Watching him smear mud over the chicken, the two children, full of anticipation, were completely dumbfounded. How could this be eaten? But they had blind faith in Big Charles, so they obediently watched him prepare it, though they couldn't help but feel uneasy inside.

Charles Brooks didn’t bother to explain to them. He quickly started a fire and began roasting. After a while, a faint sweet aroma wafted from the mud. As the wet mud dried and turned yellow, the fragrance seeping through the cracks in the baked mud became even stronger. The two children’s mouths watered, and like little puppies, they circled the fire, unable to resist urging, “Is it done yet?” “Is it almost ready?”

After they had asked seventy-two times, Charles Brooks laughed heartily, used a stick to move the beggar’s chicken—now baked into a mud brick—onto a clean big green stone, and knocked off the mud shell in one go. The chicken feathers fell away with the mud, revealing golden, fragrant chicken skin. The two children immediately started drooling...

Charles Brooks took a deep breath, and while it was still hot, tore the whole chicken apart, pulled off a drumstick and handed it to Little Henry, then said to Robert, “Don’t just stand there, eat!”

“Oh...” Robert swallowed his saliva, reached out and tore off a piece of chicken breast, devouring it hungrily.

Charles Brooks also tore off a piece of chicken and tasted it. To his surprise, the chicken was incredibly fragrant, crispy and tender. Even without any seasoning, not even salt, it was enough to satisfy this old gourmet.

While it was still hot, the three brothers divided up the big chicken and ate it together. In no time at all, it was gone like a whirlwind, leaving only a pile of white chicken bones. The three brothers leaned against each other contentedly, and Little Henry, licking his fingers, said longingly, “I wish we could eat this every day...”

“As long as Henry behaves, every few days, Big Charles will treat you to a feast!” Charles Brooks said with a smile, patting his little belly. “But you have to promise, don’t ever tell anyone about eating chicken today!”

“Why?” Little Henry stared in confusion.

“The old witch will go crazy. You don’t want Big Charles to get beaten, do you?”

“No...” Little Henry shook his head vigorously. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“Good. If anyone asks what you ate last night, just say ‘flatbread.’ If they ask what you were doing, say ‘sleeping.’ Got it?” Charles Brooks instructed.

“Mm, got it. Flatbread and sleeping...” Little Henry nodded very seriously.

After repeatedly reminding his little brother, Charles Brooks turned to Robert. Seeing that bitter, resentful face, he felt reassured and just patted his shoulder.

It was getting late. Charles Brooks fetched water to put out the fire, buried the chicken bones, and then he and Robert took turns carrying the sleeping Henry as they quietly snuck back to their den.

By the time they returned, it was already the second half of the night. The two brothers were utterly exhausted, didn’t even wash their faces, and fell asleep as soon as their heads hit the pillow.

Without the rooster’s crow, everyone slept especially soundly. It wasn’t until daylight that they were awakened by the sharp scolding of Old Hag. Rubbing their sleepy eyes, the laborers saw that the sun was already up outside and couldn’t help but wonder why the rooster hadn’t crowed today.

‘Could it be that she finally got what she deserved?’ The laborers were already fed up with the stingy and mean Holt, but since their contracts weren’t up, they had no choice but to swallow their anger. Now that she’d finally suffered a setback, they were all gloating.

And they had guessed right. When they got dressed and walked to the yard, they saw that Old HagHolt was standing in front of the chicken coop, furious and flailing her arms, spewing foul language: “Which damned thief dared to steal my chicken? I’ll find him and crush his balls!”

“No wonder the rooster didn’t crow today. Turns out Mrs. Brooks took its place,” someone with a sharp tongue joked.

“Lewis Monk, you’re the shiftiest one here. I bet it was you who stole it!” Holt, unable to find anyone else to vent her anger on, immediately started cursing, “Give me back my chicken!”

“Mrs. Brooks, get your facts straight. We’re honest folks—you can’t slander us!” Lewis Monk jumped up in anger. “Go ahead and ask around. I, Lewis Monk, have worked at several charcoal yards—has anyone ever said I’m a thief?!”

Don’t be fooled by the fact that these people worked for her; unlike in the previous dynasty, where selling oneself meant lifelong servitude, the Song Dynasty forbade the buying and selling of slaves. All the laborers were free people—meaning they had the status of commoners. They only signed three- or five-year contracts with their employers at the government office to sell their labor for a set period.

Once the contract was up, they were free to leave. If they wanted to seek work elsewhere or change professions, a clean reputation was essential. This involved so-called neighborhood mutual guarantees and trade mutual guarantees. For anything involving the authorities—like buying a house, opening a shop, or getting a travel permit—one needed guarantees from neighbors or colleagues. If one’s reputation was ruined, it would be impossible to get by.

So, no matter how lazy Lewis Monk was, he wouldn’t dare risk his reputation.

Chapter Five: Scheming

Holt didn’t dare provoke everyone’s anger either, especially since what Lewis Monk said was true. These laborers were all commoners; how could they risk their reputations by stealing chickens? That would be a huge loss for a small gain.

Then who else could it be? She suddenly thought of the three brats banished to the cold shed and shouted, “The sun’s almost down! Why aren’t you working? What are you standing around for?”

“Our stomachs are empty—how do we have the strength to work?” the crowd replied lazily, unconcerned.

“Serves you mud-footed peasants right to be poor your whole lives!” Holt cursed. “Hurry up and eat, hurry up and get to work, or there’ll be no lunch for you!”