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

In mid-April, Lu Qingyan had saved up two taels of silver.

Eighty coins, one hundred and twenty coins, sixty coins… After copying books for more than two months, plus occasionally helping people write letters and couplets, he saved up the copper coins one by one, and finally exchanged them for two small pieces of silver. He wrapped them in cloth and put them under the kang mat.

I should go and thank Mr. Zhang.

Mr. Zhang was the teacher at the village private school and also the original owner's mentor. The original owner was able to pass the imperial examination and become a student thanks to Mr. Zhang's early tuition waiver and frequent invitations for meals. Lu Qingyan had to acknowledge this kindness.

That morning, he said to Zhao, "Mother, I'm going to Mr. Zhang's house."

Zhao was tending the fire in front of the stove when she heard this, so she looked up and said, "It's time to go. Wait a moment."

She got up and went inside, rummaged around for a while, and took out a small cloth bag: "Take these eggs with you."

Lu Qingyan took it. Inside the cloth bag were six eggs, freshly laid by the chickens at home, which they usually saved to exchange for salt.

"What else should we bring?" Zhao asked somewhat hesitantly. "The master's family has everything, but we..."

"That's enough eggs," Lu Qingyan said. "The thought is what counts."

As he was leaving, Lu Tiezhu was repairing farm tools in the yard. He looked up at him and said, "Speak properly to the master."

"Know."

Mr. Zhang's house was located at the east end of the village. It was a brick and tile house with three main rooms and a small courtyard, considered a respectable family in the village. When Lu Qingyan arrived, the courtyard gate was open, and she could hear the sound of reading coming from inside.

He knocked on the door.

A young man, about seventeen or eighteen years old, peeked out from the house. He wore a faded blue shirt and had delicate features. He was Mr. Zhang's son, Zhang Zhiqing. He had also passed the preliminary imperial examination last year and was a classmate of the original owner of this body.

"Brother Lu?" Zhang Zhiqing was somewhat surprised and quickly came out. "Why are you here? Come in quickly."

"I've come to see you, sir." Lu Qingyan stepped through the door and handed over the eggs. "Just a little something from home."

Zhang Zhiqing accepted it without refusing: "Father is in the study. Please sit down, I'll go call him."

Lu Qingyan sat down in the main room. The room was clean and tidy, with several calligraphy and paintings hanging on the walls and bookshelves filled with books. This was what a scholar's home should look like.

A moment later, Mr. Zhang emerged. He was in his fifties, thin, with a short beard, and wearing a slightly worn blue cotton robe. Seeing Lu Qingyan, a smile appeared on his face: "Qingyan's here. Are you feeling much better?"

"Alright. Thank you for your concern, Mr. Lu." Lu Qingyan stood up and bowed.

"Sit down, sit down." Mr. Zhang sat down opposite him. "I heard you've been copying books lately?"

"Yes. To earn some money for paper and pens, and also to practice my handwriting."

Mr. Zhang nodded: "Copying books is a good thing. How's your handwriting practice going?"

Lu Qingyan took out a stack of papers from his pocket—these were the drafts he usually used for practicing calligraphy and copying books; he picked out a few good ones and brought them with him.

Mr. Zhang took them and examined them carefully, one by one. After he finished, he looked up at him and said, "You've made great progress. Your handwriting has become more structured."

"You flatter me, sir."

"No flattery," Mr. Zhang said, putting down the paper. "You've been sick, but it seems like you've had a sudden epiphany. As for the article? Are you still working on it?"

"I'm doing it. I read every day and also try to write a few articles."

Mr. Zhang asked several questions about the classics, which Lu Qingyan answered one by one. His answers weren't particularly brilliant, but they were clear and logical, demonstrating his own understanding. Mr. Zhang's eyes lit up after listening.

"Good, good." He said "good" twice. "You'll take the provincial examination in August. There's hope."

Lu Qingyan responded with a "yes".

Mr. Zhang then inquired about his family's situation. Upon learning that he was copying books to supplement the family income, he paused for a moment and said, "If you pass the provincial examination, you can go to the academy in the prefectural city. The tuition fees there are high, but the scholarship is also profound."

