Shurui hurried upstairs, asking Sun Qing to fetch the spare key to open Lu Ling’s room. Both lived in small back rooms, and Lu Ling’s was particularly tiny—just enough for a bed, nothing else.
Scanning the room, Shurui saw no luggage. His heart raced. He lifted the only place something could be hidden: the bedding. With a rustle, a heavy broadsword lay safely in the blankets.
Sun Qing twitched at the corner of his mouth. “This Lu brother sure treasures his sword.”
Shurui let out a dry laugh, relieved. He didn’t understand swords, but even as scrap, it could fetch over ten strings of cash. Clearly, Lu Ling hadn’t run off. As long as the man hadn’t taken the donkey, it was a relief—the cart and donkey alone were worth ten strings.
Locking the room, Shurui shook his head. Lu Ling had left without his sword, seemingly not fully aware, and had only taken the donkey and cart. Where could he be going? He couldn’t easily search outside. He regretted not bringing Lu Ling along to inspect tiles earlier—it would have saved him this worry.
Shurui sighed at his frustration. “Go on, you handle your work,” he told Sun Qing. The boy nodded and left. Shurui waited, but Lu Ling didn’t return. The sunny day made his worry grow. He instructed Sun Qing to have Lu Ling check the shop later and returned to the inn.
There was work to do—overgrown weeds in the yard, some nearly human height, remnants left by the donkey, all needed clearing. With a hoe, he tackled the task.
The front gate was wide open, and Madame Yang, next door, came over, finding Shurui busy. Seeing the desolate yard, she sighed. “An empty house soon falls into ruin if left unoccupied for a few years.”
Shurui looked up. “Exactly.”
“I asked about tile prices today. To repair these roofs alone will cost ten strings. Add in chairs, benches, damaged walls and tiles… I’d estimate at least sixty or seventy strings to make this inn ready. A small shop like mine could be done for thirty or so strings.”
Shurui sighed. “What can I do? Everything left at home was given to me freely. Whether good or bad, I can only be grateful.”
Madame Yang nodded, recognizing his honest nature. She empathized with his struggle, remembering her own hardship after her husband’s death, raising a two-year-old while dealing with a biased family. She felt a pang of pity but also admiration for his determination.
“Life is always hard for ordinary folks,” Shurui said. “But hardship must be endured. Living lazily like a loafer is easy, but meaningless. If we live, we should work hard and make life worthwhile.”
“Exactly. Survive this rough patch, and the shop will thrive.”
Seeing his drive, Madame Yang felt motivated. She went home to fetch a washed sweet pear for Shurui to quench his thirst.
Noticing he was alone, she asked, “Where’s your companion?”
Shurui’s temper flared. That foolish boy, always playing about, wasting adult time… he’d scold him when he found him.
Before he could, a shadow appeared from the small door to the hall. Madame Yang jumped in surprise.
Shurui, accustomed to Lu Ling’s sudden appearances, seized him. “Not a sound, are you trying to scare someone?”
Wiping sweat from his brow, Lu Ling looked puzzled. “Why so angry? I went and even took the cart and donkey!”
“To where?” Shurui demanded.
“The dock,” Lu Ling replied. “A cargo ship arrived. Fifty coins a cart to unload.”
Madame Yang praised him. “You have a cart, so it’s easier and more profitable. While the shop is being repaired, earning extra is very useful.”
Shurui, blinking, hadn’t expected Lu Ling to find work. He scratched his nose awkwardly. “Did you bring the donkey back? I’ve already booked the tiles—let’s fetch them while the workshop is still open.”
“I went to transport them,” Lu Ling said.
“You don’t know where he went. Go back to the inn and rest for now—I’ll settle the account on the way,” Madame Yang said, seeing the two of them eager to work.
She teased, “Why don’t you go together? Moving bricks will be quicker that way. The sooner it’s done, the less you’ll have to work in the dark.”
Shurui thought she had a point, so he said nothing and went with Lu Ling to the inn to fetch the donkey for the tiles. Lu Ling had probably left the inn without even drinking water, still sweaty from earlier labor at the workshop.
Shurui wiped the pear Madame Yang had given him and handed it to Lu Ling as a small apology. Lu Ling accepted it without fuss, took a bite, and handed his purse from his belt to Shurui.
He munched the pear while driving the cart. “Made four trips—two hundred coins.”
“Keep it. I won’t take it from you,” Shurui said, trying to return the purse, but Lu Ling replied, “You’ve been covering our meals, lodging, and travel these days. You know how to manage money better. It’s safer with you.”
“Besides,” Lu Ling added, “a husband shouldn’t keep his earnings from his wife.”
Shurui blushed at that. Lu Ling often joked like this, but Shurui, thick-skinned as he was, usually didn’t care and could even tease back. But now, seeing Lu Ling earn money and hand it over sincerely, it felt different—it felt like being a married couple. Even Shurui’s thick skin couldn’t argue with that.
He remembered seeing other young men in his uncle’s school who, after marriage, spent freely while their wives struggled at home. He had decided that when he married, he would only take a man willing to hand over his earnings to him. Anyone who refused—even if excellent in other ways—was not acceptable. A husband with spare money who wasn’t honest with it couldn’t be trusted.
In his youth, he had even teased a promising young scholar, saying not to swear before a deity to marry him, but to swear instead to hand over all his earnings after marriage. The boy had shut up, and Shurui had cut ties.
Thinking of all this, Shurui flushed, staring straight ahead at the street. “No. Keep it yourself.”
“Are you saying it’s too little?” Lu Ling asked, observing Shurui’s hesitation.
“It’s not too little,” Shurui said, embarrassed but defensive. “Big fortunes come from small savings. Two hundred coins are enough for several days’ meals.”
Lu Ling handed the purse back. “Then I’ll trust you with it.”
Shurui frowned. “Whether you trust me or not, it’s none of your concern.”
The two bickered over the purse as the cart moved slowly. An elderly man, sitting nearby and watching, finally ran up, holding a battered clay bowl. “If the young master doesn’t want it, give it to me. I haven’t eaten in three days!”
Shurui looked at the ragged beggar, coughing softly, and discreetly put the purse back into his sleeve.
“Just a few coins, young master,” the old man pleaded.
“Next time, next time for sure,” Shurui said, nudging Lu Ling to pick up the pace and shake off the beggar.