Alas, after fiddling for so long, it would have been better not to have bothered at all. Master Sima finally stopped and sat down on the already dirtied chair, asking his daughter, “Today, Madam sent someone to urge me, saying that a batch of goods had arrived. This batch is different from the usual ones, and the shopkeeper didn’t dare to decide on his own, so he asked me to return quickly. I’ll be leaving today. Do you want to come back with me, or stay here?”
Simaru Su couldn’t believe it. She stared fixedly at her father. Could she really not go home? Would Madam agree?
Master Sima sighed, “During these days with the Lin family, I’ve truly come to understand the meaning of familial happiness. Granny Gu and the two maidservants have confessed everything, and only then did I realize how difficult your life has been. I’ve carefully considered what you said the other day. If you return home with me, I’ll be too occupied with work to give you proper attention, and I won’t immediately recognize the hardships you face. Seeing how well you get along with Miss Lin, if you’re willing, I’ll ask Master Lin to enroll you in the Lin family’s enlightenment school and rent this courtyard for you.”
“Father, I’d like to stay,” Simaru Su said, her voice choked with tears.
Chen Dong was genuinely moved. Although Master Sima believed in the adage “a man should embrace his grandsons, not his sons,” and wasn’t particularly close to his children, he truly cared for them. Over the past year, Chen Dong had lived in the Sima household with albinism, her appearance becoming plain, yet Master Sima had never looked down on her. Even the foolish legitimate daughter hadn’t been scorned by him. Compared to her parents in her previous life, Master Sima had fulfilled his fatherly duties well. The only thing she would miss after leaving the Sima household was Master Sima himself.
“Father, since I won’t be home, you must take care of your health. Don’t stay up late, remember to add clothes when it’s cold, and don’t indulge in cold drinks when it’s hot. It doesn’t matter how much money you make—ruining your health isn’t worth it.”
“Heh, you’re just going to school here. You can come home during holidays or breaks. Why do you sound like a daughter getting married?”
As long as Lin Fang agreed, the eldest son and his wife had no objections. Chen Dong’s stay for schooling was quickly settled. The small courtyard was rented, and after giving his daughter some instructions, Master Sima rode back to town, taking the two maids with him. Chen Dong insisted on handling everything herself, and Master Sima, unable to persuade her otherwise, had no choice but to agree.
Though the school was simple—anyone could tell at a glance what each room was for—Lin Fang felt that since they were charging tuition and running a proper school, it should look more formal. So, as Simaru Su had asked, wooden signs were hung on each room, indicating their purpose, and a plaque reading “Lin Family Enlightenment” was placed above the gate.
All the calligraphy was done by Lin Fang herself. She had originally asked her mother to write them, as her own handwriting was still too childish, while her mother’s was more elegant and powerful. But Li Cuimei insisted that since it was Lin Fang’s school, she should write the signs herself. It didn’t matter if the characters looked immature—it would highlight the teacher’s youth, given that she wasn’t even nine yet.
Lin Fang also planned to start an elementary school next year, similar to the primary schools in her previous life. It would have two subjects: language and arithmetic (or rather, literature and mathematics). Later, history and geography would be added, with textbooks she would write herself—simple and easy to understand, tailored for rural students.
She also wanted to introduce a natural science class to explain basic principles of things.
As for politics? Even she didn’t understand it well. Back then, she barely passed political exams by rote memorization, and whenever there were too many open-ended questions, she was doomed. Besides, this was an era of imperial rule—it was better not to touch on such topics. A single careless word could bring trouble.
Like Lin Fang when she first arrived in this world, Chen Dong struggled with traditional Chinese characters. Her memory was as poor as in her past life, so after staying, she found learning characters painfully difficult—even more so than Lin Fang had at first. Lin Fang teased her, saying rumors claimed Miss Simaru Su was naturally clever, so how had Chen Dong managed to overshadow even her virtues? Chen Dong ignored her and focused on studying hard.
