The candlelight flickered, illuminating the room clearly. Song Bo sat with his clothes half-undone, revealing the bruise on his shoulder.
Jiang Jinxi stood behind him to the right and was shocked by what he saw. Because Song Bo rarely exercised or spent time in the sun, the dark purple bruise was startlingly vivid against his pale skin. Just looking at it made Jiang Jinxi’s own shoulder ache in sympathy.
Song Chazai felt a sting of pity, but she couldn’t help but needle him. “And you called this a minor injury?” Holding a jar of her homemade medicinal ointment, she scooped out a dollop and spread it over his shoulder.
“It hurts… Great Aunt, please be gentler.” The more a bruise is touched, the more it stings. Even a man as stoic as Song Bo struggled to maintain his composure against the sharp pain of the ointment being rubbed in.
“Endure it. If we don’t massage it out, it will hurt even more later.” Song Chazai was relentless. As she worked, she explained the key points of the process to Jiang Jinxi.
Since Jiang Jinxi was Song Bo’s spouse, Song Bo couldn’t run to her house every day for treatment. She had to teach Jiang Jinxi how to do it at home. Fortunately, it was not a difficult task, and Jiang Jinxi was quick to memorize the technique.
“Come, Jinxi, you try.” After rubbing the medicine into Song Bo’s skin once more, Song Chazai stood up to give him her seat.
Theory and practice were two different things; she needed to see him do it before she could be at ease.
Jiang Jinxi sat down. Despite having faced many significant events in the capital, he found himself feeling quite nervous now. His rounded fingertips scooped up a tiny bit of ointment, and he looked up at Song Chazai. “Is this enough?”
“It is fine. A little more or less does not matter,” she replied.
Jiang Jinxi turned back and carefully touched Song Bo’s shoulder. Perhaps because of the friction from Song Chazai’s massage, the skin felt warm to the touch. Following her movements, his fingers moved with extreme caution.
Song Bo sat obediently. He could not see behind him, so he relied on his skin to track Jiang Jinxi’s fingertips. For some reason, even though the treatment was the same, it felt different when Jiang Jinxi did it.
Once the skin felt warm and the stickiness had vanished, Jiang Jinxi asked, “Is this sufficient?”
“Very good,” Song Chazai said.
After the application, Song Chazai instructed Song Bo to lighten his workload the next day to let his shoulder rest. “Take this jar with you. Just have Jinxi apply it for you every night.”
Song Bo took the jar. The ointment emitted a natural floral scent that lingered even after the lid was closed. “Thank you, Great Aunt.”
Song Chazai let out a yawn. “It is late. You two should head back.”
“Yes.”
As they left Song Chazai’s house, Song Bo suddenly felt a strange gaze following them. His mind raced, immediately connecting it to the group from the original story who had framed Jiang Jinxi. It had only been two days since Jiang Jinxi was sold to him; those people were likely still suspicious. To deceive them, Song Bo had to act like a scoundrel.
Offering a silent apology to Jiang Jinxi, he reached back and grabbed Jiang Jinxi’s wrist. Taking a long stride, he made it look as though he were forcibly dragging him along.
“Just wait until we get home,” Song Bo growled as he pulled. “I’ll show you what happens when you cross me.” To any observer, it appeared that Jiang Jinxi had angered him and was being subjected to his violence.
The person hiding behind the tree watched their interaction. After following them a while longer and confirming that Song Bo treated Jiang Jinxi poorly, the figure finally left, satisfied.
Even as the predatory gaze retreated, Song Bo did not let go. He kept up the act until they were inside the house with the door bolted. His movements looked rough, but he had carefully controlled his strength so as not to hurt Jiang Jinxi.
According to Song Bo’s true nature, he should have explained himself, but he still needed to maintain his “scoundrel” persona. A scoundrel acts on whim, so he swallowed the explanation and went straight to the kitchen to boil water for Jiang Jinxi.
Jiang Jinxi was more perceptive than Song Bo realized. He had sensed the presence of the bad men and had cooperated with the charade. Now that Song Bo was in the kitchen, Jiang Jinxi sat in the room, wondering if Song Bo had also noticed the watchers. Otherwise, why would a man who had been walking perfectly fine suddenly grab him and hurry home?
In the capital, flattery was everywhere. Having grown up around his parents, Jiang Jinxi had seen many two-faced people and had learned to read others. When he first met Song Bo while in a daze, he thought the man fit the word “scoundrel” perfectly. But after that first night, the man seemed different. Though his words remained sharp and unpleasant, his actions were all for Jiang Jinxi’s benefit. Jiang Jinxi stared blankly at the floor. But how could a truly good person ever participate in buying a spouse?
