“This is our shop?”
Lu Ling looked up at the moss-covered, broken-tile roof. He had no memory of it—the shop had been abandoned for years.
“It was left to me by my parents.”
Shurui placed hands on his hips, also gazing at the overgrown, dilapidated building. Restoring it would be a long, arduous process.
Yet, no matter the hardships ahead, Shurui, after leaving the Bai family, was finally independent.
The thought filled him with unprecedented hope and energy. He strode forward, picking up the lock and taking the key from his pocket.
Reality, however, soon gave him a lesson: the lock was old and rusted, the keyhole clogged with corrosion. Despite the key, the door wouldn’t budge.
He tried force, but Lu Ling stepped forward. With the flash of his sword, the iron lock fell to the ground with a “clack.”
Shurui blinked at him.
Without a word, Lu Ling pushed the wooden door open.
It creaked long and mournfully—the door, closed for over ten years, gave way, releasing a musty, damp smell. Dust scattered like flour in the sunlight.
Shurui sneezed, hastily covering his mouth and nose with a clean cloth.
Just as he was about to step in, Lu Ling blocked him, entering first. Immediately, a chorus of squeaks erupted—mice, long accustomed to silence, bolted to the corners like arrows.
Shurui steeled himself, following Lu Ling. The dust was so thick that every step left a clear footprint.
Inside, the shop opened into a spacious main hall. To the right near the entrance stood a tall counter. On the left, large tables and benches lay under layers of cobwebs.
The back window faced a staircase that led straight to the second floor, which contained four rooms—two large and two small.
Looking back toward the counter, on the other side of the entrance was a door that led to a bright little courtyard. Directly ahead was the kitchen, and next to it a woodshed.
On the west side of the courtyard stood a large room, while the east side had two rooms, one large and one small.
This was Shurui’s first time returning to the shop. He vaguely remembered that it had once operated as an inn. Now, even without noticing the old, partially fallen sign outside, the interior arrangement clearly revealed its former purpose.
A quick look around showed that the shop was larger than he had imagined, though by inn standards, it was modest. Still, he was pleased. Though small, it had everything essential: a well in the yard and even a small cellar for storing vegetables—very practical.
The building itself was solid; the real challenge lay in cleaning and repairs. Hiring craftsmen wouldn’t be difficult, a few days of hammering and fixing could make it usable.
But Shurui faced a dilemma. He only had seventeen or eighteen strings of copper coins. Hiring craftsmen would deplete that quickly, and life still required food and expenses. Starting a business on your own always came with scarcity—both of money and manpower.
He turned over plans in his head, already calculating. Since he couldn’t spend lavishly, he would have to do most of the work himself. Perhaps he could find a few capable workers for a day or two each, easing the burden gradually.
Just then, a voice shouted outside.
“Oi! Old Wang, are you running this business or not? Your donkey’s leaving a mess here! You better clean it, or we’ll report you to the patrol!”
Shurui hurried out and saw a woman, holding her nose with one hand while fanning with the other.
Startled to see a stranger, she relaxed her grip. “Sir?”
Shurui noticed she looked to be no more than thirty, a young merchant woman. He apologized: “The donkey is mine. Just now, it entered while I was checking the shop. I haven’t had the chance to bring it inside. I’m sorry for disturbing your business.”
“You’re the owner of this shop? I thought Old Wang had tied his donkey here and broken the lock to go in!”
The woman blushed, embarrassed, and politely said, “I run the neighboring shop.”
Seeing her share little fondness for Old Wang, Shurui guessed the old man was indeed annoying. “There was an old man with a stall here earlier; I sent him away.”
“Oh! That’s wonderful!”
She brightened. “That monkey never cleans up after himself, and the place reeks. I complained, but he said I wasn’t the owner—what could I do? If not for him going out just now, he’d have done as he pleased. Now that you’re here, don’t let him fool you again. We’re neighbors now—we’ll look out for each other.”
Shurui smiled and agreed.
Her face was round and warm, with arched brows and large eyes, clearly kind. He couldn’t resist asking: “Pardon me, but do you know a doctor in town skilled with acupuncture? I’ve heard he’s excellent. I’ve come not only to reopen the shop but also to seek treatment.”
“You mean Doctor Yu Yizhen! In our prefecture, every physician has their specialty. For acupuncture, he’s the most renowned.”
