WSMTATMC C39

Chapter 39

Back at the residence, Chen Qingyan was testing his younger brother on his lessons, so Wang Ying did not disturb them. Instead, he first went to the storehouse to put away the day’s earnings.

By now, he had saved more than one hundred strings of cash. Sixty strings came from the autumn harvest, while the rest was profit from the vegetable shop over the past months.

This was even after deducting daily household expenses and gifts for New Year. In short, under Wang Ying’s management the household had finally turned from loss to profit.

He deposited today’s income into the chest. The storage room now held two full boxes of copper coins. He thought, when time allowed, he should go to a money‑changer and convert them to silver—more convenient both to carry and to store.

Yet exchanging was costly. Ordinarily, one tael of silver equaled one thousand copper coins. But when trading copper for silver, the rate was a thousand one hundred coins or more to one tael—over ten percent lost as fee.

Locking the storehouse, he happened to meet Chen Qingyan returning from the study.

“Ah Ying, you’re back already?”

“Yes. Business was good today—the vegetables were sold quickly, so I closed shop a bit early.”

“All the vegetables from this morning are sold?”

“Exactly.”

Qingyan wore an incredulous expression, which made Wang Ying laugh aloud.

Entering the room, Wang Ying removed his cloak and padded coat, handing them to hang upon the wall. With the underfloor heater lit, indoors it was too warm for heavy clothing.

“Come, sit down. I must speak with you.”

Qingyan sat by his side. “What is it?”

“Last night something happened, didn’t it? You looked so ill at ease, and I doubt you slept at all.”

“N‑no… it’s nothing, only weariness from traveling. It takes time to recover at home.”

“Truly?”

“…Mm.”

“Whatever happens, you must tell me.”

“Don’t worry—it’s nothing. You are over‑thinking.”

“If that is so, then good. I’ll go check how the west wing is being cleaned.”

But Qingyan reached and took his hand.

“What is it?”

“I wish to hold you.” He wrapped his arms about Wang Ying’s waist, burying his face against his stomach, breathing deeply.

Wang Ying knew full well he had worries, but since Qingyan chose not to speak, he would not press—not every matter could be shared. Stroking his hair, he said gently, “If you don’t feel fully rested, then lie down again. I’ll be back shortly.”

“…Alright.”

When left alone, Chen Qingyan sighed deeply. It was not that he wished to conceal matters, but he did not know how to explain.

The subject of the Imperial Exams had become a knot in his heart, a demon of the mind. Each mention brought only anxiety and helplessness, gnawing away at pride yet remaining. Better, he thought, to resolve this first before confessing to Ah Ying.

In the west courtyard, Chen Bo oversaw masons repairing the compound.

This had once been Third Aunt’s rooms before her marriage. Since she left, many years had passed without occupants.

“Young master has come.”

“How fares the work?”

“Still several days left. These years no repairs were done—the windows warped, all must be reinforced.”

When the Old Master lived, each year workmen were called to mend the houses. After his passing, and with family turmoil since, Madam Li lacked such management—so the estate fell into disrepair.

Seeing young workers clambering upon ladders to replace roof tiles, Wang Ying cautioned, “Mind your steps! Snow lingers—don’t fall down.”

The worker laughed, “Rest assured, Young Master.”

Inside, plaster had cracked and peeled from the walls; all must be scraped and redone with limewash. Furniture was scant, the bed old, the rooms empty of possessions.

“See that every detail is carefully restored. If funds run short, take more from me. Do not slight Third Aunt and my two cousins.”

Chen Bo smiled. “Fear not, I guarantee it shall be neat as a new house.”

“When spring comes, the other courtyards must also be repaired. Should guests arrive again, we will not lack lodgings.”

“Good.” Chen Bo watched his back depart, and sighed inwardly: Fortunate indeed that the young master married such a son‑in‑law. Though still so youthful, he manages everything with steady method. Truly a pillar of the household.

Time passed quickly to the twelfth lunar month, thirteenth day. In these days, the vegetable shop bustled daily. Each night Wang Ying harvested in the field; by day he sold in the shop, endlessly busy.

Only Lin Qiu clung to help each morning. The younger cousins, Qingyun and Sui, though well‑intentioned, soon wearied of labor. But Qiu arose with Wang before dawn unfailingly, to open the shop.

One morning, Wang Ying emerged to find Qiu waiting already.

“Are you cold?”

Qiu shyly shook his head.

“You have eaten?”

“Yes. Millet porridge with wheat‑bread.” Since arriving, their diet matched that of their cousin—they ate fine flour and porridge daily, their cheeks now plumper with health.

“You needn’t rise so early. Business is light at dawn—coming later is fine.”

“…Mm.”

He said so yesterday as well, yet was up early just the same. This boy—so meek he dared not protest, yet capable one day of pressing scissors to his own neck. Now his wound was healing, leaving only a scar—a red line hidden beneath scarf and layers.

That day, vegetables were due to arrive by mule‑cart. Wang Ying prepared goods to stock the shelves.

Around mid‑morning, Cao Kun arrived with three workers.

“Shopkeeper Wang—happy New Year to you!”

