Madam Zhou’s good mood showed plainly on her face. She rarely smiled, but when she did, she looked kindly and approachable. Two coins weren’t much, but it mattered who had placed them there.
Gu Xiao was the one Madam Zhou herself had chosen. Since Gu Xiao thought of Shen Xihe, it proved Madam Zhou’s judgment had been right.
So at dinner that evening, Madam Zhou gave Gu Xiao an extra ladleful of food.
After the meal, Gu Xiao moved closer to Madam Zhou, smiling sweetly, her eyes curved like crescent moons. “Mother, I’d like to ask you for something.”
Suspicious, Madam Zhou gave her a look. “What new idea now?”
Gu Xiao said, “Mother, I’d like half a bowl of flour to make paste.”
Now Madam Zhou found Gu Xiao pleasing in every way. “Such a small matter—no need to ask. Wait here.” She readily gave Gu Xiao half a bowl of flour, then put on a stern face. “No more than that.”
Gu Xiao: “It’s enough, it’s enough. Mother, you’re the best!”
Madam Zhou waved her hand. “Don’t waste words—I don’t like hearing that. Go to bed early, and don’t waste lamp oil.”
The oil lamp in the west room was lit only when Shen Xihe came home; otherwise it wasn’t used. Gu Xiao replied, “I know. I’ll only use it when husband returns!”
Carrying the bowl of flour back to her room, Gu Xiao mixed paste while there was still daylight outside. She glued the fan handles to the fan paper, pressing each one down with books. After attaching all fifteen handles, she rubbed her shoulders. The fan would be pressed overnight; tomorrow morning she would nail the handles through their holes with wooden pegs.
The fan face would be left blank, then tested for opening and closing—smooth, crisp in sound. Only then would the fan be complete.
Gu Xiao placed the bowl of paste in a cool spot, covered it with a wooden board, then carried the quilt from the couch over to the bed. Shen Xihe’s quilt was folded neatly, square and proper—such a little pedant.
Gu Xiao set her quilt aside, climbed onto the bed, and rolled across it once. So what if she wasn’t allowed to sleep there? She was lying on it now anyway. Always sleeping on the bed was uncomfortable, she thought. Once every five days, she could treat it as a change of place.
She drifted off to sleep to the sound of rain. By the next morning, the skies had cleared, and the Shen family faced the most important time of the year—spring planting.
Altogether, excluding the vegetable patch in the courtyard, the Shen family had eleven acres. They needed to plant wheat, millet, sweet potatoes, and beans.
Breakfast was one bun per person. Unlike usual, no one stayed behind at home—everyone had to go to the fields.
Only those cooking and delivering meals left at dawn and returned mid‑morning. Gu Xiao ate her small bun, then shouldered a hoe and followed the family to the fields.
After a night of rain, the soil was soft. Plowing and sowing were routine tasks for farmers, but Gu Xiao had never even touched a hoe before.
Afraid Madam Zhou might notice something, she gritted her teeth and forced herself to work. At last, by mid‑morning, Madam Zhou called Madam Chen and Gu Xiao back to prepare lunch.
Labor consumed strength, so the midday meal was richer than usual. Madam Zhou even made a rare dish—scrambled eggs with fresh chives. She set aside a small portion in a basket for Gu Xiao to take to Shen Xihe.
All the way, the fragrance of chive eggs followed her. When she reached the academy, Gu Xiao quickly handed the food to Shen Xihe. He glanced at the basket. Compared to usual, there was an extra bun and the scrambled eggs. “Spring planting has begun already?”
Gu Xiao nodded. “It rained yesterday. Father said we should plant while the soil is moist.”
Shen Xihe said, “Take the extra bun and vegetables back with you. This is enough for me.” He knew the family’s circumstances well. At the academy, there was no need for him to eat what the household could barely afford.
Gu Xiao was troubled. Take it back? How could she—this was Madam Zhou’s heartfelt gesture. Even if Madam Zhou herself didn’t eat, she wanted Shen Xihe to have it.
Shen Xihe added, “Tomorrow, just deliver as usual.”
Gu Xiao said, “Mother gave it to you, so you must eat it. No one will miss a single bun.”
Shen Xihe looked at her. “Take it back.” Even if the family wasn’t short, Gu Xiao could eat it on the road. He wasn’t doing farm work, so he didn’t need so much.
But Gu Xiao refused. The basket was heavy enough already—she wasn’t going to carry an extra bun. “Then save it for tonight. Studying is tiring; you should eat more. I’ll head back now.”
At present, Gu Xiao had no money and still owed Madam Chen a decorative knot. Cricket cages were no longer sold—too many people were weaving them. Some sold for two coins, some for one. Gu Xiao didn’t want to lower her price, so she simply stopped selling. She pulled out the folding fan she had made. The fan ribs were smooth and sturdy, carved with bamboo on both sides. The fan face was clean and flat, ready for someone to inscribe poems.
On the handle hung a “ruyi” knot, with a pale blue tassel that matched the bamboo.
No money meant no meat, no savings, and no way to leave. In the future, Shen Xihe would rise high, achieve success, and marry the heroine. She would surely be cast out—pitiful beyond words.
Gu Xiao took a deep breath and went to the bookshop.
Scholars in Guangning County bought their books there—it sold books, brushes, ink, paper, inkstones, and pigments. Fans wouldn’t be sold in a general goods shop. After thinking it over, Gu Xiao realized the bookshop was her only option.
The fields at home still needed planting, so she couldn’t waste too much time. Entering the shop, she went straight to the clerk. “Do you sell fans here?”
