Chapter 214

Zhang the county magistrate told him, “You agreed to vouch for them, then suddenly backed out. Several days have passed and you never came to the yamen to explain yourself. How is this any different from falsifying documents? And you know what the punishment is for cheating in the imperial exams. Scholar Yuan, I sympathize with how hard you’ve studied, but don’t force my hand.”

Between acting out of spite and intentionally committing fraud, which was lighter?

Only then did Yuan Ji give in.

But the five students were still worried about finding a guarantor for next year’s exam.

After all, they had taken this to court, and they came from clean, upright families. Magistrate Zhang told them he would speak with the county school instructors—next year, a licentiate would vouch for them.

Who knew the five boys would point to Xie Yan specifically.

Magistrate Zhang immediately said, “He can’t.”

The five stared. “Why? Is he not going to qualify as a licentiate?”

Zhang laughed. “Next year is the provincial exam. If that boy doesn’t pass, then no one from our county will. If he becomes a juren—a provincial graduate—of course he won’t be vouching for mere students.”

His evaluation was so high that the five boys regretted it on the spot, stomachs twisted. Yuan Ji, meanwhile, kept muttering “Impossible,” over and over.

Zhang then asked him, “Have you heard of Correct Meanings of the Five Classics, Collected Commentaries on the Four Books, or The Rules of Learning? We won’t talk about the Five Classics or the Four Books. The Rules of Learning teaches how to construct an exam essay—how to begin, how to develop, how to argue, how to conclude. That little pamphlet Xie wrote may not be long, but from what I’ve seen, he’s mastered the method inside and out. It’s practically a commentary on The Rules of Learning. If someone has studied the imperial exam essays to this depth, he may or may not become a metropolitan graduate in the future—but you think he won’t even pass the provincial exam?”

The blow nearly knocked Yuan Ji unconscious. He staggered out of the yamen like his soul had been shaken loose.

When one thing goes well, everything follows.

Because of the magistrate’s praise, Advisor Jin took it seriously and chose a day to visit with his older brother.

His brother was the owner of Common Sayings Bookshop. They came to discuss the next booklet, and also wanted to buy the printing blocks for the first one.

Lu Yang had been terrified Jin shifu would show up. Last time they needed help filing a complaint against a local bully, Jin had stepped in. Now that it was business again, Lu worried there’d be pressure. But since he was polite, Jin followed his lead and stayed polite as well.

While pouring tea with his eyes lowered, Lu suddenly understood: Jin wasn’t here for himself—he was here because the magistrate’s high praise meant Xie Yan was bound to rise. Once he succeeded, the county would no longer be able to hold him. And a future official was not someone a petty advisor could control.

With this in mind, Lu knew exactly how to handle them—wait for them to state their intentions plainly.

They’d had good dealings before; the bookshop had never truly wronged Xie Yan. At worst they’d been slow and stingy when paying out. Nothing that counted as enmity.

And with no bad blood, friendship was possible. And friends doing business must show sincerity.

The bookstore offered two types of contracts. The first: an advance plus a profit split. They would pay fifty taels upfront once the manuscript was delivered, and later split profits sixty-forty. Xie only had to write—no logistics, just collect his share.

The upside was ease and higher earnings, but the accounts wouldn’t be transparent. Easy to get cheated.

The second was a buyout. Based on the profit of the first book, buying this next one outright would start at two hundred taels. If they bought all future exam-topic booklets, the price would reach a thousand taels. After that, profit or loss would be on the bookstore.

But Xie wanted to open a bookstore of his own someday—neither option suited him well.

Lu had his own proposal: Xie would write, he’d work with the Lu family printing shop, and he’d act as the supplier while the Jin brothers sold the books.

He’d calculate a price that let them earn roughly what the “four” from the sixty-forty split would amount to.

They would have to talk more. The Jin brothers took their leave for the day.

Good fortune made Lu beam like spring every day; everyone who saw him said he looked triumphant.

With money in hand, Xie took him to the clinic for another checkup. The old physician gave the same advice—illness must be nursed slowly.