“It is still early for that greeting.”

“I bring it in advance. Soon our firm will break for the year, we shall not travel then.”

“Ha! Then I also return you early greetings—fortune and prosperity!”

“All too kind.”

Just then Qiu came out with a basket of chives—and nearly collided with Cao Kun himself. Both froze.

Cao’s eyes lit up in astonishment. “You—why are you here?”

Qiu, confused, only ducked behind Wang Ying.

Smiling, Wang Ying introduced, “This is Boss Cao of the courier firm. Remember? The salve for your wound—that was his gift.”

Qiu stammered thanks. “I…thank you, sir.”

“No need. Worthless thing,” Cao mumbled, cheeks flushing, scratching his head. He urged his men inside to cart produce—but throughout, his gaze clung to Qiu, unable to turn away.

Wang Ying observed this in silence, amused: This Boss Cao makes no attempt to hide his eyes. He stares so openly the boy is embarrassed.

Yet thinking again—who knew his circumstances, whether married, his disposition? If worthy, perhaps one day their match could be arranged.

Having settled accounts, as they parted Cao drew close and whispered, “Shopkeeper Wang, how many years is this cousin of yours? Married?”

“Eh? Why do you ask?”

“No…nothing. I merely met him once or twice in the county. Fate to cross paths again—it surprised me.”

“He is my Third Aunt’s son. Seventeen years, not yet betrothed.”

Cao’s grin could not be contained. “Excellent!”

Wang Ying did not expose him. Such matters lay with elders; he would mention to Aunt in good time.

Later that morning, nearly all vegetables were sold. The shop could close early. He and Qiu cleaned the counters and carried a basket home.

Halfway, however, they met his younger brother rushing anxiously.

“Qingsong, what’s happening?”

“Bad…bad news, Brother! Our elder brother is fighting with someone!”

“With whom? Is he injured? Where is he?”

Panting, he gasped, “With a licentiate. His head…was struck. He’s home in bed!”

Wang Ying dropped the basket at once and raced toward home.

By the time he arrived, the wound was already bandaged, Qingyan lying pale upon the bed.

“Mother—what happened?”

Madam Li wiped tears. “I do not know. He will say nothing.”

“What said the doctor?”

“Not grave, but needs rest. Still—how can a quiet errand end in a head injury?” She pressed her kerchief, fresh tears falling.

Chen Rong too red‑eyed. “What cruelty! To strike at the head—what if it had done worse?”

Wang Ying gazed at Qingyan’s pallid face, dried blood staining his collar, and rage boiled. After months of nursing him to health, again he was bloodied!

Turning, he seized Qingsong. “Tell me now—how did this happen? From the beginning.”

Sniffling, Qingsong answered, “Today my classmates invited me to a debate gathering. I asked Brother to come. I wanted him to meet a licentiate from the county academy—Zhang Xiucai.”

This matter began days earlier: his classmates had sent him an invitation for a bianjing—where students compared interpretations of the Five Classics, discussing and exchanging learning.

Most were youths sixteen or seventeen, some barely younger than himself.

But this time, a special guest came: the licentiate returned from county school.

On the road, Qingsong praised him without cease—how learned he was, how refined. All the while, Qingyan walked silent.

When they arrived, the gathering had already started. Students were rising to greet.

And seated at the head—was none other than Zhang Shiqiu.

For an instant Qingyan froze. Then Zhang smiled smoothly: “A long time, Brother Qingyan.”

“You know each other?” Qingsong asked dumbfounded.

Qingyan sneered, “More than knowing.”

Without change of face, Zhang said, “Perhaps Brother Qingyan has some misunderstanding. Private matters may be private. For now, let us debate.”

Unknowing what history lay between them, Qingsong tugged his brother’s sleeve to sit.

The text chosen was The Book of Documents (Shangshu).

One of the group asked, “Which passage shall we discuss?”

Suddenly, Qingyan said, “Then discuss: To speak docile words yet act against them, as if piety floods Heaven.”

The line’s meaning—one adept in smooth words but false in act; mouth righteous, heart corrupt. Its target was clear as day.

At once Zhang’s face shifted. Coldly he replied, “I think better we study: Groundless words, heed them not; unasked counsel, use it not.”

“You cur! How dare you utter such lines!”

Leaping up, Qingyan pointed straight at him, voice blazing: “Years ago, I pitied your poverty—I let you live in my room to study, gave you pens and paper, treated you as dearest friend! And how repaid you?”

“Brother…” Qingsong gaped, stunned. Had not his brother said he did not know Zhang? Yet clearly—they had known long indeed.

notes

: 辨经会 (bianjing hui) – “debate over the Classics”: common scholarly gatherings among young Confucian students to practice expounding on the Five Classics and philosophical texts.

: From Shangshu · Yao Dian (Book of Documents, Canon of Yao): “静言庸违，象恭滔天” – describing hypocrites whose words seem gentle but acts deviant, the deceit rising as if pious flood to heaven.

: Shangshu: “无稽之言勿听，弗询之谋勿用”—do not heed baseless words, do not employ counsel not asked. Often quoted in debate culture.