Chapter 53

Old Feng's eyelids trembled at his son-in-law's wailing, his weathered face flushing crimson like bark dried on a dead tree.

Human joys and sorrows do not resonate with one another.

For a moment, Lu Beigu felt that though his own family was poor, at least everyone was perfectly normal.

He felt it inappropriate to stay any longer as an outsider, and was just about to take his leave when footsteps sounded outside the courtyard, followed by a loud *bang* as the door was kicked violently open.

A thin, small figure crashed inside.

"I came to borrow money—why are you wailing here?"

The woman snatched up a live, wriggling fish from the vat by the door, flicked her wrist, and hurled it out—the butcher ducked, and the fish shot over his head with a *whoosh*, landing squarely in the fish basket in the corner.

Lu Beigu clearly saw the fish flip its eyes white as it hit the basket—whether from the impact or sheer fright, he couldn't tell.

"Still crying? I'll climb the Shudao Mountains!"

The butcher could no longer cry; he sprang up like a chicken with its throat squeezed, snot bubbles dangling: "Niangzi, let me explain!"

"Explain your damn shovel!"

The woman lunged forward, rose on her toes, grabbed her husband's ear, and twisted it into a knot.

She suddenly spotted the lamb mince on the table, her almond eyes widening: "Oh? So now you've learned to eat on credit?"

Old Feng quickly intervened: "Daughter, don't be angry—this lamb mince was bought by Young Master Lu for me."

"I see!"

The woman turned to study Lu Beigu, then released her husband, planted her hands on her hips, and sneered: "I thought it was someone else—it's the landlubber my father fished out of the river that day!"

She jabbed her fingernail, stained with henna, into her husband's forehead: "See? This is what true gratitude looks like!"

Lu Beigu was holding his teacup when this fiery Sichuan woman suddenly leaned in.

She looked about thirty, wore no veil despite being out in public, and as sunlight slanted through the window, he could see a few light brown freckles dusting her nose, bouncing with every word: "Hey, scholar, can you write?"

"I can."

"Perfect!"

She pulled a crumpled sheet of paper from her sleeve as if by magic and slapped it on the table: "Write me an IOU—I won't borrow their money for free; once the butcher shop makes profit, I'll pay it back!"

The butcher crouched in the corner muttering: "The shop's just a bit small now—it's not like we absolutely need to move."

"Shut up!"

The woman shouted, then instantly turned her face into a smile for Lu Beigu, switching expressions faster than flipping a page: "Young Master, do me a favor."

"Don't write for her!"

"Feng Jinhua," Old Feng straightened his back, "unless you sell this shop first, we won't lend you a single copper."

"Where am I supposed to find a buyer for this shop right now?"

Hearing this, Lu Beigu's mind stirred.

If he wanted to buy land to register his household and open a food stall for his sister-in-law, the butcher's current shop location would do—it wasn't especially large, but it was a proper shop, capable of holding so many pigs and sheep; it must be over a third of a mu.

But he had no money on hand, so he could only temporarily file away this information.

"I don't care," Old Feng huffed.

The family dispersed in bad spirits.

Having expressed his gratitude and exchanged a few words with Old Feng, Lu Beigu rose to take his leave.

Old Feng felt Lu Beigu's gifts were too generous and couldn't help feeling guilty.

So as he insisted on seeing Lu Beigu to the door, he muttered: "Young Master, if you ever want fish, just come to Old Han—I'll pick you the freshest!"

Leaving the fisherman's home, Lu Beigu walked along the cobblestone path toward the county school.

It was nearly dusk; street vendors were packing up, and a man pushing a wheelbarrow of steamed buns passed him, the wheels creaking.

Nearby, several children chased each other at the alley's mouth, clutching newly bought sugar cakes, their laughter bright.

Sunlight spilled over tiled eaves; evening smoke curled upward, bathing the entire small town in warm hues.

But when Lu Beigu reached the county school gate, he found an unexpected person waiting for him.

"Young Master Lu."

Ji Yun sprang up from the corner, still in his loose clothes, a green gourd tied at his waist.

Ji Yun was much younger than Lu Beigu—perhaps only fourteen or fifteen, like a middle-schooler today—not only short but still childlike, his body yet to develop.