But he couldn’t help asking, “What tonic have you fed him? His complexion looks much better.” A patient this sick showing a rosy complexion usually meant internal heat flaring too high.

But after taking his pulse, he found no signs of excess. Instead, the liver qi was flowing smoothly, and a new vitality was budding inside.

Xie had only cooked some nourishing soups. He hadn’t dared give heavy tonics—he was afraid Lu’s body couldn’t handle them.

Lu just sat on the stool smiling from ear to ear.

The doctor couldn’t explain it, and neither could the top scholar. But Lu himself knew perfectly well.

Money really does nurture the spirit. With silver in his hand and nothing to worry about, his heart loosened, his mood brightened, and even his appetite improved.

No wonder people say money solves all problems—it wasn’t wrong.

Leaving the clinic, Xie wanted to stop by the broker’s office to find someone who could help them look for a house so they could move soon.

A quiet place would be better for Lu to recover.

But Lu told him to wait. “Wait until May. After your prefectural exam—you can deal with it once you’re back from the city.”

Moving was troublesome—choosing a house, inspecting it, fixing it up, getting used to the neighbors. Too many chores, not right for now.

They hadn’t hired helpers for the shop either, and Lu Lin still hadn’t made a decision. Living behind the store was more convenient.

Besides, Lu had grown up in the back courtyards of shops all his life. He was used to the noise of the marketplace—silence would feel stranger.

Reason after reason made sense, and by the time he mentioned his own habits, Xie finally relaxed.

He still had school and only had time to go home during lunch.

Leaving the clinic, he had to rush back to the private academy.

Lu packed some treats for him—walnut cakes, chestnut cakes—and boiled peanuts, shelled already so he could snack without fuss. He also gave him two jin of roasted flour and a jin of sugar.

Was it his imagination? Lu felt Xie had gotten taller.

He held up a hand to compare—he really had.

“You keep insisting you’re not a kid, but look at you, you’re still growing,” Lu laughed.

Xie suddenly understood. “No wonder my pant legs feel short.”

Since he’d started school, he’d been using his brain and training his body. His worries had eased, his appetite had increased, and Lu never skimped on food. With Wu Pingzhi watching over him in the school dorms, his mealtimes were rushed, but he never missed a meal’s worth of nourishment.

He was only nineteen this year—of course he could still grow.

Lu glanced at his boots. It was spring now—no more padded pants or winter boots. Xie was wearing tall black boots with white soles, reaching up to his calves. With his pant legs tucked in, you couldn’t tell if they were short.

“We’ll make do for now. I’ll buy fabric and make you two new pairs later,” Lu said.

After a few more words, Xie grabbed the lunch box and took off running.

Lu went back to the shop and invited his mother-in-law out to buy fabric with him.

Aside from the winter clothes Wu Pingzhi had gifted them, they hadn’t had new clothes made in years.

Now that they had spare money, they could look together.

Madam Zhao knew they’d earned a profit and didn’t refuse. She even helped him examine the fabrics.

Lu knew many things, but fine fabrics weren’t something he handled often. Patterned cloth was rare in his wardrobe. Inside the fabric shop, it didn’t take long for him to be dazzled by all the choices.

Poor folks wore short jackets. Wealthier ones wore long gowns. Scholars wore robes. Madam Zhao saw he had a good figure and wanted to make him a long robe.

Lu still remembered the red wedding robe he’d worn when he married—simple in design, but long and elegant. Everyone had said he looked good in it.

Normally he was careless about dressing up. But now that he had someone he wanted to look nice for, he found himself glancing longer at the fabrics, actually thinking about it.

Madam Zhao held up lengths of cloth to show him the shape: a long inner robe reaching above the ankles, worn under either a short jacket with a skirt-like hem or a full-length robe. Over that, a coat falling slightly below the knee.

Long enough to look proper, not so long as to be showy—easy to walk and work in.

The inner and outer layers had to match. Madam Zhao helped him choose fabrics. Lu wanted dark colors—easier to keep clean. He worked in the shop; pale colors wouldn’t last.

They weren’t rich enough to be idle shopkeepers. So Madam Zhao turned to the darker bolts of cloth…