Two days before the school opened, Lin Wu finished painting the “Nianle Tu” clay figurine. After letting it dry, he handed it to Qi Biao, who immediately sent it to the military camp. The dress on Lin Fang’s figurine was, as Qi Biao had said, bright red.
Lin Fang was arranging a chessboard under a tree when she saw Lin Wu packing a large bundle of clay to take away. Curious, she asked, “Even if wet clay dries, it usually cracks. How come the figurines you make don’t have that problem?”
Lin Wu put on a mysterious air. “Ha, that’s my secret technique. I can’t just tell anyone.”
“Little rascal, trying to play tricks on me? I won’t let this go!” Lin Fang didn’t care if it was a secret—she pestered him until he explained. Lin Wu had only been teasing her anyway, and after a while, he spilled the beans.
When they first reclaimed the wasteland, they discovered a patch of soil unlike the rest—a pale red color. Curious, Lin Wu had them dig deeper and found that the further down they went, the redder the soil became. It was sticky to the touch, just like the clay described in books, with very little sand or gravel mixed in. So Lin Wu had that area set aside to establish a clay workshop, dedicated to his figurine-making.
After digging up the clay, they first dried it in the sun, then crushed it and picked out any remaining sand, stones, or grass stems. The workshop had two pools—one tall and one short. The clay was placed in the tall pool, mixed with water into a slurry, then squeezed through a wire-mesh hole at the bottom connecting to the short pool. Any remaining impurities stayed in the tall pool.
The slurry from the short pool was dug out, dried, and formed into bricks for later use.
At first, even though the figurines were dried in the shade (not the sun), they would still crack over time. Lin Wu couldn’t figure out why. One day, he saw a villager building a house. After the structure was up, they coated the outer layer with mud slurry to fill gaps and improve aesthetics. Lin Wu, with nothing better to do, watched as they mixed the mud.
The villager’s son stirred the slurry with a shovel while his father added cotton fibers. Lin Wu asked why they added cotton, and the old man laughed, saying that without it, the mud would crack and crumble off the wall once dry. Lin Wu had an epiphany and rushed back to the workshop to remake the clay bricks.
He placed the clay on a bluestone slab and pounded it repeatedly with a wooden mallet, adding cotton fibers as he worked until they were fully integrated and invisible from the outside. When broken apart, the clay showed evenly distributed cotton threads—this was ideal.
Lin Wu experimented with different amounts of cotton in equal-sized clay bricks, then used them to make the same type of figurine. Eventually, he settled on the current clay-to-cotton ratio.
The molded bricks were called “ripe clay.” They were divided into small pieces, wrapped in oilcloth, and stored in the workshop’s cellar for future use. Lin Wu said the longer the ripe clay was stored, the less likely the figurines would crack. He was worried that the clay used for his second brother’s figurine had only been stored for a year—would it crack over time? If only he could have used clay aged two years longer, it would never crack.
Lin Fang comforted him, “Why worry? In two years, you can make another figurine for Second Brother. By then, you’ll be older and more skilled, and the figurine will be even finer. Wouldn’t that be better?”
Lin Wu nodded. “Hmm, you’re right.”
As usual, Qi Biao sat alone drinking tea when he had nothing to do, while others went about their business without interfering. After Lin Fang and Lin Wu played around for a while, she was about to return to the chessboard under the tree when Qi Biao called out, “Fang’er, come here.”
Lin Fang asked suspiciously, “What is it?” But she didn’t move, sensing something off about Qi Biao today.
Qi Biao reached out to her and said, “Let me check your pulse. See if you’ve fully recovered.”
“Oh, alright.” Before Lin Fang could move, Lin Wu dashed over like the wind, placing the embroidered stool she’d been sitting on opposite Qi Biao. He then ran inside to fetch a small cushion for the stone table before calling Lin Fang over.
