He’d said there was no need for Lu Liu to tag along, but Lu Liu insisted on coming anyway.
The weather was warm, so only bamboo blinds hung around the bath barrel. The straw mats had already been put away.
Li Feng wasn’t shy. He stripped quickly and cleanly.
Seeing that Li Feng had no injuries on him, Lu Liu finally relaxed.
They each took half a melon rind to scrub with. Lu Liu scrubbed his back while Li Feng handled the front. They soaked in mugwort water, then used soap beans to wash off the grime.
After that came a rinse with clean water, and another round with soap beans. By the end, their skin was rubbed red. Li Feng even rubbed himself with mint leaves.
Lastly, they stepped outside into the yard and had a bucket of hot water poured over them. After that, they could towel off and head back inside.
Lu Liu adored Li Feng’s powerful build. His gaze always lingered with a bit of hungry fascination.
Li Feng had broad, solid shoulders. Moving downward, his frame tapered sharply to a slender waist.
When Lu Liu praised how trim his waist was, Li Feng gave him a look that was hard to describe.
Lu Liu just laughed. “What? Compared to those shoulders, your waist is thin.”
Li Feng pulled him down to sit on the kang, legs crossed, his large “chicken” practically testing the seams of his pants. He said, “I once heard that a man with a good figure is supposed to have ‘ape-like shoulders, a wasp waist, and mantis legs.’ That’s me.”
He wasn’t modest about it, but Lu Liu didn’t find it arrogant—if anything, he grinned even wider. “Then other men must be dying with envy.”
Li Feng asked, “And you? Are you jealous?”
Lu Liu was—so he went over and hugged him.
And once he had him in his arms, there was nothing left to envy.
He loved Li Feng’s warmth and solid arms. Lying against his chest made him feel safe, grounded, at peace.
The moment he nestled in, his sleepiness hit. He hadn’t been resting well for days. Curled against Li Feng, his pent-up grievances spilled out.
“You have no idea how I’ve been sleeping these days. It’s your fault. You’re always wrapped around me at night—now if I don’t have an arm over me, I can’t fall asleep. I tried hugging your pillow. Too small. Tried hugging your coat. Too soft. Why are you both solid and soft at the same time? I just like holding you.”
Li Feng’s muscles were big and firm, yet when he relaxed, he felt warm and pliant.
He held Lu Liu close, peeling off his layers one by one, and tucked him under the covers.
“My fault. Tonight I’ll stay right here and sleep with you properly.”
Lu Liu wriggled into his arms and murmured, pleased despite his complaints.
Li Feng had come down the mountain safely, and now they had a child.
He told Li Feng, “I also sold a few books. Made some money.”
The books actually sold for a good price, meaning they could follow through with the year’s plan.
Li Feng kissed his forehead. “Sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Lu Liu fell fast asleep. Li Feng held him, feeling his warmth and softness, the tension of the past days finally loosening. He kissed his cheek and drifted off too.
It was a good night’s rest.
…………………………………………….
After the county exam ended, The Imperial Exam Answer Handbook continued to sell for a few more days and the remaining stock was completely cleared out.
Wu Pingzhi had calculated perfectly—eight hundred copies. Exactly right, and they didn’t reprint.
Each copy was priced at five qian, and with all of them sold, the total came to four hundred taels of silver.
The group found time to sit down together and do the accounting. There had been some losses in paper and ink. They’d used 145 bundles of paper and 240 large ink bricks; though the materials were low-grade, each bundle of paper cost 205 wen, and each large ink brick—more expensive than the small ones—cost 50 wen. Altogether, that came to forty-one taels and seven qian.
Then there was hemp thread, paste, and other miscellaneous costs during binding—about one tael and two qian.
Next came labor. Old Master Lu’s side contributed their own work and hired helpers; labor cost three taels.
Wu Pingzhi said they didn’t need to pay him, but his shop’s assistants still needed tea money, which came to two taels.
Engraving the woodblocks was charged per page—ninety-four pages at fifty wen each, totaling four taels and seven qian.
They hadn’t picked the best wood, either. If they’d ordered through a bookstore, they would’ve used more durable wood for the blocks—costlier upfront, but lasting much longer.
