A Poor Man's Son-in-Law: He Picks Up the Daughter of a Duke's Mansion at the Start

Lu Qingyan woke up just as dawn was breaking.

He wasn't awakened by sleep, but by the cold. The March morning was still chilly; the temperature difference between inside and outside was minimal. He pulled the thin blanket tighter around himself and sat up, hearing rustling sounds coming from the kitchen—his mother, Zhao, was already up.

He got dressed. His clothes were made of coarse cloth, faded from washing, and the cuffs were frayed. But they were neatly folded and clean.

Pushing open the door, a blast of cold wind hit my face. In the courtyard, Lu Tiezhu was chopping firewood; the axe fell, and the wood split open with a crack. His elder brother, Lu Dashan, was drawing water from the well; as the bucket was turned up, water splashed onto his trousers.

"Why are you up so early?" Zhao asked, poking her head out of the kitchen with a fire poker in her hand. "Go back to sleep for a while."

"I've had enough sleep." Lu Qingyan walked to the well and drew water to wash her face.

The water was so cold that it made him shiver. But after washing his face, he felt much more refreshed.

During breakfast, Lu Qingyan brought up the matter of copying books again. This time, without waiting for his parents' response, he said directly, "I want to go to town today to see if the bookstores accept copied books."

Lu Tiezhu put down his bowl of porridge and remained silent for a moment: "Have your older brother accompany you."

"No need, I can manage on my own."

"It's twenty li away," Zhao said, still worried.

"I'll walk there, just to stretch my muscles," Lu Qingyan smiled. "Now that I'm better, I should go out for a walk."

It was finally settled. Lu Qingyan went back to his room to prepare—actually, there wasn't much to prepare. He found his best set of clothes (which had actually been patched), wrapped up his meager collection of writing materials, and counted the copper coins he had saved: seventeen coins. This was all the wealth the original owner had accumulated over the years.

Before he left, Zhao gave him two coarse grain cakes: "Eat them on the way."

He then pulled out three coins and forced them into his hand: "Buy a bowl of tea if you're thirsty."

Lu Qingyan did not refuse. He knew that the three coins were probably saved by Zhao from her grocery money.

Lu Qingyan went out as soon as the sun rose.

The village is called Lujia Village, with about a hundred households, most of whom are surnamed Lu. Freshly plowed fields line both sides of the dirt road, and in the distance, rolling hills appear as a bluish-gray. The air smells of earth and grass.

He met several villagers on the way, and they all knew him—the only student in the village to pass the imperial examination.

"Where is Yan-ge'er going?"

"Go to town."

"Hey, what are you going to town for?"

"Read a book."

"Scholars are just different..."

After exchanging a few pleasantries, they each continued on their way. Lu Qingyan quickened his pace, heading east along the dirt road. The road was uneven, full of potholes, and occasionally an oxcart would pass by, kicking up a cloud of dust.

He walked and thought.

How much can you earn by copying books? I vaguely remember hearing from a classmate that copying a copy of the "Three Character Classic" would cost about 20 to 50 coins. The Four Books would be more expensive, but it also depended on the quality of the handwriting. You couldn't copy much in a day, since it had to be neat and error-free.

But this is at least a start.

After walking for about an hour, his legs started to ache. He found a rock by the roadside to sit on and took out a flatbread to eat. The flatbread was dry and hard, making it hard to swallow, but he managed to swallow it down with the cold water from his water bag.

After resting for fifteen minutes, we continued walking.

As noon approached, the outline of the town finally came into view.

Qingshi Town isn't large, but it's much more bustling than a village. The streets are paved with bluestone slabs, and on both sides are various shops: grain stores, cloth shops, blacksmith shops, general stores... People come and go, and shouts rise and fall.

Lu Qingyan first found the bookstore.

"Moxiangzhai" is a small shop with a couplet hanging at the entrance: "There is a path to the mountain of books, and diligence is the way; the sea of ​​learning is boundless, and hard work is the boat." Pushing open the door, you are greeted by the smell of ink and paper.

Behind the counter sat a manager in his fifties, wearing round-framed glasses, looking down at the account book. Hearing the door open, he looked up: "What book would you like, sir?"

Lu Qingyan approached: "Shopkeeper, do you accept manuscripts here?"

The shopkeeper glanced at him, his gaze lingering on his faded clothes, but his tone remained relatively friendly: "I'll take it. But I need to see your handwriting. How is it?"

