Chapter 23

“Small business? What small business?” As soon as Wu Wei finished speaking, the three of them asked in unison.

As the old saying goes, it’s tough getting through the New Year—tough indeed. The Lunar New Year was not only the most important festival on Blue Star but also the grandest occasion in this time and place. The key difference was that here, unlike on Blue Star, people couldn’t rely on technology to ease the harshness of winter.

In this era, prices for everything soared during the cold twelfth lunar month. Folks who had labored tirelessly through the year pinned their hopes on donning new clothes that day, savoring rare delicacies from the past twelve months, or adding some little something to the household. These simple, earnest desires all hinged on copper coins.

The household of Zhang Shuisheng was no exception to these woes; otherwise, he wouldn’t have contemplated the perilous trip up the mountain to gather herbs earlier.

Wu Wei offered no immediate reply. Instead, she asked again, “Second Brother-in-law, would starting a small business bring any trouble to the family?”

“Not at all, not at all,” Zhang Shuisheng answered at once. “Every year around this time, villagers head to the market to sell white rice and fine flour, scraping together money for the New Year. As long as the fields aren’t left fallow and untended, the officials won’t bat an eye.”

Reassured by his words, Wu Wei cleared her throat and spoke with gravity. “I’d like to team up with Second Brother-in-law to sell Spring Festival couplets. He’ll man the stall at the market, and I’ll do the writing. After covering costs, we’ll split the earnings seventy-thirty—Second Sister and Second Brother-in-law take seventy percent, while Embroider Maiden and I take thirty.”

“You know how to write?” Second Lady Liu and her husband exclaimed in unison.

“She does! Weiwei knows how to write!” The Embroider Maiden beat Wu Wei to the punch, chiming in eagerly.

Wu Wei pressed on. “I watched for a bit earlier. The folks commissioning couplets from Scholar Zhang were paying around ten coppers apiece. So after costs, each pair nets us ten coppers. Sound good?”

Zhang Shuisheng pondered briefly before replying with caution. “Little sister, our village hasn’t produced a scholar in decades aside from old Scholar Zhang. He’s devoted a lifetime to books, brimming with ink in his belly and blessed with peerless calligraphy. Can you measure up? Couplets have to grace doorways for a full year—if there’s any mishap, folks will come banging on the door.”

Wu Wei was pleased by Zhang Shuisheng’s prudence. Though he cut an imposing figure, tall and sturdy, he was the thoughtful sort beneath the surface. His grasp of the risks—and choice against rashly joining the herb-foraging rush—revealed a rational, steady nature.

“Second Brother-in-law, words are cheap. Could you fetch some brush, ink, paper, and inkstone for me to demonstrate?”

“You got it. Hang tight!”

With that, Zhang Shuisheng hopped off the kang, slipped on his shoes, and headed out. Second Lady Liu gazed at Wu Wei in stunned silence, questions bubbling unspoken on her lips. Wu Wei’s air of calm confidence left her at a loss for words. She shot the Embroider Maiden a meaningful glance, and the two women rose to clear the bowls and dishes.

In the main hall, Second Lady Liu drew the Embroider Maiden aside and whispered, “Third Sister, does this Miss Wu truly know writing?”

“Second Sister, I trust Weiwei,” the Embroider Maiden affirmed resolutely. She couldn’t read a stroke herself and had no clue what Wu Wei had scrawled on that birch bark or whether it looked fine—but one thing she knew for certain: Wu Wei never made idle promises.

Every pledge since they’d met had come true. She’d repair the house. Someone would deliver grain. Embroider Maiden would have cotton clothes before the real cold set in. Needles and thread would arrive. Every one, even offhand remarks.

Second Lady Liu tutted in astonishment and murmured, “Good heavens, what on earth is Miss Wu’s story? Could she really be some nobleman’s fallen daughter from a great house? Only the obscenely wealthy let their girls study books!”

Zhang Shuisheng was gone for nearly an hour. He returned not just with the Four Treasures of the Study but accompanied by a man of roughly his own age.

At the sight of the visitor, Second Lady Liu’s face soured. She shot Zhang Shuisheng a sharp glare, but he shrugged it off with a grin and ushered the fellow indoors.

The Embroider Maiden ducked behind Second Lady Liu at the arrival of this outsider. Once the men had entered, she whispered, “Second Sister, who’s that?”

“The village’s infamous deadbeat,” Second Lady Liu replied. “Family used to have money—sent him to the town academy to study and take the exams. But was it rotten luck or just a stuffed shirt? He bombed every time. Parents died, money dried up, sold off the lot. Won’t farm a lick; fields gone to weed. Thirty-something and can’t snag a wife! Your brother-in-law’s a genius, dragging a jinx like that home!” For all her few years in Zhang Family Village, Second Lady Liu had the local lore down pat.

She dropped the cleaning rag and strode inside. The Embroider Maiden nibbled her lip, trailing after but keeping to her second sister’s shadow, half-hidden as she peeked toward Wu Wei.

