Song Bo had spent years as a university professor specializing in ancient literature without ever receiving such treatment. He had only been in the ancient world for a few days, yet someone was already performing a formal grand salute to him.
“Stand up, quickly.” Song Bo set down his chopsticks and stood to help Li Huishu up. “Your father thinks too highly of me. I simply know how to write, that is all.”
“Uncle Song is being modest,” Li Huishu insisted.
Li Wu had returned home that day incredibly excited, vividly recounting the events at Xichun Restaurant to his son and wife. The story of a dock worker besting a pampered scholar was a great inspiration. Since that day, the boy had kept Song Bo in mind, hoping to learn calligraphy from him.
“The key to brush calligraphy is perseverance,” Song Bo said, taking Li Huishu by the arm and leading him back to the dining table.
Li Huishu sat obediently, looking at Song Bo with eyes full of admiration. He listened intently, etching every word Song Bo spoke into his heart. His parents were ordinary laborers who worked hard just to provide for his education; they had no extra money for a private tutor. The public charity school he currently attended only taught basic literacy and did not cover advanced scholarship. Calligraphy was a skill that required true effort, and someone with beautiful handwriting rarely lacked academic depth.
If Song Bo were willing to teach him, he was certain he would learn far more than he ever could at the charity school.
Seeing Li Huishu’s eyes shining like a small rabbit’s, Song Bo found it amusing. A ten-year-old boy was at the perfect age to practice calligraphy. Later, during the imperial examinations, a clean and well-organized paper with elegant handwriting would surely earn him bonus points, given how much ancient people valued calligraphy.
“If you eat your dinner properly, I will teach you,” Song Bo promised.
Upon hearing this, Li Huishu immediately picked up his bowl and began shoveling rice into his mouth. He ate so fast he started coughing, causing A-Lan to laugh as she patted his back and told him to slow down.
Although Li Wu was uneducated, he knew that studying was difficult. The eldest son of old He next door had studied his whole life and only passed the provincial exam at fifty. One could imagine how grueling this path was. Learning was hard, but teaching was harder. Given Song Bo’s character, anything he committed to would be done to the utmost, which meant teaching Li Huishu would cost him significant time and energy. Initially, Li Wu had praised Song Bo simply because he was proud of his friend; he had no ulterior motives. Now that things had developed this way, he felt he had inadvertently burdened Song Bo with a troublesome task.
Li Wu spoke up, “You do not need to take Huishu’s words to heart. Forget about the writing lessons; just ignore him.”
Song Bo understood Li Wu’s concern, but he was not a man to go back on his word. He replied, “Did I not come here today to ask for your help as well? Let us call it even.”
“How is that the same?!” Li Wu countered. Regardless of whether his advice worked, offering a suggestion could not be compared to teaching someone calligraphy.
“It is settled. Say no more,” Song Bo said firmly.
With no other choice, Li Wu decided he would later discuss with A-Lan about sending some gifts to Song Bo as tuition.
After dinner, Song Bo went to Li Huishu’s room to look at his recent work. The bedroom was next to the master room and was quite small. Upon entering, one saw a simple wooden table where brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones were neatly arranged. A copied essay, which appeared to be the boy’s work from today, lay spread out and dry on the table.
Li Huishu pitter-pattered into the room, picked up the paper with both hands, and presented it to Song Bo. “Uncle Song, this is the copy of The Great Learning I did today.”
Song Bo took it carefully. The boy’s handwriting was still childish, the brushstrokes lacked maturity, and it was clear he was still at the stage of merely tracing the models of others.
“Where is the model you copied from?” Song Bo asked.
“I do not have a model. I am just imitating the teacher at the charity school,” Li Huishu answered, carefully watching Song Bo’s expression.
To copy The Great Learning word for word from memory while imitating another’s handwriting was an impressive feat for a ten-year-old.
“This person’s brushstrokes are too sharp; they do not suit you.” Song Bo sat at the wooden table, picked up a brush, and wrote a page of The Great Learning on a blank sheet of paper. Based on the characteristics of Li Huishu’s handwriting, Song Bo specifically chose a script style that would suit him. “From now on, study according to this. Make time every day to copy it three times.”
Li Huishu treated the paper as if it were a priceless treasure. He nodded vigorously, his eyes fixed on the wet ink on the table. One glance was enough to see the difference; Song Bo’s handwriting was vastly superior to that of the charity school teacher.
“Focus on practicing your handwriting first. We will discuss the rest later,” Song Bo said.
“Yes!” Li Huishu stood up straight and responded loudly.
When Song Bo left Li Wu’s house, he was carrying two bags. He had arrived with gifts but was leaving with even more than he had brought. He tried to refuse, but Li Wu threatened that if he did not accept them, he would not be allowed back. Under such pressure, Song Bo had no choice but to comply.
Song Bo remembered Li Wu’s advice. Although it was now completely dark, the market was still open. He first bought the same sugar as last time. With more funds available, he also bought several pieces of fresh pastries. To be sincere in his apology, he needed to put in more effort. Jiang Jinxi liked sweets, so the soft, delicious pastries should suit his taste.