"It's acceptable."

The shopkeeper took out paper and pen from under the counter: "Write a few words and let me see."

Lu Qingyan took the brush. It was an ordinary sheep's hair brush, and the ink was readily available. He thought for a moment, then wrote on the paper: "Learning without thinking is futile; thinking without learning is dangerous."

He used regular script. As a professor, he had practiced calligraphy with a pen, and although his brush calligraphy was not excellent, it was still neat and upright, with a proper structure, and was even better than the original owner's handwriting—the original owner started learning to write late, and the characters were always a bit crooked.

The shopkeeper glanced at it and nodded: "The handwriting is passable. What do you want to copy?"

"I'll copy whatever the shopkeeper needs."

"We need copies of the Thousand Character Classic and the Primer for elementary school children," the shopkeeper said. "The Thousand Character Classic costs eighty coins, and the Primer costs one hundred and twenty coins. I'll provide the paper and ink, but if you make a mistake while copying a single page, I'll deduct ten coins."

Lu Qingyan did the math in her head. Two books together cost two hundred coins, not much, but enough to buy a lot of things.

"I'll take it."

"Then try copying a copy of the Thousand Character Classic first." The shopkeeper took out a stack of papers and an old book from behind him. "Come back in three days. If it's good, you can have all the rest of the work."

Lu Qingyan accepted the paper and ink and thanked him.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he left the bookstore. The first step was complete.

But he wasn't in a hurry to go back. He wandered around the town for a while and then went to the general store. He asked about the prices of paper and pens—the cheapest paper was thirty coins a ream (one hundred sheets), ink sticks were ten coins, and even the worst pens were five coins. They were indeed expensive.

He went to the grain store again. Rice was five coins a pound, and coarse grains were three coins. All told, copying a book would be enough to cover a family's daily expenses.

No wonder scholars come from well-off families, while poor families can't afford to support them.

On the way back, Lu Qingyan's steps were somewhat heavy.

It's not that I'm tired, it's that the road feels long.

By the time I reached the village entrance, it was already getting dark. I saw a figure looking around in the distance, and as I got closer, I realized it was Sanya.

"Third Brother!" Sanya ran over, her little face red from the cold. "You're finally back!"

"Why are you waiting here?"

"Let me see, Mother." Sanya grabbed his sleeve. "The food is ready, waiting for you."

Lu Qingyan patted her head and took out a paper package from his pocket—it was bought with the two coins he had advanced for copying books, and inside were two pieces of sesame candy.

"Give."

Sanya's eyes widened: "Candy?"

"Okay, you and Er Ya will split it."

Sanya carefully took it, as if holding a precious treasure.

When I got home, the food was already laid out on the table. There was thin porridge, pickled vegetables, and a small dish of scrambled eggs—that was considered a "good meal."

"How is it?" Zhao asked.

"It's done." Lu Qingyan took out the stack of papers and old books from his bundle. "I've accepted the job of copying books. It's due in three days."

Lu Tiezhu looked at the papers, then at him: "Is it difficult?"

"It's not difficult, it just takes time."

During the meal, Lu Qingyan recounted his observations of the town, the prices of books, and the price of grain. The whole family listened quietly.

"Take your time," Lu Tiezhu said finally. "No rush."

At night, Lu Qingyan lit an oil lamp—the lamp oil was used sparingly, and he usually didn't light it. He spread out the paper and began copying the first page.

"Heaven and earth were dark and yellow, the universe was vast and boundless..."

The characters had to be neat and without mistakes. He wrote slowly, each stroke careful. The dim light of the oil lamp cast a flickering shadow on the paper.

After copying a page, his hand was a little sore. He stopped to stretch his fingers.

There were footsteps outside the window; it was Zhao. She brought in a bowl of hot water and gently placed it on the table: "Don't stay up too late."

"Just go to sleep."

Zhao didn't leave. She stood there for a while looking at the words he copied, and said softly, "Your father went to inquire today. The tuition for going to school in town is two taels of silver a year."

Lu Qingyan paused, his pen poised.

Two taels of silver, or two thousand coins. For this family, it was a huge sum of money.

"I won't go to school for now," he said. "I'll study on my own first, and then we'll talk about it after I pass the provincial examination."

Zhao nodded and went out.

Lu Qingyan continued copying. The light from the oil lamp cast his shadow long on the wall.

He knew the road ahead would be difficult, but he had already begun.

One stroke, one character.

Take it easy.