The strategy of shifting his attention had failed. Even after they went to bed and he blew out the lamp, Jiang Jinxi remained utterly silent.
A scumbag should not care about coaxing someone, but Song Bo was not a real scumbag. He felt he had genuinely upset Jiang Jinxi, and the lingering tension felt like a heavy weight in his chest.
I will ask Li Wu tomorrow, he thought. Li Wu was married, so he would surely have more experience in these matters.
In the pitch-black bedroom, Song Bo could see Jiang Jinxi’s back turned to him with his body pressed tight against the wall. The blanket between them dipped into a hollow that let in a slight draft.
Song Bo could not help but chuckle inwardly. When Jiang Jinxi sulked, he was just like a child huddling in the corner to nurse his grievance.
After his silent laugh, Song Bo remembered his important task. Since Jiang Jinxi was facing away, he did not have to wait for him to turn over. He pulled the measuring tape out from his bag, carefully unrolled it under the covers, and stretched his arms to measure the distance while keeping a cautious two or three centimeters away from Jiang Jinxi’s body.
Pinching the tape with his fingernail to mark the spot, he pulled it back to read the length. Fortunately, the moonlight was spilling in through the window; otherwise, he would have gone cross-eyed trying to read the numbers.
Song Bo’s movements under the quilt were not exactly subtle. Jiang Jinxi had not been asleep at all, so he was hyper-aware of the rustling behind him. The gap in the blanket fluctuated, making his back feel cold one moment and freezing the next. He had no idea what kind of scheme Song Bo was up to. He wanted to turn around, but the moment he remembered Song Bo’s earlier words, his anger flared up and suppressed his curiosity. No matter what the man was doing, Jiang Jinxi decided he was not going to acknowledge him.
Having successfully obtained the measurements, Song Bo tucked the tape into his shirt, rolled over, and fell asleep almost instantly. That was the one perk of being a laborer; his energy was so depleted by the end of the day that his head only had to touch the pillow for him to drift off.
The next day, Song Bo arrived at the docks only to find out that Li Wu had fallen ill and would not be working for a few days.
This was a setback. Li Wu was the only person he felt comfortable discussing domestic troubles with. He could only hope the illness was not serious and that Li Wu would return soon.
Without Li Wu, Song Bo’s efficiency dropped, and he earned only 36 coins that day. After work, he rushed to the fabric shop, returned the measuring tape, and placed the order for the two custom outfits. After paying the deposit, he was left with only 220 coins. The quilt and the clothes would be ready in two days, which was highly efficient service.
When Song Bo returned home, Jiang Jinxi was still acting like a silent gourd. If a question could be answered with one word, he absolutely would not use two. After two more days of this, Song Bo could not take it anymore. He bought some fruit and sought out Li Wu’s home.
The door was opened by a plain-looking woman with a sturdy build. She wore a dark blue headscarf and had her sleeves rolled up, looking as though she had been mid-task.
Seeing a refined, handsome man holding fruit at her door, she looked puzzled. “Who are you looking for?” The man was striking. Even the simple hemp clothes he wore looked like fine silks on him. She racked her memory but could not recall their family knowing someone like this.
“Does Li Wu live here?” Song Bo asked.
He had gotten the address from the boat owner. Luckily, Li Wu had worked for the man for years; otherwise, the owner would not have known where a part-time laborer lived. Li Wu was not destitute, but he lived in the slums where the houses were small and the alleys were a labyrinth. Song Bo had to ask several people before finding the right place.
“He does. And you are?” she asked.
“I am Song Bo, a friend of Li Wu,” he introduced himself.
Perhaps Li Wu had mentioned the name at home, because as soon as she heard it, she stepped aside to let him in.
The house consisted of four small rooms and a courtyard. A stone mill sat in the center of the yard, making the small space feel even more cramped. Liquid from ground soybeans still coated the stone. It was clear the woman had been busy grinding beans.
“A-Lan, who is there?” A voice called from the largest room facing the courtyard. It was Li Wu.
“Song Bo is here!” A-Lan shouted back.
“What? Quickly, let him in!” Li Wu urged.
A-Lan opened the bedroom door for Song Bo. From the threshold, Song Bo saw Li Wu’s leg propped high up on the bed frame. It looked like he had broken it.
“Thank you, sister-in-law,” Song Bo said, turning to thank A-Lan. She nodded and went back to the courtyard. It was no wonder A-Lan was sturdier than most women; it took serious strength to move that heavy millstone.
“What are you doing here?” Li Wu asked. His leg was fixed in place, preventing him from turning his body, so while he spoke to Song Bo, his face was directed at the ceiling.
“You have not been to work for three days, so I came to check on you.” Song Bo placed the fruit on the bedside cabinet and pulled up a wooden stool. “Brother Li, what happened?”
Li Wu chuckled dryly. “Slipped a few days ago. Ended up with a fracture.”