The clerk glanced at her, then lowered his head. “Round fans are sold at the Treasure Pavilion in the east. We don’t have them here.”
Gu Xiao asked, “Folding fans—do you have folding fans?”
The clerk said, “Folding fans? Shall I bring some out for you to see?”
Gu Xiao nodded. Soon, the clerk produced three fans. One was the most ordinary, inscribed with two lines of poetry. The other two had paintings, their paper of finer quality. Gu Xiao asked, “How much are they?”
The clerk, seeing she didn’t look like someone who could afford them, pointed casually. “This one is twenty coins. The other two are fifty each.”
Gu Xiao drew in a sharp breath. A stack of the cheapest paper cost ten coins, and wood or bamboo could be found in the mountains.
Noticing she wasn’t planning to buy, the clerk deliberately asked, “Which one do you fancy, miss?”
Gu Xiao pulled out her own fan. “I didn’t come to buy a fan—I came to sell one.”
The clerk’s expression soured. Disturbing business would annoy anyone. But he had worked at the bookshop for over ten years, had seen nobles and rare manuscripts, and had trained a discerning eye.
The fan in Gu Xiao’s hand was no ordinary piece—it was better than the shop’s own stock.
The clerk swallowed, taking a closer look. She was young and pretty, which made him more willing to give her attention. “Let me see your fan.”
He weighed it in his palm, then snapped it open. The opening and closing were smooth beyond compare. The ribs were crafted from willow wood, carved with bamboo. Though not as resilient as bamboo itself, they were solid and sturdy.
The fan paper was folded beautifully—though, he thought, if it had been made with bamboo ribs and Chengxin paper, it would have been even finer.
Gu Xiao pressed her lips together. “Will the bookshop accept this fan?”
The clerk asked, “Did you make it yourself?”
Gu Xiao nodded.
The clerk said, “Come with me to see the shopkeeper. I can’t decide this myself.” He led Gu Xiao upstairs.
The bookshop’s manager was surnamed Zhang, a native of Guangning, a man who loved calligraphy and painting—whatever scholars admired, he admired too. He held the fan in his hand, playing with it for a while, then said: “This fan the shop will accept. Xiao Xu, give this young lady fifty coins.”
Manager Zhang had a refined appearance. He spoke gently: “The fan paper isn’t good. Even if the carving is exquisite and the knot beautiful, it won’t fetch a high price.”
Gu Xiao understood. “It’s only because of your kindness, Manager. I know well enough the quality of this fan.”
Manager Zhang waved his hand. “Since the fan was made by you, it shows your talent and thoughtfulness. Don’t belittle yourself. If you make new fans in the future, you may bring them here again.”
Gu Xiao nodded. “Thank you, Manager.”
That was best—she wouldn’t have to worry about running out of money someday. She accepted the fifty coins and said, “I’d like to look at paper.”
The finest fan paper used delicate, resilient xuan paper for the surface, firm, pliable leather paper for backing, and smooth, thin lianshi paper for the core. Before, she hadn’t had the money to be particular. Now that she did, Gu Xiao wanted to buy better paper.
Five sheets of xuan paper, five sheets of leather paper, and two sheets of lian shi paper cost her twenty coins. Leaving the bookshop, her feet carried her almost involuntarily toward the meat stall. She hadn’t even bought a meat bun these past two days. Eating meat felt like something from long, long ago.
With thirty coins left, Gu Xiao said, “One pound of pork, and two pig’s feet.”
The butcher swiftly cut and weighed the meat. “Twenty coins total. I’ll throw in a bone.”
The bone had no meat, but better than nothing. Gu Xiao carried the meat, eager to cook and eat it right away. She had likely found a way to persuade Madam Zhou—if she said it was for Shen Xihe, then even if Zhou were reluctant or angry, she wouldn’t object.
After noon, the Shen family rested briefly, then shouldered their tools and returned to the fields. Madam Zhou stayed home, waiting for Gu Xiao to come back. Today she was slower than usual, and Madam Zhou felt a little worried.
From inside the house, Madam Zhou peered out. When she finally saw Gu Xiao enter through the gate, she breathed a sigh of relief. Coming out, she scolded, “Dragging your feet again—hurry up.”
Gu Xiao said, “Mother, please wait for me.”
“By the time I wait for you, all the work is already done. Put your things down. In the pot… there’s still a bit of scrambled egg. Go eat it.” Her words were awkward, almost begrudging. “It’s just leftovers, not something I saved especially for you.”
The basket in Gu Xiao’s hands felt hot. “Mother, you’re too good to me. I don’t even know how to repay you. I’ll find a way to earn money, so you can eat meat every day.”
The taste of meat was truly wonderful—rich and fragrant. Madam Zhou remembered it fondly, though her face showed nothing. “Stop flattering me. Who eats meat every day?”
Gu Xiao said firmly, “I don’t care. I’ll make sure you eat meat and live well.”
At last, a smile appeared on Madam Zhou’s face. “Enough. Where would daily meat come from? Hurry and eat the eggs before they get cold.”
There were only two pieces—gone in two bites. If Gu Xiao hadn’t stuffed meat into Madam Zhou’s mouth last time, Madam Zhou would never have saved any for her.
Gu Xiao tugged at Madam Zhou’s sleeve. “Who says so! Mother, look what I brought back for you…” She lifted the cloth from the basket. Inside were bowls and chopsticks, two pig’s feet, and a slab of pork, streaked with fat and lean.
Gu Xiao smiled. “Mother, I keep my word.”
Madam Zhou: “…”