71 Wealth

"Oh, William, why have you moved everything out here?"

The incident with Wayne and Holman had just occurred. Turning his gaze toward another villager emerging from behind the small hill, Old William immediately understood what was happening.

"Oh, it's Carls..." Old William said aloud.

So it was Carls, whose family's draft ox had injured its hoof... Old William thought to himself.

"No choice, Los insists that the Rodriguez family is cursed..." Old William continued.

Are you hoping Los can find some time to come by your place again? Old William mused inwardly.

No matter what he said aloud or kept to himself, Carls, who needed help, could never refuse Old William's suggestions!

And so, the furniture-moving team gained another member, and a third bundle of hay appeared before Wu Qingchen’s new doorstep.

After a few runs, the pile of belongings by the creekside bank had shrunk by almost half.

A little while later—

"Why are there so many people moving things?" asked a villager whose family's ox had a wound on its belly.

Soon, the team grew to five, and the number of hay bundles outside Wu Qingchen’s home became four.

"Need another hand?" This came from the villager whose ox had lost a large patch of flesh from its back.

Thus, the team grew to six, and the hay bundles became five.

With so many extra hands, the furniture and tools by the creek diminished rapidly.

After a short time—

"William, you’re moving things and didn’t even tell me..."

The villager whose ox had...

Wait? At that moment, Old William started to feel something strange. He even raised his hand to rub his eyes.

Indeed, the villager rounding the bend, also carrying an enormous bundle of hay on his back, was none other than Zizela, the lucky one!

The very same Zizela whose ox had emerged completely unscathed during the last calamity that struck nearly every draft animal in the village.

"Zizela, what brings you over here?"

"Eh? I just cut some hay and am heading home!"

"Home? What home?" Old William, his patience worn thin by these 'coincidences,' retorted less graciously, "You don’t live anywhere near here—your house is across the bridge by the forest, isn’t it? That’s two... no, three bridges away!"

"Well..." Zizela began to stammer, lifting his head as his eyes darted nervously.

"Enough, enough..." Old William had no interest in whatever excuse he might concoct on the spot. "Wasn’t your ox unscathed last time? What now, has it gotten hurt too? Are you hoping Los can come by and take a look?"

"Oh, no, please don’t say that!" Zizela waved his hands in panic. "My ox is just fine!"

"Then why come all this way?" Old William scrutinized Zizela, whose face was streaked with sweat and whose brow was speckled with grass seeds and perspiration. "And why carry such a huge bundle of hay?"

"Well..." Zizela pulled Old William aside, waiting for two other villagers to leave with their loads before leaning in closer. "William, you know... my ox may have been fine last time, but it’s still just a calf. Soon the summer plowing begins, and... well, if possible, I’d like to ask Los to pair my ox with one or two of the stronger ones for the plowing..."

"Uh... I must have completely forgotten about that," William thought, as he recalled the responsibilities of the cowherd. Beyond Los's newly added skill of healing, the most crucial duties were, first, taking the herd to graze in the lord's communal fields and then moving them to weed and fertilize the villagers' rotation plots, and second, assigning the oxen to the various labor teams.

The benefits of grazing and fertilizing were obvious—those opportunities were scarce and usually reserved for the cowherd’s relatives and a select few close villagers.

But arranging the labor teams—now that affected everyone. For the upcoming summer plowing, whether the land was hard or soft, whether the plow was heavy or light, whether the oxen were calves or full-grown—every single decision impacted each family’s fortunes.

"William..." Zizela, growing anxious at William’s silence, pleaded, "Even just a single strong ox among the team would help..."

Hard soil, soft soil, heavy plow, light plow, calves, adults—any one of these choices directly touched the lives of every family who owned oxen.

Any change here affected the interests of several households at once.

"William..." Zizela’s eyes brimmed with hope and entreaty. "If it’s too much to ask, even a lighter plow will do..."

Even deciding which oxen did which work was a delicate matter. Old William, who was unwilling to interfere even in the simpler matter of asking Los to check on an injured ox, would never get involved in something this tangled.

"Zizela, you know I’m not the cowherd! The summer plowing is too important—the overseer will listen only to Los, and maybe the cowherd’s helpers. Whether you want a stronger ox or a lighter plow, what good does it do to tell me?"

"It helps—a lot!" Zizela’s face lit up at the hint of yielding in William’s voice. "Just let Los know that Zizela came to see you first! When it’s time to assign oxen and plows, as long as Los remembers Zizela, Zizela will remember to thank him!"

"All it takes is to tell Los, ‘Zizela came first’?"

"That’s more than enough! Thank you so much!" Zizela nodded enthusiastically, patting the hay on his shoulder. "This hay is a gift for you—I’ll carry it up myself..."

"This hay?" Old William frowned slightly.

He remembered clearly that back when his own ox was still a calf, the gift he’d brought to the cowherd Rodriguez’s household for the summer work wasn’t just some hay—it was a hen!

"Just this hay?" Sensing Old William’s displeasure, Zizela glanced back in confusion, then suddenly understood. "Oh, this hay is just for you! As for Los and the plow boss, I’ll speak to them myself..."

"Ah!" Now Old William understood what ‘Zizela came first’ really meant.

The key was in the word ‘first’—he’d brought a gift to the cowherd’s father before anyone else. If the other gifts were equal, whom would Los favor with lighter work for their oxen?

The conversation with Zizela delayed things only a little, but the pace of moving things from the creekside, if anything, only increased.

In fact, Zizela’s arrival was like a starting gun. After that, Old William had no time left for carrying things himself.

One by one, villagers arrived, each with a bundle of hay on their shoulders...