He had much to think about and decided to observe further.
The next day, Song Bo woke up to his internal clock. The ointment seemed to have worked; the pain in his left shoulder had eased slightly. That was enough for him. Today, he could move more cargo and save up for fabric and quilts.
After two days on the job, he was getting used to the work. His speed increased, and he moved over a dozen bags by noon. At this rate, he could earn over forty coins by the end of the day.
At noon, the workers gathered under a large shed. A long wooden table was set with food. One perk of working here was that the boat owner provided lunch, saving them the cost of a meal.
“Is the food better than usual today?” Li Wu asked, stuffing a mouthful of rice into his mouth.
Song Bo sat with him and agreed. Usually, a bowl of rice came with one vegetable and one meat dish. Today, the portions seemed larger. Song Bo chewed a piece of meat while keeping a secret eye on the boat owner.
The boat owner was fanning himself, but he kept looking back in one direction as if waiting for something. Suddenly, a figure appeared in the distance, growing larger as he ran toward them with a letter in hand.
The boat owner looked nervous. After the man whispered something in his ear, the owner’s face instantly brightened with joy. He impatiently tore open the envelope, only to find that the letter was written in a very formal, literary style. He was uneducated and only knew a few simple characters. Remembering Li Wu’s mention that Song Bo was a scholar, he glanced toward him. “You, read this to me.”
Song Bo obliged. He set down his chopsticks, wiped his mouth, and walked over to take the letter. The boat owner clearly valued it, as he handed it over with both hands.
Song Bo read it through. Thanks to his background, the traditional characters posed no problem. The letter was from the owner’s younger brother. He had gone to the provincial capital for the civil service examinations and had passed; he was now a scholar of the second degree, a Juren.
Becoming a Juren meant qualifying for a government post—huge news in ancient times.
Song Bo explained the contents word for word. The boat owner was ecstatic and slammed the table. “When we finish work today, it is my treat! We are going to Xichun Pavilion for a feast!”
The workers cheered, praising the owner’s good fortune in having such a successful brother.
Song Bo carefully folded the letter and returned it. “Congratulations. Your brother will surely have a bright future in the imperial court.”
The boat owner patted Song Bo’s right shoulder. “Scholars really do have a way with words. That sounded wonderful.”
“However, I have family matters tonight, so I may not be able to attend,” Song Bo said, remembering the clan meeting. He wanted to decline the dinner; there would be other parties, but he couldn’t afford to make a bad impression on Song Chazai.
“No!” the boat owner refused immediately. “Everyone must come!”
Seeing his insistence, Song Bo backed down and returned to his seat. If he couldn’t get out of it openly, he would try another way. He would pretend to get drunk at the dinner so they would let him leave early.
The good news motivated the workers. Before the sun had even set, all the cargo had been moved. When the owner handed Song Bo his wages, fifty coins landed in his palm.
Song Bo was confused. He had tracked every bag; he had only moved thirty-three today, which should have earned him forty-three coins. “Sir, is the calculation wrong?”
The owner waved it off. “It is correct. You read the letter for me; I added a fee for that.”
Educated people were rare, especially in Chuanfu, one of the most remote towns in the province. Reading a letter usually commanded a fee, typically one coin. But because Song Bo had made him so happy, the owner simply rounded up the total.
Song Bo didn’t decline. He tucked away the fifty coins. Once he got through this period, he would look for a job that used his brain; manual labor was not a long-term fit for him.
True to his word, the owner led the group into Xichun Pavilion.
Song Bo had assumed it was a standard restaurant. Once inside, he realized Xichun Pavilion likely offered “other” services. There was a circular stage in the center where dancers performed. Beautiful women and gers in revealing clothes moved between tables, each trailing a heavy scent. The mixture of dozens of perfumes hit Song Bo’s nose, making him sneeze repeatedly.
One ger glanced at him and gave a coquettish wink. Song Bo immediately looked away. After seeing Jiang Jinxi, these people did not even possess a tenth of his beauty.
A waiter brought the menu. The owner made a grand gesture and ordered two portions of every dish to satisfy the large crowd.
While they waited, the owner called out, “Song Bo.”
“Yes, sir?” Song Bo answered.
“Help me write a letter,” the boat owner said.
The provincial capital was far away. The brother’s letter mentioned he wouldn’t return to Chuanfu but planned to rest briefly before heading straight to the capital for next year’s spring examinations. The boat owner could not leave his business here, so he needed to send a reply confirming he had received the news.
The owner could read simple words, but writing was beyond him. He usually paid someone to do it, but with Song Bo there, he decided to give him the task.