The chief said, “Right now, you run your own little household. When you see something wrong, you kick people out. But if you were the chief, and saw the villagers doing something bad, would you just chase everyone away? People aren’t like fruit or mushrooms—you don’t throw them out just because one is rotten. Your Ertian lacks guidance. Your mother couldn’t control him, you grew cold toward him, and these past two years you’ve been busy, unable to teach him. Left unchecked, he’ll rot completely, harming his wife and children. You have no choice but to intervene. But you think you can treat him like a rotten fruit, dig him out, and throw him away. When it stinks or rots later, it’ll no longer be your problem.”
Li Feng didn’t argue, but asked, “I scolded him, I hit him—he’s like a dead pig. What else can I do?”
Wang Dongmei had no family left, Ertian had been set aside, and now that they had children, the village was thriving. If they could endure, good days would come—why make things so difficult?
Seeing Wang Dongmei improve, Li Feng couldn’t understand why Ertian wouldn’t change.
The chief was silent for a while, watching Li Feng’s furrowed brows, then sighed lightly. “Life is really just about fame and gain. What’s reputation? It’s face, it’s pride. And gain? Silver, benefits. Our villagers can barely read, with fiery tempers. Look at their quarrels—what are they over? A prey, a patch of land, whose dog mated with whose—but what they’re really defending is face.
“These trivial matters, they don’t amount to much. But they can’t lower their heads—if they do, they’ll be ridiculed and can’t lift their heads later. So they argue, vent their pride, scold, fight. Then I come along, speak a few words, and they disperse. Does that give me face? No—that’s just going along with the tide.”
The chief advised Li Feng: “Running a small household is easy. You’re strong-willed and can feed people—that’s enough. But leading a large group is different. You don’t need to be overbearing. If you maintain your old habits while the family grows, your people will suffocate and problems will arise.
“As a leader, you need to be more flexible—play dumb, feign ignorance, see one thing and overlook another. You can’t be constantly strict and forceful. Keep your thunder in reserve. Rare thunder scares people. Frequent displays make them defy you instead.”
Li Feng’s father had died young. He had no hunting grounds. Who would teach him this?
He had spent ten years learning through trial and error, using what his parents taught him and what he learned by observing, refining through countless adventures, until he became the Li Feng of today. But no one taught him more. Leaving the village, he learned from Lu Yang how to treat the city like the forest. Gradually, he adapted.
But higher-level matters—he didn’t understand. Books were hard to digest; he hadn’t read many. His abilities hadn’t caught up, but as the family pillar, he had to hold firm, show no weakness, and couldn’t falter. This made him tense and domineering.
Leaning back, Li Feng reflected. His experiences, once unspoken, now shaped how he conducted himself. After marrying Lu Liu, the couple supported each other. He was older, more experienced, guiding Lu Liu when confused or insecure, sharing lessons from their past.
These lessons were tied to the mountains, to him, to the team he partnered with. How to interact with larger groups, to lead more people—he didn’t yet know.
As the business expanded, he first worked with his brothers, then involved other villagers. Few remained in the city; Lu Yang helped manage, but most issues were left to the village chief to mediate.
Li Feng knew he could learn to be a true family head. He decided to start by handling Ertian.
Seeing Ertian like a dead pig, impervious to scolding or discipline, stubborn with silver—Li Feng couldn’t comprehend him. He simply didn’t understand Ertian.
The chief took a sip of warm wine and gave Li Feng guidance:
“Ertian cares about face. From a young age, pride has mattered most to him. To him, face is more important than silver.”
It was late, so the chief left Li Feng to ponder on his own.
Back in his guest room, Li Feng lay down, thinking. Initially, both brothers had found hunting exhilarating and honorable, led by their father. Ertian, timid, had fallen often. Though excited on the mountain, he babbled constantly on the way down, only to be mocked by others for being unfit as a hunter. He lost interest in hunting afterward.
With their father gone, the brothers had to take responsibility. Li Feng led first, then taught Ertian. One day, a snake scared him badly; the incident became a cautionary tale in the village—never open your mouth carelessly, especially around snakes.
So was Ertian scared, or just unable to save face?
Once the family had land, Ertian worked diligently. Earlier, he often stayed home with Shun’er, circling their mother, earning remarks that he was like a little gentleman and would marry a man someday.
Was his hard work in farming motivated by fear of ridicule? Later, when arranging marriages, gossip said the brothers might remain bachelors. Ertian didn’t want to be an old bachelor, even if his elder brother hadn’t married. When a marriage proposal came, he had to accept.
Their mother hadn’t approved Wang Dongmei initially, and the family was still poor; few young women were willing. Ertian married Wang Dongmei.
Afterwards, the family fell into discord. Pride—face—drove his actions. Wang Dongmei began taking goods to her family, gradually escalating. Why did Ertian tolerate this?
Li Feng’s mind flashed through countless fragmented memories, both of Ertian as a child and grown, capturing the echoes of his words: Ertian often said, “Mother is biased toward you.”
Wang Dongmei’s thoughts aside, Ertian’s actions showed that alongside frustration, he sought the approval and praise he received from his father-in-law.
The family’s chaos was known across the village; Ertian had ruined good fortune. He accepted this one failure rather than risk more humiliation, even if success was possible.
Li Feng murmured, “Does he have a problem…”
He considered the village life’s difficulties: mouths everywhere. His whole family had gone to the city, bringing up other brothers, yet Ertian, his own brother, was neglected. Over time, the villagers didn’t openly criticize, but whispered that the mother was too harsh.
Splitting the household could form a separate branch, but blood ties remained. Without face, Ertian couldn’t thrive; no matter how prosperous Li Feng’s household became, the shame couldn’t be erased.
Li Feng closed his eyes. He was vexed. The loudest voice in his mind said, “Kick Ertian out,” but the chief’s lesson resonated. He knew he couldn’t act rashly.
His actions were visible to the villagers. Here, relationships mattered. If he couldn’t even help his own brother and chased him away at the first problem, what hope did others have?
The principles were clear, but how to put them into practice was a profound question.
Li Feng decided to start with what he knew best—hunting. He would take Ertian back up the mountain, to see if he was truly terrified or merely ashamed.