After carefully checking her pulse on both wrists, Qi Biao said, “Your constitution was never strong to begin with. Don’t assume you’re fine just because you feel okay day-to-day. From now on, don’t be so reckless. If you really get sick, it’ll be hard to recover—this bout of diarrhea was a lesson. Understand?”
From the time Qi Biao first visited when she was less than a year old until now—eight years later—he had always worn a cold, expressionless face. This was the first time he had ever given her such earnest advice, sounding like an elder brother scolding his younger sister. Lin Fang felt awkward and didn’t want to respond, but his words were reasonable, so she reluctantly nodded.
Qi Biao sighed. “I know you don’t want to hear it, and you don’t have to force yourself. After I leave this time, I might not return for years. Even if you resent me, you won’t see me around.”
Lin Fang looked up abruptly. “Why won’t you come back for years?”
Qi Biao gently patted her head. “Soon after school starts, it’ll be the provincial exams. I’m taking the military exams this year. If I pass, I’ll be given an official post. I might have time to come home once, or I might go straight to my assignment.”
Ah, right. Qi Biao was now in advanced studies, focusing on martial arts, and would eventually take the military exams. But after advanced studies came higher education. Given his family’s wealth, he could easily continue studying—why rush into an official post? Puzzled, Lin Fang asked him.
Only after speaking did she realize Qi Biao’s hand was still resting on her head. She shifted slightly to avoid it.
Qi Biao withdrew his hand and instead took out a package from behind him. He placed it on the table, unwrapped it, and revealed a crystal fishbowl—colorless and transparent, shaped like a pot-bellied jar, its surface polished into countless tiny facets. Inside, a few goldfish swam. Lin Fang thought to himself: With so many facets, the fish must be dizzy.
Carefully removing the wrapping, Qi Biao said to Lin Fang, “You once mentioned wanting to raise fish. I didn’t know what kind you liked, so I took the liberty of buying these. Whether you like them or not, keep them. If you really dislike them, wait until I’m gone to get rid of them.”
Had she ever said she wanted fish? Lin Fang thought hard and recalled that when Lin Wu first came home on break, she’d teased him about getting fat, joking that she’d raise fish in the dimples on his hands. Who’d have thought Qi Biao would remember that offhand remark? But it had just been a joke.
A crystal fishbowl was incredibly valuable in this era, yet Qi Biao only cared about the fish inside. And so, this was how she appeared in Blackskin’s eyes? Lin Fang chuckled. “Thank you, Yi-ge. I really like them and will take good care of them.” She wasn’t lying—she did like the little goldfish.
After she spoke, Qi Biao didn’t respond. Instead, he stared intently at her, leaving Lin Fang baffled. She touched her face. “Is something wrong? Is there dirt?”
“Heh, after two years, finally hearing you call me ‘Yi-ge’ is really something.”
Only then did Lin Fang realize she’d actually said “Yi-ge.” It seemed the words weren’t so hard to say after all—why had it been so difficult before?
Lin Wu, however, latched onto her earlier question. “Yi-ge, you still haven’t answered—why not continue to higher education?”
Qi Biao had brought out the fishbowl to change the subject. He hadn’t expected his sister to drop it while his brother wouldn’t let go. Normally, he’d refuse to answer if he didn’t want to, no matter who asked. But Lin Fang’s “Yi-ge” had put him in a good mood, so he explained, “Given my family background, stopping at advanced studies is best. Going further would be… inappropriate.”
In the Lin household, Qi Biao had always been an enigmatic figure. Now that he mentioned his family, Lin Fang and her brother were stunned, their questions multiplying—but they weren’t sure if they should press further.
Qi Biao didn’t elaborate either. The Lin family had tactfully never pried into his background over the years, which was why he felt comfortable around them, almost treating their home as his own. He’d regained a semblance of the familial warmth he’d lost long ago. Yet he also felt a pang of loss—when would he ever live as carefree as the Lin siblings, surrounded by family love? Alas, in this lifetime, that chance was gone.
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