She continued: “I injured my knee as a child. The wound healed, but it always ached when I squatted or rose. Many doctors tried, but none helped. Later, someone recommended Doctor Yu Yizhen. After his treatment, the pain vanished completely.”
Shurui’s heart lifted—she not only knew of the doctor but had received effective treatment herself. This doctor was genuine.
“Could you tell me where his clinic is?” he asked.
“His clinic is easy to find, on North Street, called Dexin Clinic.”
Shurui was delighted; it would be simple to locate.
“Thank you, madam. When I have some free time, I’ll treat you to tea.”
“You’re too polite. I’m Madam Yang. In future, just call me that. If you need anything, let me know.”
Shurui introduced himself: “Call me A Shao—or Shao Ge’er.”
Just as he was about to ask to borrow something to clean the manure, Lu Ling came out of the house carrying a broken wooden shovel and began removing the donkey’s droppings.
Madam Yang was surprised. “There’s a collector in the back alley; he can take it.”
Shurui stopped her. “No need to trouble anyone.”
He explained they had work to do and would discuss it later. She didn’t pry and quickly fetched a pot of tea and two clean bowls.
Shurui thanked her, and Lu Ling tethered the donkey to a surviving persimmon tree in the courtyard.
“What’s this for?” Lu Ling asked.
Shurui scooped some soil into the manure. “Fertilizer is necessary for vegetables. Urban soil isn’t as good as the countryside. Composting will save a few coins. The inn has enough yard space; we can plant onions and vegetables. Not entirely sufficient, but fresh and cheap, saving us from buying everything.”
Lu Ling went quiet, then produced a bulging purse from his clothing. Generously, he handed it to Shurui. “Take whatever you need.”
Shurui was surprised—he thought Lu Ling had wealth. Though he had enough copper, the purse might hold clues to Lu Ling’s past, so he accepted it.
Opening it, he was astonished: it was filled with copper coins.
He looked at Lu Ling, feeling a bit sorry for him. Though Shurui had some funds, Lu Ling’s purse likely contained fewer than two hundred coins.
Lu Ling’s brow furrowed; he hadn’t expected copper, not silver, leaving him a bit dazed.
Shurui flipped through the coins; seeing nothing useful, he returned the purse. Not wanting to quibble over ownership, he said:
“Keep this for medicine. I found the doctor’s clinic through Madam Yang; I’ll go tomorrow. Saving money isn’t just being frugal—it’s planning for the long run. Hard work never hurts.”
Lu Ling seemed to understand, though only partially. “I’ll earn more in the future.”
He then left the purse and busied himself elsewhere.
Shurui watched as Lu Ling had already climbed to the roof—truly unstoppable.
He decided not to argue, counting the coins and keeping them until after visiting the doctor.
Next, Shurui hired a locksmith to fit a new lock and bought brooms, shovels, and buckets from a local shop.
This required little effort, but neighbors, seeing him enter the old inn, asked if he was reopening it and what business he planned. He answered politely, though the heat left him parched.
Thankfully, Madam Yang brought tea and two clean clay bowls. Shurui drank two large bowls in one gulp and returned to the inn to begin work.
The courtyard held many discarded tools, though disturbing them released a swarm of ants and centipedes, crawling everywhere. The wooden buckets and basins had rotted, unusable.
He stomped them flat, stacking them as firewood.
He decided to clean the large and small rooms on the east side of the courtyard for his own residence. The rest of the inn would be the guest rooms—requiring significant upkeep if occupied long-term.
Shurui swept the cobwebs from the large beams and cleared out debris.
At that moment, Lu Ling dropped down from the roof like a shadow.
“The roof tiles are broken and brittle. Just rearranging the old tiles won’t fix the leaks.”
Shurui frowned, calculating. “We’ll need to buy new tiles.”
“Mm,” Lu Ling said. “No point in cleaning the interior if the roof isn’t repaired.”
Shurui understood the reasoning: if the roof wasn’t repaired, it didn’t matter how clean the rooms were. On sunny days, it was fine, but when it rained, all the effort inside would be wasted.
Moreover, repairing the roof would inevitably send broken tiles, dried leaves, and dust falling inside, meaning the rooms would need another round of cleaning afterward.
He paused for a moment and said, “We’ve traveled most of the day and are tired. Let’s find a nearby inn to rest tonight. Tomorrow morning, I’ll take you to see the doctor.”