"Forget it. Even book fees aren't something families like ours can afford. This decree isn't meant for people like us anyway."
One by one, the villagers drifted away. In no time, the hall was nearly empty.
Only Clara and a few parent representatives remained. They exchanged looks, then pressed the chief for more details.
"Which academy will our village children attend?"
"What's in this assessment?"
"Is there a quota per household?"
This genuine concern warmed the old chief's heart. He patiently explained:
"As luck would have it, the Ding Family Academy in Goldstone Town was just built. That's the closest for us, so our children will go there."
"There's no household quota. As long as they're the right age, they can try."
"As for the assessment, I don't know yet. The decree only just reached Willowridge County. I've only just been informed myself. But the Ding Family Academy is enrolling in a few days, so you'd better hurry!"
Fearing they might slack off, the chief repeated himself several times: no matter what, take your children to try. Even if the chance was slim, what if one of them was chosen?
Two years of study was no small thing. It was enough for basic literacy and arithmetic.
In two years, it would be clear whether a child had a talent for learning.
If they did, gritting one's teeth to continue supporting them would surely bring more benefits than drawbacks.
If they didn't, even two years' basics—reading, counting—would still allow them to work as clerks or managers in town or county. Far better than scratching at the soil, praying to the weather.
The chief had thought it a stroke of heavenly fortune, as if the Liew ancestors' graves were smoking incense, to have such a decree arrive.
His advice was simple:
"Don't overthink it. Just take your sons to the Ding Academy and try! It's a blessing either way. You won't lose anything!"
Seeing even the few still hesitant made him anxious.
Clara suddenly laughed. "Chief, I'll take my children tomorrow!"
Under the startled gazes, she strode out of the hall and bent down to the little girl beside her.
"Little Lillian Liew, congratulations—you're going to school!"
The girl's eyes widened, hardly daring to believe. "Really? You're not lying, Mama?"
Clara nodded firmly. "Really."
In the village, ages were counted by the new year. After the Spring Festival, the twins fit perfectly into the six-to-twelve range.
"Come on. Let's prepare. Tomorrow, you and Chad are going to town."
Clara beckoned, and the siblings followed.
Deb had been weighed down with gloom for days, but now joy burst through her like sunlight.
Along the road, to every villager they passed, she announced solemnly:
"I can go to school!"
She was like a lark freed from its cage, chirping endlessly, brimming with energy.
"Aunt Zhou, I can go to school!"
"Granny Wang, I'm going to school!"
"I'm going to school!"
Her cheerful voice melted hearts, and people instinctively smiled at her: "Congratulations, child."
Then the smiles froze.
A realization struck—the decree applied to girls, too.
Passing by the old Liew house, Deb bounded inside, calling:
"Rosie, we can go to school!"
But the expected congratulations never came.
Her bright smile slowly faded. She turned back to her mother.
Clara walked forward, gently smoothing her daughter's hair, then noticed something wrong.
Rosie stood alone in the courtyard, brimming with defiance.
Opposite her, the rest of the Liew family sat or stood in the main hall.
And in their midst, Caleb and Kate, weariness in their eyes, cradled their sleeping son while looking helplessly at their daughter.
(End of Chapter)
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