"The students think so too."

As they were talking, Zhang Zhiqing brought in tea. He poured a cup for his father and Lu Qingyan, and then sat down beside them.

"Zhiqing is also going to take the exam," Mr. Zhang said. "You two can go together and look out for each other."

Lu Qingyan looked at Zhang Zhiqing. In her memory, the original owner of this body had a mediocre relationship with this classmate—the original owner was somewhat arrogant and looked down on Zhang Zhiqing for his good family background but mediocre academic achievements. But the current Lu Qingyan saw people differently; Zhang Zhiqing had upright eyes and polite manners, and was someone she could befriend.

"What do you think, Brother Zhang?" he asked.

Zhang Zhiqing smiled and said, "I couldn't be happier. I was just feeling bored traveling alone."

The three talked for a while longer, mostly Mr. Zhang giving advice on things to pay attention to in the county examination: the format must be correct, taboo words must be avoided, and the paper must be neat—all based on his experience.

As he was leaving, Mr. Zhang saw him to the door and suddenly said, "Qingyan, you could go to a bookstore and ask if you can copy some things that sell well."

Lu Qingyan was taken aback: "What do you mean, sir?"

"Storybooks," Mr. Zhang said in a low voice, "The 'Elegant Bookstore' in town buys storybooks. If they're well-written, they can give you one or two taels of silver for each one. But that stuff is ultimately a crooked path, so think it over."

A storybook. Lu Qingyan's heart stirred.

Back in the village, he didn't go straight home, but took a detour to the general store at the village entrance. The store was small, but it sold a few books—mostly almanacs and huang calendars, and in the corner there were a few storybooks, printed on coarse paper, with pictures of talented scholars and beautiful women on the cover.

He picked up a book and flipped through it. It was a cliché story about a scholar encountering a fox spirit. The writing was mediocre and the plot was commonplace, but the wording and sentence structure were fairly fluent.

"This book costs five coins," the shopkeeper said.

Lu Qingyan bought it.

He went to another shop and found two different storybooks, which he bought. The cost was fifteen coins.

When he got home, he hid the storybook in his bosom, first helping Zhao carry a load of water, then going to the fields to deliver water to Lu Tiezhu. Only after the lamps were lit at night did he take out the storybook to read.

The three stories, each with a different theme—fox spirits, chivalrous heroes, and legal cases—share commonalities: simple plots, clear distinctions between good and evil, and straightforward language. The readers are clearly ordinary people with limited literacy, or young women confined to their homes.

Lu Qingyan turned the pages of the book, pondering in his mind.

A book for one or two taels of silver is much more lucrative than copying books. But he's never written a storybook; in his previous life, he studied serious literature, and only read popular novels for entertainment. However, he knows the formula—talented scholar and beautiful woman, hero saves damsel in distress, good and evil are rewarded accordingly.

You can try.

But what kind of subject matter should he write about? Fox spirits are too common, chivalrous heroes require a martial arts background he's not familiar with, and legal cases involve the law, though he does know a bit about that…

He recalled that during the day in town, he overheard some scholars chatting and mentioning that "rebirth" stories were currently popular—the protagonists would die and be resurrected to avenge themselves and change their fate.

This is easy to write. Rebirth stories are popular in modern online novels. He's familiar with the formula: the protagonist was murdered in his previous life, is reborn, and meticulously plots to retaliate against his enemies, ultimately achieving great success.

You could change the setting and put it in an ancient context.

He spread out the paper and ground the ink.

Let me first write an outline. The protagonist is a poor scholar who was framed by a wealthy young master in his previous life, losing his academic achievements, his wife, and dying unjustly. Reborn as a teenager, he uses his memories from his previous life to pass the imperial examination with flying colors, avenge his family, and marry his beloved.

The plot should be fast-paced, the slap-in-the-face moments should be satisfying, and the romance should be sweet.

He thought for a moment and added an innovation—the protagonist not only gets reborn but also gains a special ability: photographic memory. This makes the imperial examination process smoother and adds more interest.

