The poor old ox. Though usually tended to meticulously by Yang the Third, today it was truly suffering. Its back fur was a tangled mess from the whip, and it panted heavily as it rushed forward. The dust kicked up by the cart wheels left a long tail on the dirt road.
The sun climbed higher in the sky, and the outline of Yang Family Village became faintly visible up ahead. Yang the Third cracked his whip, his voice growing even louder. "Yah! We're almost home!"
The moment the oxcart rumbled over the stone bridge at the village entrance, Yang the Third threw back his head and bellowed, "Yang Jing passed! Yang Jing became a military scholar, fourth on the list!"
His voice was resonant, spreading through the village like the banging of a gong.
The women turning grain in the sunning-grounds, the old men squatting by the walls smoking their pipes, and the children rolling in the mud—all were startled by the shout. One by one, they straightened up and looked toward the village entrance.