In total, printing cost fifty-two taels and six qian. Lu Yang had originally put in five taels himself, and now he felt embarrassed doing the math.
The remaining funds were Wu Pingzhi’s, who had added money twice—fifty taels total—to allow for a larger print run.
Back when Lu Yang came to discuss the business, he’d agreed with Old Master Lu on splitting the profit afterward.
The printing cost was high, but so was the profit margin. Since Lu Yang didn’t have much capital, they agreed on an 80-20 split, with Old Master Lu taking twenty percent.
But once Wu Pingzhi contributed fifty taels, the Lu family carried no risk—they only had to work. Old Master Lu wanted to forgo the profit split entirely. They argued back and forth before settling on ten percent.
After subtracting costs, the total profit was three hundred forty-seven taels and three qian. The Lu family received thirty-four taels and seven qian.
Wu Pingzhi said that since it was their first business venture, they didn’t need to give him a share. They’d earned well—next time they could talk partnership again.
But they’d earned too much this time. With over three hundred taels in hand, it wouldn’t feel right not to share.
At minimum, he should get twenty percent. Counting his original fifty-tael investment, they rounded it off and gave him one hundred twenty taels.
After all the accounting, Lu Yang and Xie Yan ended up with one hundred ninety-two taels.
That amount was dizzying.
Lu Yang immediately hosted a banquet and invited the Luo brothers and their families for a proper celebration.
Since the Lu household was too small, they set up tables in the Luo family’s courtyard and shared a feast.
Xie Yan shone that night. Luo Dayong and Luo Erwu looked at him with fresh admiration, piling on praise until Xie Yan got tipsy and drank himself under the table.
The Luo brothers had also made money. They sold food outside the exam hall—boiled eggs, tea, pancakes, and more.
A boiled egg cost barely one wen to buy, but they could sell them for five or six. Steamed buns that cost two wen outside doubled inside the exam venue. Tea sold for three wen a cup.
The exam was only one day, and many candidates brought food, but with the markup, the brothers still turned a tidy profit.
They told Lu Yang, “Scholars’ money is the easiest to earn. You better keep an eye on your scholar at home—don’t let him get swindled out there.”
Lu Yang agreed wholeheartedly but still defended his own: “It’s fine. Even if he gets swindled once, we’ll earn it back.”
He couldn’t drink too much, and since everyone there was family or close friends, no one forced him. As they chatted, someone asked what he planned to do with the money. Lu Yang said, “With this silver on hand, we don’t need to rush into printing another book. Let him focus on preparing for the provincial exam first. After that, we’ll plan the next step.”
That was reasonable. Wu Pingzhi added, “If a bookstore tries to negotiate with you, stall them. Let them raise their own offer.”
Lu Yang understood and shared a knowing, crafty grin.
As if good fortune came in pairs, just two days after they split the money, Luo Dayong came to the shop with good news—very satisfying good news.
Yuan Ji had suddenly gone back on his word and refused to guarantee five students for the exam, and those five students had filed a complaint with the magistrate.
When registering, each student needed a licentiate to vouch for them. The yamen usually just collected the guarantee letters and read names at the gate—mostly a formality.
But Yuan Ji had changed his mind out of nowhere, and the five couldn’t enter the exam hall. The more they thought about it afterward, the more furious they became, so they reported him.
The county magistrate, Lord Zhang, was smooth and experienced. One licensed scholar versus five aspiring examinees—who should he side with? Anyone could see the answer.
He had to protect Yuan Ji, but he also couldn’t let the five students lose faith. If they got angry and reported him back, that would be a real mess.
So he soothed them, saying the exam was held twice every three years; if they missed this year, there was always next year. It wasn’t as if they were waiting three long years. He told them to take Yuan Ji’s gift—a copy of The Imperial Exam Answer Handbook—study it well, and try again next year.
Yuan Ji had already wronged Xie Yan once. And now this book—written by Xie Yan—couldn’t be shared among five people living in different homes. One copy wasn’t enough. The magistrate ordered Yuan Ji to find a way, no matter what, to buy four more copies so each of the five could have their own.
Being forced to spend money for Xie Yan’s sake infuriated Yuan Ji, but he had no choice.