Up on the kang, Wu Wei remained cross-legged in her spot. Facing her sat the ne’er-do-well Second Lady Liu had named, with Zhang Shuisheng standing behind Wu Wei.

Wu Wei drew a deep breath, her eyes on the familiar array of objects atop the low table. Once, she’d dismissed soft-brush calligraphy after middle school—no exams required it then. Now, these trifles she’d scorned filled her with hot tears.

Five items graced the table: the Four Treasures of the Study and one extra. The man across from her was Zhang Cheng, eyeing Wu Wei with a sly smirk, plainly anticipating her flop.

Wu Wei flicked a glance his way, unperturbed. She unrolled the Xuan paper tenderly, then lifted the sleek black stone—nearly ink itself—to anchor one corner.

Indeed, the newcomer was a paperweight, true to its name for pinning down Xuan paper. On technology-rich Blue Star, a basic one ran a dozen yuan if you weren’t picky about materials. But here, where scholarship devoured fortunes like kindling, only bookish lineages or affluent homes bothered with such refinements.

No one in the room save Zhang Cheng, its owner, and Wu Wei had laid eyes on a paperweight. Even Zhang Shuisheng had only learned of it en route.

This paperweight was Zhang Cheng’s little test.

Zhang Shuisheng knew better than to tip off Scholar Zhang about peddling couplets, so he’d tapped Zhang Cheng—fellow villager from boyhood playdays. Worlds apart in station now, but Zhang Cheng penned his own family’s couplets yearly. Couldn’t miss.

Once briefed on the scheme, Zhang Cheng perked up, agreed on the spot, and insisted on sizing up this “literate woman” himself. He’d packed the paperweight expressly to watch her stumble.

Wu Wei’s proper deployment of it drew a broad grin from Zhang Shuisheng. Zhang Cheng’s lip curled too, though disdain lingered in his eyes.

“Second Sister, could I have a cup of water?”

“Oh, of course.”

Wu Wei trickled water into the inkstone and began grinding the inkstick. A delicate “sasha-sasha” arose between ink and stone as the hue deepened. She took up the brush, inked it, shaped the tip—each motion infused with reverence.

Memories flooded back of her mother’s patient urgings: Weiwei, more skills never hurt. Young brains learn fast—grab every chance. Cartoons can wait till you’re grown; they’ll still be there. But the window for learning? That slams shut.

Wu Wei had never faulted her adolescent slacking on brushwork—until life’s whetstone had honed her perspective, revealing her mother’s foresight.

Emotion swelling, Wu Wei set brush to paper:

The thread in a mother’s hand,

A wanderer’s coat upon his back.

Stitched tight before he departs,

Lest delay wear it thin and slack.

Who claims that grass an inch can grow

Repays the sun of April’s ray?

She finished with damp eyes. Regret stabbed for her teenage defiance. She yearned for home, for her mother’s three-fresh dumplings…

Wu Wei inscribed a line; Zhang Cheng recited it aloud. When the final couplet fell silent, the room hung breathless.

The Embroider Maiden clapped a hand to her mouth, fat teardrops spilling free. Unlettered as she was, she knew the ache of “stitched tight before he departs.” Second Lady Liu’s face softened in deep feeling.

This verse, memorized by nearly every soul on Blue Star, had no echo in this world. Its depths were modest, yet between the lines flowed a love unbound by age or gulf—universal, undeniable.

Zhang Cheng’s lips quivered. In a shaky voice, he asked, “Did… the lady compose this poem?” A voracious reader himself, he’d never encountered it and assumed at once it was her creation—too fine to languish unknown.

Lost still in homesick reverie, Wu Wei hadn’t answered when Zhang Cheng pressed, “What is this poem’s title?”

“Wanderer’s Lament.”

“Excellent, excellent! So sincere and moving, truly touching the depths of the soul. It’s just that the calligraphy… well, it’s passable.”

“What? Is Miss Wu’s handwriting no good?” Second Lady Liu said with a frown.

“Sister-in-law Madam, ‘passable’ doesn’t mean it’s bad. It means it’s barely satisfactory—in other words, this young lady’s handwriting is more than enough for Spring Festival couplets,” Zhang Cheng explained, nodding sagely this way and that.

After seeing Zhang Cheng off, Zhang Shuisheng’s face glowed with excitement. The look he gave Wu Wei now carried not only appreciation, but a hint of astonishment as well.

“Little sister, I really failed to recognize a great talent. I never imagined… ah, let me apologize to you right here,” Zhang Shuisheng said solemnly.

“Second Brother-in-law, there’s no need for that. Better safe than sorry—I truly admire your caution.”

Zhang Shuisheng burst out laughing. “If you don’t mind, little sister, why don’t you and Third Sister stay at my house for a few days? I’ll move to the east room, and you three sisters can sleep in this one. Tomorrow morning, I’ll head to the market, buy some red paper and ink, and bring them back. This business of selling Spring Festival couplets? I think it’ll work!”

Wu Wei turned to glance at the Embroider Maiden, who caught her meaning and nodded. Only then did Wu Wei agree. “Alright, then we’ll impose on you.”