Each About His Own Affairs
By the time Ai Xiaoya and Lin Fangming reached the county town, dusk was still some way off. They tidied their room in haste, then went back out.
It was the first day of the New Year. Along the market streets by Qixia Lake, most shops had shuttered their doors; only a sparse few remained open. The two bought some simple food and returned to Wutong Alley.
That evening, when Ai Xiaoya finished washing and entered the bedchamber, she found Lin Fangming already inside. Clad in white under-robe, he lay sprawled across the bed, one leg cocked in the air. The moment he saw her, he sprang upright.
“Hurry, come here!” he urged eagerly. “Let’s continue the story. Does Liang Shanbo know that Ma Wencai has already sent the betrothal gifts?”
It was their first time sharing a room since her transmigration, and Ai Xiaoya had felt a trace of nervousness. But seeing his monkey-like impatience to hear the tale, she rolled her eyes inwardly, more amused than flustered.
She did not keep him in suspense. Sitting against the headboard, she resumed:
“When Liang Shanbo arrived at the Zhu household, brimming with joy, he learned that Ma Wencai had beaten him to it—had already proposed and delivered the betrothal gifts.
Heartbroken, Liang Shanbo had no choice but to leave. Zhu Yingtai accompanied him partway, the two reluctant to part… Soon the grave sealed shut again, and before long, from within it flew a pair of butterflies, inseparable as ever.”
Having finished her bedtime story, Ai Xiaoya lay down and promptly fell asleep, unaware that Lin Fangming remained awake long into the night.
When she rose the next morning, he was no longer in the bedchamber. She found him in the study, seated behind the desk, brush in hand, writing in swift strokes. Leaning closer, she saw he was setting down the tale of Liang and Zhu—only the beginning so far.
A spark lit in her mind.
When she had first arrived in this world, she had not failed to consider following in the footsteps of other transmigrators—copying works such as Honglou Meng or Liang Zhu to sell for silver. But she had soon realized she remembered only the broad outlines of those stories. At best she could manage a vernacular summary; she had neither the command of classical prose nor the talent to craft a grand literary work in this era’s written style.
But now things were different.
She could have Lin Fangming write it.
Her eyes flickered. Stepping forward, she feigned surprise. “Oh! You’re writing the story of Liang and Zhu? But what for?”
Lin Fangming hesitated, unsure how to answer. He had simply been moved by the tale’s sorrowful beauty and found himself compelled to put brush to paper. He had not thought beyond that.
Seeing his confusion, Ai Xiaoya sighed softly. “When I was young, I once read a storybook my brother secretly bought. The stories were so dull that I preferred making up my own for amusement. It’s a pity my learning is shallow—I can’t turn them into proper storybooks. If only others could read the tales I invent.”
There was a faint, wistful melancholy in her expression. Lin Fangming, thinking of Zhu
Yingtai’s unfulfilled love, felt his blood stir. The words left his mouth before he could weigh them.
“That’s no difficulty at all. I’ll help you shape them into storybooks. We can sell them to a bookshop. And if no shop will take them, we’ll pay to have them printed ourselves!”
Ai Xiaoya scoffed inwardly—print them ourselves? With what money?—but her face shone with delight. “Truly? Then let’s finish Liang and Zhu first and try the bookshop. If it succeeds, I have many more stories. I’ll have to trouble you, Husband.”
Once agreed, they went together to the porridge stall at the mouth of the alley for breakfast. Lin Fangming returned to his study to continue writing; Ai Xiaoya headed to the market to purchase household necessities.
In the days that followed, she cooked, reviewed his drafts, and occasionally offered suggestions. In the evenings they strolled together to see lantern displays, attend opera performances, or wander along Qixia Lake.
Her purpose in coaxing Lin Fangming to the county town had three parts. First, to familiarize herself further with Wuyi County in preparation for opening a shop. Second, to cultivate harmony with her husband in preparation for proposing a division of the household. Third, to make the acquaintance of Qu Shuangshuang and gain another ally.
By now, the town was well enough known. Writing together, strolling together—even rolling between the sheets twice—their relationship had taken on the sweetness of honey stirred into oil.
