There was one year left until the provincial exam.
A year and a half until the metropolitan exam.
The two were very close together. He planned to rent a shop first and use it as a stopgap.
That was the plan—nothing fancy. Whether it worked depended entirely on whether their family could truly stand on its own.
Xie Yan still wanted to ask more, but Lu Yang deliberately dangled something else in front of him.
“Do you remember that medicine dealer? I talked to him about doing an herbal business. He wants to see a few high-quality medicinal herbs before he’ll work with us. Li Feng still has several ginseng plants he hasn’t dug up. If we send those over, that’s another path opened for us.”
Sure enough, Xie Yan’s attention shifted. “Li Feng’s still hiding good stuff? Next time he comes to the county, I’m definitely asking him about it.”
Lu Yang agreed wholeheartedly. “Who’s been cursing the mountains as useless backwaters? These are mountain treasures.”
Xie Yan saw how much Lu Yang liked the mountains—and how he was always thinking about where to spend money—and asked, “Jingzhi, you like buying farmland. Did you ever think about buying a mountain? How about being a mountain lord?”
Lu Yang laughed as soon as he heard that. “Don’t sell me empty dreams. Our bookshop hasn’t even opened yet.”
“Oh,” Xie Yan said. “I thought once you started working with Boss Jin, you wouldn’t bother opening the bookshop anymore.”
Lu Yang shook his head. “We’re opening it. Sooner or later we’re leaving the county anyway. Working with them—that’s the only thing that’ll remain.”
Xie Yan listened to him say it so casually, as if leaving the county were nothing at all. He was quiet for a moment, then asked, “Won’t you feel reluctant to leave?”
Lu Yang teased him. “Of course I will. I’ll miss you terribly. When I go to the prefectural city and you’re left here all alone in the county—how pitiful would that be?”
Xie Yan straightened up immediately. “What? Didn’t you say we’d leave the county sooner or later? Together?”
Lu Yang smiled sweetly. “That’s right. My brother and I will leave sooner or later—leaving you here to cry so much you flood all of Sanshui County.”
Xie Yan grabbed his arm. “My brother already has Li Feng. Don’t worry about him. Worry about me. I only have you.”
Lu Yang corrected him. “No—you still have your mother.”
Xie Yan paused, then said, “My mother and I only have you!”
Lu Yang laughed so hard his shoulders shook, continuing to paint him a ridiculous fantasy.
“Top scholar, have you heard of grabbing a son-in-law beneath the results board? When you pass with flying colors and someone drags you off, wedding night and all—you’ll be thrilled to death.”
Xie Yan thought it over, then sold out a friend without hesitation.
“I’ll be with Wu Pingzhi. Let them grab Wu Pingzhi instead.”
Lu Yang was glad he hadn’t been drinking tea, or he would’ve sprayed it everywhere.
Then he asked, “What if I’m the one grabbing the son-in-law?”
Xie Yan hugged his arm tighter. “You don’t need to grab me. I’ll come home to you myself.”
After joking around for a while, Lu Yang patted his hand. “Alright, alright. Wherever I go, I’m taking you with me. Go to class now. Come home tonight—I’ll make you flatbreads.”
Xie Yan was reluctant to leave, turning back every few steps. Lu Yang walked him to the door and urged him again before he finally broke into a run toward the school.
At noon, Lu Lin and Zhang Tie came back as well.
They came in through the back door and put away what they’d bought.
Lu Lin still couldn’t sit still. In the afternoon, he came over to help watch the shop, sitting right next to Lu Yang.
He sent Zhang Tie home first, planning to have him drive the cart back later to pick him up.
They’d taken the shop’s horse cart home, but on the return trip they’d need an extra person to drive—three people total.
Lu Lin said, “I figure the harvest rush will start any day now. Farmers are cautious—they won’t dare wait any longer. Once the wheat’s cut, it still has to be threshed and dried, and all of that needs clear weather. Clear days at this time of year are rare. There’s always some sudden shower—it really wears you down.”
Lu Yang hadn’t grown up in the village. He knew it was hard, but he couldn’t truly picture just how hard.
He told Lu Lin to take the two jin of cured pork hanging in the kitchen home with him later.
“When you’re worn out, don’t shortchange your stomach. You’re running a household—eating alone isn’t right. Throw it all in the pot and eat together. You’re going to be busy at home; don’t wear your body down.”
They had fresh meat every day at the shop, and fresh meat didn’t keep well. In summer, everything went into buns or dishes. The cured pork hardly ever got eaten.
