My name is Jiang Zaozao. Last month, I was teaching two dogs to write the word "rice" with tree branches at the end of the village. This month, I was already sitting in an ox cart going to Beijing, holding in my arms the village's last hope - a bag of jingling copper plates.
This year's drought has been so extreme that the river bottom cracked into turtle shells and crops fell in pieces, like ants dried by the sun. Grandma said if it doesn't rain, she will have to sell her son and daughter. As it turns out, someone really came to the village, and he brought an even more outrageous method than selling people:
"Send the girl from the Jiang family to Beijing and let her marry a noble man. She will have a koi carp in her life and the fragrance of rice flowers will flourish for ten miles."
With Ren Yazi's words, the whole village seemed to have found a life-saving straw. That night, every household dug out the bottom of the box: Aunt Li poured out all the money she had saved for her daughter's wedding shoes, Uncle Wang also brought in the broken silver to buy seeds for next year, and even the six-year-old Shuan Zi gave me the copper coins he had saved for three years to buy candy, and shouted in a sweet voice:
"Sister Zaozao, when you become a lady, remember to ask God to rain sugar on me!"
My mother strung the copper plates into a "silver belt" and wrapped it around my waist. She wiped her tears while wrapping it: "Zao Zao, the rice cooker of our whole village is hanging on your belt. When you go to the capital, you have to choose the richest, kindest and best-looking official. Don't let the villagers down."
I was actually beating a drum in my heart. The dignitaries are not like carrots in the field, they can be pulled out whenever they want. But looking out the window at the smiling faces that were so dry that their skin peeled off, I slapped my chest loudly:
"Don't worry, I, Jiang Zaozao, don't know anything else. I know how to count money, teach people to laugh, and - Wangtian!"
