WSMTATMC C84

Chapter 84

“Even so, his death hasn’t spared Qiu’er from slander. Many in the county say Qiu’er and Cao Kun were cruel—watching his own father and little brother starve to death.”

Chen Rong spat. “That shameless old wretch—dead and still managing to harm my Qiu’er one more time. Disgusting!”

Madam Li sighed. “When a man dies, the lamp is out. Let it pass. People only want a spectacle; they’ll slowly forget. Best not to mind them.”

“That’s what Qiu’er says too—he’s taking it lightly. It’s just that this isn’t a good look with Sui’er’s betrothal just arranged.”

Lin Sui was deeply fond of the Huang family’s second son and feared this scandal might taint his engagement.

At his age, first love blooms easily. From the moment he met Huang Yong, his heart had thumped at every mention. Unfortunately, the other party’s attitude remained lukewarm—who knew whether he truly agreed to the match.

Wang Ying asked, “How’s the county shop doing?”

“As the weather warms, fresh vegetables won’t keep. We’ve switched to sundries for now. Not as profitable as winter greens, but it’s steady income—enough to keep the household comfortable.”

Wang Ying said, “Cousin-in-law is resourceful—likely to grow the business.”

Chen Rong was entirely satisfied with her son-in-law. “Not a word against Cao Kun. Sui’er’s been living there for over half a year; he’s meticulous and thoughtful in everything—there’s nothing to fault.”

Madam Li smiled. “Qiu’er has good fortune. No need to worry now.”

“None at all. By the way, how goes Qingyun’s marriage? Settled a family yet?”

“A few days ago I discussed it with Ah Ying. No suitable matches at present. I’m thinking we’ll wait a year—after Qingyan finishes the exams, it won’t be too late to arrange.”

“All the better. If Qingyan becomes a juren, then Qingyun will be a juren’s sister—matchmakers will be trampling the threshold.”

“Third Aunt!” Qingyun’s face flushed scarlet. She stamped her foot and pulled Lin Sui away, leaving laughter behind them.

With Chen Rong back, Madam Li no longer felt lonely—no more constant talk of returning to town. Earlier she’d wanted to go back every other day, claiming the manor was dull.

It wasn’t that Wang Ying forbade her; it was Yuanbao who didn’t want to leave the manor.

At this age, a child wants to play. Pent up in the town courtyard all day was nothing like roaming free on the manor.

Besides, as the weather warmed, it was time to restart the popsicle business.

Though it could be done in town, hiring there brought trouble and envy—better to operate safely at the manor.

Time moved gently on. The master and three disciples had already been in Jizhou seven or eight days.

These days, they attended Master Lu’s lectures in the academy library daily.

Lu Zhongqi had taught for more than thirty years—vastly different from Liang’s “wild track” methods. Especially in policy essays, Lu’s brushwork and structuring had reached consummate skill.

How to pose the topic, anchor it, unpack it, then extend it in conclusion—he broke each step down with patient clarity, benefiting the three immensely.

He also explained which classical lines were forbidden in policy essays and how to avoid using characters in the posthumous names of former emperors; if a candidate used a taboo character, even a passing paper could be annulled for disrespect.

“In our cohort, some were disqualified for failing to avoid the late emperor’s taboo names. Remember this well.”

The three nodded and took notes—Liang had never covered that; after all, he’d never sat the provincial exam himself.

For his part, Liang wasn’t idle—he gave several poetry lectures to the academy’s students.

But his temper was fierce; at the sight of atrocious verse, he nearly jumped out of his skin—tones and rhymes mismatched, worse than Qingsong!

After a few days, he’d had enough—he dumped the three on Master Lu and went out visiting friends and attending poetry gatherings.

Today was the academy’s rest day; the three could take a holiday from study.

At dawn, an invitation arrived at the relay station: Liu Changyi would host a poetry gathering at a teahouse and had specially invited the three.

Qingyan brought the invitation to Liang. “Master, may we go?”

Liang glanced and waved. “Why ever not? Just don’t disgrace me.”

“Yes, Master.”

Qingyan quickly told his younger brothers. The gathering would run from the Shen hour into the Xu hour (late afternoon into evening).

They had time, so the three decided to stroll the city—they hadn’t yet explored.

Qingyan first left a note in the experimental field for Wang Ying: he might be back late, so no need to wait up. He also took out two strings of cash for pocket money.

They left the relay station with Chen Guang following to guard them; Ershun stayed behind to watch over Master Liang.

The road before the station was lined with flowers and trees and paved with small stones; as the city’s face, it was kept very neat.

After a stick of incense’s walk, they reached the front avenue—less refined: cow dung and horse droppings visible, sparse foot traffic, more carts than walkers.

The deeper into the city, the livelier it became. Roofs lined both sides in tight ranks, shop signs dangling in all shapes and sizes.

Every time they saw something, Qingsong was tempted—mung-bean jelly, milk skin, piping-hot street buns—until Qingyan scolded him away.