Lu Lin tried to refuse, but Lu Yang insisted.
“Consider it my way of honoring you.”
“We’re the same generation,” Lu Lin said. “What’s this about honoring?”
Lu Yang copied Xie Yan’s clinginess and wrapped his arms around Lu Lin’s. “But you’re my Brother Lin! In this shop, everyone else is a little brother!”
A younger brother honoring an older brother still counted.
Lu Lin thought about it, then took the pork.
When they came back later, they’d bring more wheat to the shop, saving on grain supplies.
After the couple went home, Lu Yang would head back too. At night, only Ginkgo and Pomegranate slept at the shop. Afraid they might get scared, Lu Yang went next door to the wine shop and spoke to Boss Ding, asking his workers to keep an ear out and help if anything happened.
Only after the shop closed and the signboard was taken down did he head home.
Tonight, he was making flatbreads for the future top scholar.
When Lu Yang used to make savory pancakes, he liked rolling the dough thin, wrapping the filling layer after layer. That way, the crust had structure and the filling stayed rich—big bites were especially satisfying.
He’d once said that when they had the means, he’d definitely make meat-filled pancakes to eat. Somehow, he’d never done it.
So tonight, he made meat pancakes, along with a pot of dough-drop soup.
After washing his hands at home, he kneaded the dough first, then prepared the filling while it rested.
Lotus root was in season. Lu Yang sliced half a root, chopped some celery and wild scallions, and mixed them into the minced meat.
He handled the dough portions the way he always did—rolled them long and thin, wrapped the filling in layers, sealed every spot where filling showed, then gently pressed them flat with his palm until they were round and plump.
For a family of three, he made ten pancakes.
Once the pancakes were pan-fried and set aside, he poured water into the hot pan, brought it to a boil, and cooked the dough drops.
He even found time to turn around and catch Xie Yan, who was sneaking looks from the doorway.
Xie Yan loved that little game, smiling brightly.
With the pancakes plated, Lu Yang told him to wash his hands and take one to tide himself over.
Xie Yan didn’t rush. He waited to eat together at the table.
Then he presented his treasure—two drawings pulled from his book bag.
He’d already titled them. One was called “Xie Zhuozhi’s Tears Flood Sanshui County.” The other was “Lu Jingzhi Grabs Xie Zhuozhi Beneath the Results Board.”
They were simple line drawings. Only the two tiny figures were vividly drawn; the rest was rough.
In the “tears flooding the county” picture, Xie Yan sat on top of a mountain. The waterline below was high, half the county submerged.
In the “grabbing the son-in-law” picture, it was a lively scene at the results board. A mighty Lu Yang lifted Xie Yan high with one hand and carried him straight through the crowd.
He’d even drawn a bridal sedan chair in the street.
Lu Yang laughed himself breathless.
“Not studying properly and drawing nonsense all day—your punishment is four pancakes!”
Xie Yan would happily eat them.
“Do they look good? Do you like them?” he asked.
Lu Yang was laughing too hard to think straight. Of course he liked them.
Then he asked, “Why are you sitting on a mountain? Because it’s tall?”
Xie Yan said, “I asked Wu Pingzhi this afternoon. He said buying a mountain costs tens of thousands of taels. A mountain the size of Tomb Hill would be at least thirty thousand taels. Most people who buy mountains do it for burial sites or mining. Just being a mountain lord—one hundred taels might get you a tiny barren hill in the middle of nowhere. It’s too expensive. So I’ll just own a mountain in my drawings.”
Lu Yang saw the dough drops boiling, handed the drawings back to Xie Yan to hold, stirred the pot, and ladled the soup out.
“Big dreams for small people,” he said. “Look at us—we earn a little money each day, but all we think about are outrageously expensive things. Let’s be practical. I’ll tell you this: by the end of the year, I’m buying farmland. I’ll find a few decent tenant families and move Father’s grave. Let them sweep it now and then, add soil, help keep watch over it. We’re not relying on rent to live, so we’ll charge them less. If we move again later, we’ll ask Mother what she wants—whether to move graves again. This year, we definitely have to do it. Then you’ll write a family genealogy. For the exams, you have to record three generations upward—let our ancestors benefit from your success. That’ll be enough. When it comes to us, and later when we have children, we’ll add a few more lines.”
Xie Yan listened quietly. He slipped the drawings between the pages of a book and carefully placed it back into his bag.