Two of her three aims were accomplished. As for calling at Honghu Tower to meet Qu Shuangshuang, it would not do to appear overeager during the New Year. Better to wait.
Back in Linjia Village, Lin Fangqin knew nothing of his second brother’s literary pursuits. And even had he known, his hopes were now fixed wholly upon his youngest brother; he had little energy to spare for the other.
Indeed, Fangxu’s youth worked in his favor. When the clan elders heard he would sit the examination this year, they regarded it merely as a child testing his nerve and paid scant attention.
Fangqin had planned to return to the teashop on the twentieth of the first month. Yet on the eighteenth, when Lin Fangqi came seeking Fangxu to review an essay, he also conveyed a message: Eldest Uncle wished to see him.
At his uncle’s house, Fangqin was led into the study. The others seemed unaware of the purpose and watched with open curiosity.
“Qin-ge’er,” his uncle began after seating him, “I called you over for nothing urgent. I only wished to ask whether Xu-ge’er has prepared what he needs for the examination—and whether there is sufficient silver.”
Fangqin’s heart stirred. “Everything is prepared. Does Uncle have further instructions?”
Lin Chengwen smiled. “You are perceptive, child. I do indeed.”
He handed over several manuscript pages. “Yesterday Qi-ge’er brought me a few model essays Xu-ge’er wrote. I had a look. I never expected he had already reached such a level.”
Fangqin skimmed them, impressed, though lacking examination experience himself. “How far does Uncle think he might go?”
Lin Chengwen stroked his beard, smiling. “That is precisely what I wished to tell you. With his standard, even next year’s provincial examination would not be beyond reach.”
His face glowed with pride. “Our Lin family may yet produce another jinshi. Do not be wholly absorbed in the shop. Keep a close watch on him. And begin preparing travel funds for Hangzhou. If silver runs short, tell me—I will help make it up.”
When Fangqin returned home, he was still dazed. Seeing Fangqi and his younger brother deep in discussion in the study, he gathered himself and strode toward the bedchamber. He must ask his husband how much silver remained. More brushes and inkstones were needed, and another examination basket and curtain besides.
Fangxu, meanwhile, knew nothing of the mingled hope and caution weighing upon his brother and uncle—how they feared to burden him with expectations.
His mother’s family was gone; he was not yet married and thus spared the New Year rounds of paying respects to maternal kin. Aside from registering at the county yamen, he spent his days at home working through the predicted topics assigned by Master Xu.
Influenced by him, Lin Fangqi also stayed home throughout the first month, arriving each morning to tackle essays together and often pestering Fangxu for guidance on how to approach a topic.
One day, after delivering his message to the eldest cousin, Fangqi entered the study distracted. At last he blurted out, “Xu-ge’er, do you think marriage is a good thing?”
Fangxu stared at him blankly. Marry a wife who is not of one mind with you, then raise a son who opposes you at every turn? There’s nothing good about it.
Aloud, he said only, “Qi-ge, have you forgotten I am thirteen? Marriage is still years away.” Fangqi slapped his forehead. “Ah, true. You’re barely grown. Asking you is pointless.”
Fangxu choked back a retort and turned to his book. What does my growth have to do with you!
Seeing him ignore the question, Fangqi sidled closer, grinning foolishly. “Last year my mother wrote to my aunt to seek a match for me. Yesterday I overheard her telling Father they may have found someone suitable—a clever, thrifty little ge’er, they say. Heh…”
Fangxu snorted. “You’d best return to your studies. If you fail to pass the xiucai examination, that clever, thrifty ge’er may well become someone else’s husband.”
He spoke only because he could not bear Fangqi’s premature glee. He never imagined the jest would later come perilously close to truth.
Time passed swiftly. At the start of the second month, the academy reopened. Fangxu and his elder brother returned to the county town. Ai Xiaoya and the second brother had remained there throughout; Fangqin’s husband stayed behind in Linjia Village with Sanmu to care for the family.
Back at the academy, Fangxu submitted the essays he had written at home. Master Xu Zhao reviewed them one by one, offering private instruction and carefully reminding each student of the points to heed during the examination.
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