So the woman was not annoyed at all. Instead, she stopped and explained to her.
“Up ahead, there’s a storytelling performance at the teahouse!”
“The storyteller is named Yun Qiao Sheng. He narrates tales of scholars and poets through the ages, along with tragic romances and love stories, all vividly and vividly told. Today’s story is about a scholar going to the capital for the imperial examination. On the way, he takes shelter from the rain and meets the daughter of a wealthy merchant. Under the willow tree, they compose poetry and secretly pledge themselves to each other. The scholar swears: ‘If I achieve success, I will come to marry you with an eight-lift bridal sedan chair!’ But the merchant despises poverty and forces his daughter to marry the son of a magistrate instead. On the night before the wedding, she runs to the willow tree in the rain, crying: ‘If I cannot keep my promise, I would rather become a spirit to guard it forever than marry a heartless man…’”
The woman wiped the corner of her eye with a handkerchief, only then realizing more and more people had gathered. She grew anxious.
“Alright, if you want to listen, hurry up! This is a rare opportunity. That storyteller doesn’t often come to a small place like ours,” she urged.
After she left, Zhou Xing fell into thought. Xie Yuan noticed her expression.
“If you really want to listen, we can go. We still have time.”
They had finally come to the county town and had already sold the jam. There was plenty of time.
Zhou Xing shook her head. “I don’t really want to listen. It just gave me a bit of inspiration. Tragic romance stories are always popular… what do you think about me writing one?”
She had read many novels before. In those stories, several male leads would turn to writing and end up making a fortune. Maybe she could do the same.
“Write stories?” Xie Yuan frowned.
It wasn’t impossible.
Among scholars, some did write on behalf of others.
But storytelling required coherence, smooth transitions, and tightly structured plotting. It had to be engaging and immersive to hold readers’ attention. That was not easy.
Moreover, writing required paper, ink, brush, and inkstone—all of which were expensive.
It also consumed a lot of time and energy. Most scholars focused on imperial exams; writing books would be seen as wasting effort and risking their future.
At present, writers even used pen names, afraid of being criticized for being frivolous.
“I didn’t say I would write it now. I still need to think about it. Let’s go to the bookshop and buy some writing supplies—you’ll need them too,” Zhou Xing suggested.
She had already noticed they were running out of paper and ink, and had no paper at all left at home. Since she promised to support his studies, she had to follow through.
Xie Yuan felt slightly relieved. He also wanted ink and paper, not necessarily for study, but for daily use.
So instead of going to the teahouse, they went to a nearby bookshop.
Only then did Zhou Xing truly realize why studying was considered something only wealthy families could afford.
Even basic stationery was expensive enough to be out of reach for ordinary people.
Fortunately, Xie Yuan knew how to choose. He bought cheaper hemp paper and ordinary ink, yet it still cost over two hundred wen.
Too expensive. Truly too expensive.
Originally, she had wanted to buy books for the children, but had to give up. Books were even more expensive.
“Don’t worry, I can borrow books and copy them. That will be enough for the children,” Xie Yuan said with a smile.
He found her occasionally naïve about practical matters amusing.
Most books in shops were rare copies, sometimes costing hundreds or even thousands of taels. Only wealthy families collected them. For small households like theirs, having something to read was already good enough.
“Really? That’s great. We can borrow one and copy it later,” Zhou Xing felt reassured.
With that settled, she went to buy cloth.
Originally she wanted ready-made clothes, but they were too expensive. One set cost as much as a whole bolt of fine hemp cloth.
In the end, she bought two bolts—one cotton, one hemp.
Cotton for undergarments, hemp for outer clothing.
Their family was supposed to be poor; sudden wealth would attract unwanted attention.
She also bought meat bones, two pig trotters, and some coarse grain flour.
The journey home was exhausting. They still didn’t manage to find a cart, so they had to walk.
On the way, Xie Yuan suddenly took out a comb and handed it to her.
“Ah Xing, this is for you.”
He had noticed her old broken comb and felt she must have been using it in discomfort.
Zhou Xing was pleasantly surprised. She hadn’t expected him to be so attentive.
“Thank you. I really needed a comb.”
She had simply forgotten to buy one.
In her previous life, she had worked hard all the time but never truly enjoyed life. This time, she intended to live more comfortably.
No anger, no suffering—just a good life.
To Xie Yuan, however, it looked like she always prioritized the children and the family, neglecting herself.
How could he not be moved?
Xie Yuan’s ears turned slightly red.
Zhou Xing noticed his reaction and found it amusing.
What a pure-hearted young man.
“Glad you like it,” he said quietly. “In the future, I’ll buy you a jade comb.”
He had once seen noblewomen using jade combs in the capital. They were said to nourish the hair and keep it smooth and glossy.
Her hair was thick and beautiful—if cared for properly, it would surely be like flowing silk.