The conversation with Zhang Cuihua unfolded on a bare hillside—near the vigorously burning brick kiln, where bright greens were scarce.
In May, although the hillside was barren, it wasn't hard to endure. Occasionally, a breeze would blow, bringing refreshment.
"Is the child named Chu Yao?" Jiang Wang asked.
"That's right. My sisters-in-law gave birth before me. When the child was born, the men said that naming him Yao was good. 'The Emperor loves his eldest son, the commoners love the youngest.' That's the saying, I think." Zhang Cuihua's face bore a smile: "He was an educated man."
"Uh..." Jiang Wang agreed half-heartedly, against his better judgment: "My learned brother indeed looked like an educated man."