Next, he went to the fabric shop to collect the finished clothes. Song Bo did not know what Jiang Jinxi preferred, but he assumed no one would refuse new clothes. Carrying his various bundles, Song Bo headed home.
To his surprise, the candle was lit inside the house. Jiang Jinxi had not gone to Song Chazai’s place.
As he drew closer, Song Bo noticed a small wooden basket placed by the courtyard gate. It was covered with a cloth, and he did not know what was inside. Having no memory of this basket, he assumed someone had misplaced it and did not bother to look inside, heading straight into the yard.
He opened the bedroom door to find Jiang Jinxi sitting on the edge of the bed. He was close to the candlelight, holding a book in his hands. He only flicked his gaze up when he heard the door open, and after seeing it was Song Bo, he returned his focus to the book.
Song Bo placed his things on the table. He was becoming accustomed to Jiang Jinxi’s coldness over the past few days.
“What are you reading?” Song Bo asked.
“A book,” a single word popped out of Jiang Jinxi’s mouth.
Song Bo did not get angry. He walked over to Jiang Jinxi and looked down. Jiang Jinxi had flipped to the page on Panax notoginseng. The top left corner of the page had a drawing of the plant, with notes on its name, effects, and other traditional medicine details.
“Are you reading a medical text?” Song Bo asked.
The original story never mentioned Jiang Jinxi’s profession. When he was in the village, the original host had kept him imprisoned at home. During that year of captivity, he did nothing. After Ye Danyue found him, he returned to the capital to marry him and became a canary once more, simply flying from one cage into another.
Thinking of this, Song Bo felt a pang of pity for Jiang Jinxi. He was a character created only for suffering; no one cared about what he liked or what he wanted to do.
“You can read?” Jiang Jinxi looked up at Song Bo.
Song Bo could not reveal his literacy; in this life, he only wanted to be an illiterate village man. He scratched the back of his head and lied, “I saw Aunt holding this book before.”
Jiang Jinxi lowered his gaze, thinking that made sense. Education was not easy for commoners, and a man like Song Bo, who had previously been mired in gambling, could not possibly be literate.
Song Bo reached out, snatched the book, and laid it face down on the bed. He then took Jiang Jinxi by the arm and gently pulled him up. “Stop reading for a moment.”
Jiang Jinxi was confused, but he followed Song Bo’s lead and walked to the table. Since Song Bo started going to town, he had brought things back every day, so Jiang Jinxi was no longer surprised.
Song Bo opened the bundle of clothes, took out one of the shirts, and held it up in front of Jiang Jinxi. “I thought this would suit you, so I bought it on a whim.”
Much of the frustration Jiang Jinxi had felt over the last few days dissipated at the sight of the shirt. Who could dislike new clothes? At the very least, he liked them.
Jiang Jinxi reached out and felt the fabric. It was naturally inferior to what he had worn in the capital, but it was far better than the tattered hemp he was currently wearing. He had long wanted to change his clothes but had no way to earn money, so he had set the plan aside. He never expected Song Bo to buy clothes for him, and a strange feeling rose in his heart.
“Try it on,” Song Bo said. He had not been able to judge the size well when Jiang Jinxi was not there, and now that Jiang Jinxi was holding it, the shirt looked a bit large.
“Alright,” Jiang Jinxi said, and he impatiently threw on the shirt and tried the trousers as well.
The clothes were indeed large, but since Jiang Jinxi was wearing hemp clothes underneath, they actually fit reasonably well. It was his fault for measuring under the covers; professional tasks should be left to professionals. Song Bo felt a bit ashamed and said, “Take them off. I will exchange them tomorrow.”
Jiang Jinxi held onto the clothes and said, “No need. They fit perfectly.”
Even if they were large, autumn and winter clothes should be a bit loose to allow for more layers underneath to keep warm.
Since Jiang Jinxi insisted, Song Bo did not force the exchange. After the first set, Song Bo had him try the other one. Since they were the same size, the second was also large. However, seeing the corners of Jiang Jinxi’s mouth turned up, Song Bo knew he liked the two outfits.
After the fitting, Song Bo put away the empty bundle. Jiang Jinxi watched him and asked, “What about yours?”
“What about mine?”
“Where are your clothes?”
“I do not like new clothes. This set I am wearing is fine,” Song Bo said.
Jiang Jinxi opened his mouth, but the words stayed in his throat. He did not know the exact prices of things, but he knew clothes were not cheap. The bruise on Song Bo’s back had not completely faded, yet he had spent his hard-earned money from the docks to buy clothes for him first.
“The boat owner gave me more sugar. I do not like it, so it is for you.” Song Bo opened the other bundle and took out the sugar and pastries. “These pastries will not keep, so eat them now.”
“Why are you?” Jiang Jinxi’s voice was as quiet as a mosquito.
“What?” Song Bo turned.
Jiang Jinxi shook his head. “No, nothing.”