When Lin Wu mentioned what Lin Cui’e had asked, he told Lin Fang that the small round mirror and the jujube wood comb were not gifts from him but were entrusted by Wang Hongwen to be given to Lin Cui’e. The jujube wood used for the mirror and comb was no ordinary wood—it was jujube wood struck by lightning.
Wang Hongwen was taking the provincial examination this autumn. He had asked Lin Wu to convey to Lin Cui’e that, regardless of whether he passed or not, and regardless of whether he would later enter officialdom, he would definitely come to marry her.
Jujube wood is hard, with iron-like bones and gnarled branches, rugged yet striking, somewhat resembling plum blossoms. According to the *Compendium of Materia Medica*, jujube wood can be used medicinally to treat back and leg pain! This highlights the benefits of using jujube wood for combs. When used to comb hair, it never generates static electricity, does not damage hair, and with long-term use, it can unblock meridians, promote blood circulation, clear the mind, and boost energy. It is particularly effective in preventing and treating hair loss, gray hair, headaches, insomnia, neurasthenia, dizziness, and palpitations.
Jujube wood is a perennial woody plant, dense and hard in texture, with fine grain, making it resistant to insect damage. Lightning-struck jujube wood undergoes a qualitative change, becoming denser than water and capable of sinking. It is also known as “evil-warding wood,” believed to carry divine energy. Wearing it not only repels malevolent forces but also brings auspiciousness and luck.
Lightning-struck jujube wood is extremely rare. Given Wang Hongwen’s modest family circumstances, gifting such a precious item showed his genuine affection for Lin Cui’e. Lin Fang found it strange: “Fifth Brother, why didn’t you tell Auntie that day that the gifts weren’t from you?”
Lin Wu scratched his head, embarrassed. “That day, Brother Yi was present. If I had spoken up, I feared Auntie would scold me for discussing private matters in front of outsiders. Later, I was busy working outside with Father every day and simply forgot about it.”
Forgetting such an important matter had caused Lin Cui’e much distress. Ignoring Lin Wu’s pleas for mercy, Lin Fang pushed him into their aunt’s room, regardless of whether he ended up with a bruised head or a pinched face. “You caused this mess—you deal with the consequences,” Lin Fang thought with a sly grin. “I’m not suffering for you. Auntie loves pinching cheeks, and it hurts!”
When Qi Biao next visited the Lin household, Lin Fang was sitting at a stone table under the shade of a tree, engrossed in a book. Hearing Qi Biao’s footsteps, she didn’t even look up. A bowl of medicine sat on the table beside her, apparently already cold.
Picking up the bowl and sniffing it, Qi Biao frowned. “Did you overindulge again? This medicine must be taken while hot. Why are you so stubborn?”
The day before, Lin Fang had gone up the mountain again.
Without the ready-made mycelium from her past life, she had to follow the method she’d read about—crushing the fungus and implanting it into freshly cut logs placed slightly above the ground. Whether this would succeed was uncertain, but she checked every few days, ensuring the logs were watered and turned. If it rained, drainage had to be promptly arranged.
Among the logs were naturally decayed ones already growing fungus. This was an experimental attempt to see if the mycelium from the rotten wood might spread to the new logs, increasing the chances of success.
The location she chose was, as the book suggested, a sunny slope suitable for fungus growth. The trees were neither too dense nor too sparse, and the ground was covered with grass and moss. Thorny vines and tall weeds had already been cleared.
Fungus is a saprophytic organism, deriving nutrients by decomposing and absorbing organic matter from dead trees—carbohydrates, nitrogenous compounds, and inorganic salts—to fuel its growth. The mycelium secretes enzymes that break down complex substances in the substrate into absorbable nutrients.
When selecting wood for cultivating fungus, it’s best to choose species with loose, porous wood that retains moisture well, ensuring early, abundant, and rapid growth.
Thus, Lin Fang chose trees from sunny slopes with fertile soil, as they grow faster, have looser wood, and are richer in nutrients. Conversely, trees from shady, barren slopes grow slowly, have harder wood, and lack sufficient nutrients.
The age of the wood also matters—eight to ten years is ideal, with a trunk diameter of about ten centimeters. Younger trees may produce fungus earlier, but their thin bark and low nutrient content result in lower yields. Older trees, with thick bark and dense heartwood, also yield poorly.
All conditions were meticulously prepared as per the book, but whether this theoretical approach would yield results remained to be seen.
Accompanying her up the mountain were Qian’er and Xian’er, servants assigned by Dalang, and village children who tagged along under the preten of keeping her company but really just wanted to play.
The children gathered wild fruits and gifted Lin Fang a basket. She particularly enjoyed the tart-sweet wild pears, eating them while directing the work. She lost track of how many she consumed, and by evening, she was suffering from diarrhea. By morning, she was weak and listless.