He also urged Qingsong to eat less; since the new year, the boy had been developing sideways—he needed to rein it in.

They walked on until they reached a jewelry shop, and only then did Qingyan stop. Wang Ying’s birthday was in the sixth month—he wanted to buy a present.

Wang Ying usually tied his hair with a wooden pin and cloth scarf. In the prefectural city, most husbands wore silver hairpins—it looked sharper. He decided to buy a silver hairpin for Wang Ying.

As soon as they entered the silver shop, they were awed by its splendor—gold leaf covered the ceiling, glittering everywhere.

A shopboy came forward. “Gentlemen, what would you like?”

Qingyan felt a touch ill at ease. “I want to buy a hairpin for my spouse.”

“This way, please.” The boy led them inside, took out a wooden tray, and laid out a dozen sets of silver hairpins—each exquisitely worked and eye-catching.

“How much are these?”

Pointing out a few plainer ones, the boy said, “These are a bit cheaper—about one string. Suitable for one’s own wear or as a gift.

“Our Zhou Family Silver is a century-old shop—snowflake silver all the way, no adulteration. Even if you tire of it, a pawnshop will give you travel money.”

Qingyan didn’t fancy those—too plain, better for older men. Wang Ying, being young, deserved something finer. He pointed to a hairpin with carved filigree and a set ruby. “And this one?”

“Excellent eye! Our silversmith just finished this piece—filigreed with twisted silver wire. Only three such pins can be made in a month. The ruby is brought from the Western Regions—this color is rare.”

As the sales pitch soared, Qingyan grew wary. “How much?”

“Six strings.”

Not cheap at all. “Can you lower it a little?”

“Afraid not. You get what you pay for. There are similar designs elsewhere, but the silver is impure—dulls quickly.

“This pin alone uses two taels of silver, and if it tarnishes, a boil in salt water will make it gleam like new. The ruby is worth at least three strings. We only earn craftsmanship.”

Qingyan picked up the pin and examined it; the more he looked, the more he liked it. Unfortunately, he hadn’t brought enough cash. “May I come back tomorrow?”

The boy smiled. “I can’t promise it’ll still be here. If another customer buys it, I can’t refuse them, can I?”

Qingyan remembered the banknote his mother had given him. “Is there a bank nearby?”

“Yes, a money house two hundred paces ahead. If it’s inconvenient, I can help you withdraw.”

“No need. We’ll go ourselves.”

He and his brothers went to the money house and exchanged a hundred-tael note for a fifty-tael note and the rest in actual silver, then returned to the silver shop and bought the hairpin.

They didn’t realize that in going and coming, they had drawn the attention of a gang of crooks.

This lot were seasoned con men and thieves, specializing in targeting out-of-towners. Each time, for lack of proof, the county yamen could do nothing.

After the purchase, the three continued shopping. Qingyan bought two delicate toys for his son—one was a mechanical calf; twist the tail a few times and it would toddle forward on its own.

Qingsong bought two small gifts for his sister and mother with his own saved money.

Arms full, they headed back to the relay station—when, halfway down the road, an old man suddenly darted out of an alley and crashed into Qingsong, falling hard.

“Oww—!” The elder groaned and rolled on the ground, clutching his leg.

Qingyan crouched down. “Are you alright, elder?”

“It hurts—why don’t you watch where you’re going…” The man’s foot was twisted at a strange angle—it looked like a fracture.

Qingsong panicked. “N-no—it wasn’t me. He ran into me!”

“How can you say that? At my age, how could I knock into you? Oww—”

His cries drew a crowd, and people began scolding the three for knocking him down so badly.

Qingsong was near tears. The man had clearly rammed him—why was he being slandered?

As the crowd swelled, Qingyan feared escalation and soothed, “Elder, let us take you to the clinic. If we’ve truly injured you, we’ll pay for treatment.”

The old man cut off his wailing at once. “Truly? Don’t go back on your word—my grandson still needs feeding. If my leg doesn’t heal, we’ll both starve!”

Qingyan quickly pulled out a string of cash. “Take this to buy food for your grandson. We’ll go to the clinic now.”

“Very well.” He took the money and slowly rose—

Then a voice rang out. “Ge Laojiu, you’re out swindling again! Don’t believe him—this man’s a cheat. There’s nothing wrong with his leg!”

At once, the “lame” old man sprang up, shoved through the onlookers, and sprinted away—fleet-footed as any lad.

The three stood stunned. After a moment, Qingsong rushed to the newcomer and bowed. “Thank you for speaking up!”

The man’s eyes flashed; he smiled, eyes narrowed. “A small effort—think nothing of it.”

Footnotes:

• Shen hour (申时) and Xu hour (戌时) are traditional time periods roughly 3–5 p.m. and 7–9 p.m., respectively. 
• Snowflake silver (雪花银) refers to fine, high-purity silver known for a bright, clean sheen.