The outline was two pages long. The plot was divided into ten chapters, each with a minor climax.

By the time he finished writing, it was already late at night. The oil lamp was almost out, so he added some oil and continued.

Let me try writing the first chapter. The title will be: "Rebirth of a Poor but Noble Son".

The first step is to arrest people. He wrote:

"In the autumn of the third year of Yonghe, when Scholar Lin breathed his last, it was raining coldly outside the window. He lay on a straw mat in the dilapidated temple, recalling that ten years ago, on a similar rainy day, he had passed the imperial examination with top honors and rode through the streets as the top scholar..."

The writing went smoothly. In his previous life, when he was a professor, he often corrected his students' novel writing assignments and had also written a few practice pieces himself. Now, writing ancient vernacular stories, although he had to adapt to the language that mixed classical and vernacular styles, the core of the story remained the same.

He wrote three pages in one hour.

I put down my pen and reread it. The language still needs some refinement; some parts are too literary, while others are too colloquial. It needs adjustment.

But the story is good. Even he himself felt curious about what happened next as he read it.

The next day, he took the first draft to town.

Yawen Bookstore was located at the west end of town. Its storefront was larger than Moxianzhai's, and a sign reading "Vernacular Novels" hung at the entrance. Inside, the shelves were filled with all sorts of booklets with colorful covers.

The shopkeeper was a plump middle-aged man, talking to a scholar-looking man. Lu Qingyan waited for a while until the man left before he approached.

"Shopkeeper, do you buy storybooks here?"

The portly shopkeeper sized him up: "Sure. You'll write it down?"

"I've written the first part, please take a look." Lu Qingyan handed over the manuscript.

The shopkeeper took it and flipped through it: "Rebirth themes? They're all the rage now. Wait a minute."

He sat down behind the counter and carefully examined the document for about fifteen minutes. Afterward, he looked up and asked, "What's next?"

"Still writing."

"Leave the manuscript here, I'll see how it goes," the shopkeeper said. "If it sells well, it'll be one tael of silver per copy, paid in three installments. You'll pay a deposit of three hundred coins, four hundred coins upon delivery of the manuscript, and the balance after it's sold out."

Lu Qingyan thought for a moment and said, "Deal."

"What's your name?"

"Lu Qingyan".

"Alright, Lu Qingyan." The shopkeeper noted down the name. "Come back in ten days, and I'll see how sales are."

After leaving the bookstore, Lu Qingyan breathed a sigh of relief.

Give it a try. If it works, you'll have multiple avenues to make money; if it doesn't, you won't lose anything.

On his way back, he ran into Zhang Zhiqing. Zhang Zhiqing was coming out of the bookstore, carrying several books in his hand.

"Brother Lu!" Zhang Zhiqing called out to him. "I was just looking for you. My father said we need to head to the prefectural city in early July to rent a house in advance and familiarize ourselves with the area."

"Early July..." Lu Qingyan calculated the time, "There's still a month and a half left."

"Yes. How's your fundraising going?"

"It's still being planned," Lu Qingyan said truthfully.

Zhang Zhiqing hesitated for a moment, then said in a low voice, "My father said that if you're really in trouble, he can lend you some money first..."

"No need," Lu Qingyan shook his head. "I can earn it."

Zhang Zhiqing looked at him and suddenly laughed: "Brother Lu, you've changed."

People always change.

The two walked side by side for a while. Zhang Zhiqing talked about the academies in the prefectural city, this year's chief examiner, and the possible exam questions. Lu Qingyan listened, occasionally interjecting a few words.

At the fork in the road, everyone went home.

As Lu Qingyan walked along the dirt road at dusk, he calculated in his mind: copying books could earn him four or five hundred coins a month, and if the storybook was completed, it would be worth one or two taels of silver per book... By the beginning of July, he should be able to save enough for travel expenses and the first few months' expenses.

I need to write faster.

He quickened his pace. The setting sun cast a long shadow on the dirt road, swaying with each step.