For this, Qian’er and Xian’er were punished for failing to supervise their young mistress, and they were filled with remorse.
After learning what she had eaten, Dalang understood. That night, he went up the mountain to pick wild pears, sliced them thinly with a wooden knife, roasted them until golden, ground them into powder, and steeped them in boiling water for Lin Fang to drink. This was a folk remedy for children’s stomachaches caused by overeating—whatever caused the ailment was charred, powdered, and consumed with hot water, proving highly effective.
Though effective, the remedy was unpleasant—burnt food turned bitter, and the water was full of gritty residue, making it hard to swallow. After two doses, Lin Fang’s diarrhea stopped, but Dalang insisted on one more. Unwilling, she left the bowl on the stone table and shooed everyone away.
Glancing weakly at Qi Biao, Lin Fang lowered her head again to her book.
Without a word, Qi Biao took the bowl to the kitchen and returned shortly with a steaming replacement.
Sitting across from her, he stirred the medicine until it was warm enough to drink, then pushed it toward her. Lin Fang frowned, closed her book, and stood to leave.
Qi Biao rose first, blocking her path. Softly, he said, “If you wish to travel, you must first recover. Weak and sickly, you’ll remain confined to this courtyard.”
Lin Fang looked up sharply, her eyes filled with disbelief, anger, and a mocking glint that unsettled Qi Biao.
Bending down, he took *Buddhist Sacred Sites, Vol. II* from her hands, placed it gently on the table, and nudged the bowl closer. “Cold medicine is worse than none,” he murmured before walking toward the main house.
Gulping down the medicine, Lin Fang, vexed, carried her book back to her room. It was a habit of hers—no matter how upset, she never mistreated books as outlets for frustration.
Qi Biao had brought Dalang news: the government planned to rebuild the road from Conglin Village to town. He asked Dalang for his plans so they could coordinate.
Originally, there had been no road between Lin Village and Baishui Town. Dalang had hired laborers to build a temporary path when developing the village. It was narrow, barely wide enough for a single cart, and after a year of use—mostly by his household—it had become nearly impassable. Looking back, Dalang and Guicheng marveled at how they’d found such a remote spot.
Why the government suddenly decided to repair the road, Dalang didn’t ask, but he suspected Qi Biao’s involvement. Having already purchased three of the Shangguan family’s shops, a proper road would facilitate business expansion, requiring more workers and increasing the village’s population.
Eighth Sister’s letter mentioned that a large quantity of wool had been purchased and would arrive soon, allowing the woolen sweater workshop to commence operations. Like the cashmere sweaters before, these would surely be popular. Back then, Dalang had spread rumors of limited stock to drive up prices, only to have customers travel difficult paths to place advance orders. He expected the same for woolen sweaters, especially once the road was improved.
Expanding business meant expanding workshops. A growing population required more farmland, not less—grain was the foundation of life. Initially, Dalang had thought his land purchases sufficient, but now he realized they fell short. The urgent task was acquiring more land—quickly, while prices were still low. Once the road was built, land along it would skyrocket in value.
With Qi Biao’s help, they bought up most of the land along the planned route. When the government later needed it for construction, they sold it back at a profit—tripling their initial investment—while retaining much of the adjacent land. Future entrepreneurs found prime locations already taken, but that’s another story.
After Dalang, his wife, and Qi Biao finalized land purchases, Tan Liu and Qi’s steward handled the details, while Dalang oversaw the construction of the new estate.
Learning from the Shangguan family’s provocation—though Lin Village had suffered no real harm—Dalang built the estate’s walls tall and sturdy, rivaling city fortifications. Inside, besides the main family compound, separate courtyards were built for Guicheng, Lin Cui’e, and four children, including Lin Yuan, plus four guest courtyards.
Servants’ quarters were also within the walls, while villagers’ homes encircled the outside.
The estate was built on unclaimed wasteland—so remote that no one contested it. But with the government road project, the land would draw attention. Dalang preemptively purchased hundreds of acres around the estate at wasteland prices, meaning villagers now lived on Lin family land. Though not indentured, they were entirely dependent on the Lins.
“Nanny Liu, is there any cold drink?”
“Freshly pressed pear juice—would Young Master Qi like some?”
“Sure.”
“At once, sir.”
Lin Fang lay in her room. Since the bout of diarrhea, she’d lacked energy. Hearing Qi Biao and Nanny Liu outside, she wondered: in the past, Qi Biao had always come with Lin Wen, inseparable. Now, with Lin Wen away, why did Qi Biao still treat the Lin household as his own—more so than before? He’d ask for whatever he fancied, sometimes bringing rare ingredients for the kitchen to prepare, showing no guest-like restraint.
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