This question, little Deb had already asked no fewer than twenty times.
But as the day for Adam and Ben to start school drew nearer, she brought it up more and more often.
Clara had managed to brush her off with all kinds of reasons before, but this time, it seemed she couldn't fool her any longer.
Deb might be young, but she wasn't foolish.
The excuses Clara had given earlier can't fool her anymore.
Chad was young too—about the same age as her—yet in two years he would be allowed to go to school. But no one ever said that in two years she could go as well.
Ben wasn't very strong either; he couldn't walk long distances. Yet he was still allowed to ride the ox cart to the school.
There were so many reasons, but none of them felt right.
No—there was one that seemed to make sense.
"Is it because I'm a girl?" Deb muttered, still unable to understand. "Why can't girls go? Why only boys?"
Before the age of four, she had grown up without her mother, and she hadn't yet felt any difference in status between men and women.
After four, the only woman she had spent time with was Clara—and with her, there was even less sense of inequality.
In fact, in the little girl's heart, her mother was stronger than her father, her brothers, stronger than anyone in the entire village!
So to make her understand why girls couldn't go to school—it was a nearly impossible task.
Even Lester had once given her this answer, but when she pressed him with the next question: "Why can't girls go?" he had no reply. He could only say, "It has always been this way since ancient times."
Deb was a clever little thing, very clever at times. But precisely because of that, she often got stuck in such knots of thought. If she couldn't reason it through, she would never let it go.
Such stubbornness! Clara couldn't help but ask curiously:
"Deb, were you born in the Year of the Ox?"
Deb paused, then shook her head. "I don't know."
"Big Brother, what year was I born in?" She immediately turned to her all-knowing eldest brother, successfully distracted.
Adam did some quick math and replied, "You were born in the Year of the Rabbit."
Deb nodded with a little "oh," then pressed on with more curiosity.
"What about Little Brother?"
"Of course, he's also a Rabbit," Adam answered.
"And Second Brother?"
She went on asking—about Ben, about Adam, then about Father…
Clara let out a quiet sigh of relief, then quickly ushered the four siblings off to wash up and get to bed.
As for Deb's question—she would need some time to think carefully before answering.
That night, Clara went to bed late.
Partly because she was sketching out designs to divide the compartments inside the book trunks.
And partly because she was still mulling over how to answer Deb's question.
The truth of society was far too cruel for such a little girl. If possible, Clara would rather Deb stay as innocent as Rosie or the other little girls in the village—growing up without asking so many "why"s.
To crush a child's hopes and expectations so early—such a heartless task—better left to Lester to handle.
In the blink of an eye, it was the 28th of the first month, just few days before school began in February.
Carpenter Liew had rushed to finish, and at last completed Adam and Ben's Mighty Book Chest.
They were made of sturdy timber, decorated with carved patterns on the outside, and coated with a black lacquer that gave them a rustic but refined look.
Inside, Clara had specially designed the compartments according to each boy's needs—Adam's trunk had space for his slingshot and dagger, while Ben's was laid out with larger open slots so he could arrange his things however he liked.
Carpenter Liew had gotten hooked on the project. He even set aside a rare piece of rosewood, planning to craft a luxurious, exquisite trunk—not to sell, but simply to showcase his craftsmanship. A true "masterpiece of the shop."
Clara carried the finished trunks home. Adam and Ben immediately rushed them into their room, eager to pack them with their school supplies.
Chad trailed curiously after his brothers, watching as they filled them with brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones.
Just the day before, Clara had taken the two to visit the Ding family estate. They met Old Madam Ding; although she seemed a little disappointed that Lester hadn't come along, the matter of the brothers' schooling was settled.
Everything was ready, just waiting for the school term to start.
But during these days, Deb's mood had been especially low.
Her three brothers were always together, Rosie was kept at home by her mother to practice needlework, and often the little girl would sit alone on the threshold, staring at one spot for an hour without moving.
Clara tried to cheer her up, suggesting she learn martial arts. But Deb showed no interest. She had once clamored to practice when she saw Adam training—yet now that Clara had agreed, she didn't want to anymore.
At first, Adam and Ben ignored their little sister. But once all their school preparations were finished, they finally noticed her sadness.
They tried to comfort her, promising that when they learned things at the clan school, they would come home and teach her and Chad too.
But Deb still didn't brighten up. Sometimes when their chatter grew too annoying, she simply ignored everyone, sinking back into her small, lonely world.
The whole family worried over her—when suddenly, the sound of drums and gongs carried from across the river.
"What's the celebration?" Ben leapt up and ran to the slope, craning his neck to see toward the village.
Before long, the tall figure of Quinn Liew appeared at the riverbank, beating a gong and shouting:
"The village chief has good news to announce! Everyone to the ancestral hall!"
As if to make sure the family up on the hill had heard, Quinn raised a hand to wave. Ben waved back in reply.
Satisfied, Quinn turned and headed into the village, continuing to beat his gong and call from house to house.
"Mother! The chief says there's good news, everyone to the hall!" Ben shouted as he dashed back to the gate.
Clara had already heard. She glanced at poor little Deb, her heart aching, and lifted the girl into her arms. With a signal for Adam and the others to lock up the door, she led the way toward the ancestral hall.
Along the road, they passed many villagers—faces lit with both excitement and curiosity. What news could be so good that the chief announced it with drums and gongs?
Could it be that this year's taxes would be reduced?
Driven by speculation, everyone who wasn't working the fields gathered at the ancestral hall.
The hall itself was small, so only one person per household could enter. The rest crowded outside—or climbed trees to peek over the walls.
When all were gathered, the chief smiled, unrolled a fresh document, and began to read aloud.
The villagers had no schooling; the ornate words went in one ear and out the other.
But when they heard the phrase "two years of tuition fees waived," their hearts skipped a beat.
Anything involving exemption from fees—they understood instantly!
The more senior among them didn't bother to let the chief finish reading. They cut him off directly, urging him to explain clearly in plain words instead of reciting the official decree.
Old Walter Liew chimed in as well:
"That's right, that's right—we don't care about some fancy writing. Just tell us straight, Chief. Whatever you say, we'll believe!"
If the chief had a beard, it surely would have been bristling upward in frustration at this band of "unruly folk."
(End of Chapter)
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