When he sprang up, he looked like a lively little monkey.

"I've come to chase you for your manuscript."

Lu Beigu's expression froze.

To be honest, the remaining eleven chapters of *Fusheng of Jiangzuo* hadn't even reached the "new folder" stage.

Why now was Ji Yun chasing him for a manuscript? Where was he supposed to get one?

So Lu Beigu quickly changed the subject: "What brings you here?"

"The prefectural school is on break."

Ji Yun grinned: "The Buddha Bathing Festival at Hejiang's Fawang Temple is the grandest in Luzhou, so I came with two friends to watch—and happened to remember you're at the Hejiang County School, so I came to find you. Young Master, you haven't written anything yet, have you?"

"Of course not!"

Lu Beigu kept his face calm: "I'm already drafting it—writing one or two chapters will take no time at all."

"Good, good."

Ji Yun hadn't come specifically to chase the manuscript—he was just passing by—so he didn't press, instead asking: "Did you just return to the county school?"

"Yes, I went to Chengdu on official business."

Lu Beigu said: "May I put my things away first?"

Ji Yun had no objection.

Soon, Lu Beigu returned his belongings to his dormitory at the county school, locked the door, and stepped out to find Ji Yun.

"Where to?"

"Two friends are resting at a tea house; let us go together, and I shall introduce you."

Lu Beigu nodded and followed Ji Yun to walk.

As for Hejiang County Town, he was not actually familiar with it. His predecessor was quite introverted, disliked wandering about, and had no friends to invite him out, so apart from the area around the County School, which he knew roughly, he had hardly gone anywhere else.

Walking south for two streets, Ji Yun led him to a tea house facing the street.

Lu Beigu lifted the bamboo curtain, and a wave of heat mixed with the scent of tea rushed to meet him.

Inside the tea house were only four or five elmwood tables; in the corner, a coarse clay pot on a charcoal stove simmered water, "gulu gulu" spitting out white mist.

At one of the tables, a man and a woman sat opposite each other; seeing Ji Yun bring someone they did not know, a flicker of surprise passed through their eyes.

Ji Yun stamped the mud on his boots on the old felt mat at the doorway, and glanced to see an old man wearing a blue cloth headscarf standing behind the counter, using a bamboo ladle to add tea leaves into a clay jar.

"What would the two guests like to drink?"

"Our small shop has various pre-rain loose teas, and also this year's newly made perilla drink."

Ji Yun leaned forward curiously: "Perilla drink? Is it something like sour plum soup?"

"Young Master has excellent knowledge!" the old man grinned, showing his missing teeth, "It is boiled from perilla leaves, mulberry bark, green tangerine peel, schisandra, bitter almonds, and aged tangerine peel; usually mixed with some plum juice, it tastes sweet and sour and cuts the grease."

"Then bring a bowl; I do not like drinking tea."

Ji Yun turned and asked, "What will Young Master Lu drink?"

"I will drink loose tea."

The old man nodded, lifted the lid of the clay jar, ladled out several scoops of amber-colored liquid into a large bowl; a sweet and sour scent rushed to the face, then he went to the cellar in the backyard and brought out two small blocks of stored ice.

In the Song Dynasty, there were mainly two methods for storing ice: one was to cut ice into blocks on the river surface in winter, then let them float on the water to continue freezing; when the ice thickness reached three chi, the ice blocks were transported into a pre-dug cellar where insulation measures were taken, and sawdust and other things were placed between each block of ice, allowing them to be preserved for use in summer; the other was discovered in the preceding Tang Dynasty, directly putting saltpeter into water, and the water would freeze.

However, places like tea houses would adopt the first method.

Because right next to here lay the Yangtze River and the Anle Creek; during the coldest period of winter, the water surface near the banks on both sides of Anle Creek would freeze.

Compared to saltpeter, which still had to be bought, this ice could be obtained directly at no cost; it only required a bit of effort to chip the ice.

Moreover, guests coming to drink beverages actually did not much like ice made from saltpeter; they all felt it would have a bad effect on the body, though in fact there was nothing wrong.

(End of this chapter)