“Then you must rest well. An injury to the bone is no small matter,” Song Bo warned. Even for an adult, if a bone did not heal correctly, it could lead to permanent issues.
“You sound exactly like my wife,” Li Wu said. “It is just a minor injury. I will be back at work in a couple of days.”
“Better to stay home a bit longer,” Song Bo insisted. He was not a doctor, but he used simple examples to persuade him, which finally seemed to hit home with Li Wu.
“I saw sister-in-law grinding something outside. What is she making?” Song Bo asked, changing the subject.
“A-Lan is making tofu,” Li Wu replied. Tofu production was labor-intensive, so the price was decent; one block could sell for one coin.
After a few more pleasantries, Song Bo finally reached the main point. “Brother Li,” he said. He found it a bit difficult to bring up.
“Go on,” Li Wu said, sensing from Song Bo’s tone that he had a difficult problem.
“It is like this. My husband has been upset with me lately.” Song Bo slowly recounted the entire story of his disagreement with Jiang Jinxi.
Li Wu, being a rough man himself, naturally could not decipher a Ger’s intricate thoughts. After hearing the story, he was just as confused. “What you said sounds perfectly normal. Why is he angry with you?”
“Why he is angry does not matter as much now. I wanted to ask if you have any methods for coaxing someone,” Song Bo said.
“I would not say I have methods exactly,” Li Wu said, rubbing his chin. He had been married to A-Lan for over ten years, so they had certainly fought. “My way is usually just to buy her something she likes to eat or something nice to look at, then say some sweet words. Usually, her anger melts away after that.”
It sounded simple, but implementation was tricky. Song Bo had only lived with Jiang Jinxi for a week; he did not truly know his preferences. However, he remembered that when he brought food back from Xichun Restaurant, Jiang Jinxi had finished every bit of the Osmanthus Honey Lotus Root. Also, of the sugar he had bought for the medicine, only two pieces were left. He must like sweets, Song Bo noted.
“If you really do not know what he likes, just say more nice things,” Li Wu suggested. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”
It seemed that was the only way. However, Jiang Jinxi was a young master from the capital, so Song Bo wondered if such common methods would satisfy him.
Having received some advice, Song Bo felt less conflicted. He had come after work, and half an hour had passed. It was now completely dark. The sound of the mill outside had not stopped. Curiously, Song Bo asked, “Are you two not having dinner?”
Li Wu was bedridden and A-Lan was busy. Were they skipping the evening meal?
“My son is making it,” Li Wu said. Just as the words left his mouth, a crisp voice rang out from the yard: “Father, Mother! Dinner is ready!”
The dining area was in the kitchen. Song Bo helped Li Wu up. His left leg could not move, but he could hop to the kitchen on his right. Song Bo had intended to leave after dropping Li Wu off, but he could not resist their hospitality and stayed for dinner.
Li Wu’s son, Li Huishu, was ten years old. Children in ancient times matured early, and he was already capable of handling the stove.
A-Lan patted the boy’s back. “A-Shu, greet your Uncle.”
“Hello, Uncle,” Li Huishu said obediently before running into the kitchen to get the bowls and chopsticks.
Perhaps because he was only ten, or perhaps he simply lacked a talent for cooking, the food was not exactly delicious. At best, it was edible. It lacked salt and oil. It was the kind of plain, boiled fare a modern dieter would love. Song Bo did not complain, however, and ate with refined grace.
The Li household did not follow the rule about not talking while eating. They chatted throughout the meal, and the atmosphere was lively.
Li Wu swallowed a piece of pork and turned to his son. “By the way, how was your studying today?”
“I copied The Great Learning five times today,” the boy replied.
The Great Learning was one of the Four Books, the official curriculum for the imperial examinations. Clearly, Li Huishu was aiming for a future in the civil service. No wonder Li Wu hauled cargo and A-Lan sold tofu. Although their combined income was decent, they lived in the slums because every spare coin went toward brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones.
Stationery was not cheap. A single sheet of paper cost 0.5 coins, and a set of cheap brushes and ink could cost a hundred. A high-quality brush could cost a whole string of coins, which was one tael of silver. This was not a price an ordinary commoner could afford.
“Good.” Hearing that his son had practiced his writing, Li Wu smiled through his meal. “This Uncle Song is a master of calligraphy. You should learn a thing or two from him.”
Li Huishu’s eyes went wide, sparkling with admiration. He stared at Song Bo in disbelief. “Really?”
Finding himself the object of a child’s awe, Song Bo nodded modestly. “I simply know how to write. I would not call myself a master.”
“He is the one who helped your father win a hundred coins,” A-Lan added. The story of Song Bo winning against Qin Ling was a proud tale that Li Wu had shared immediately upon returning from Xichun Restaurant.
Li Huishu set down his chopsticks, walked straight to Song Bo, and bowed deeply at a ninety-degree angle. His voice was full of reverence. “Uncle Song! Please, teach me how to write!”