Chapter 21

This day was the start of the new term for Song Sheng.

He rose before dawn, around four in the morning. Rain had fallen all night, but now it had stopped.

As soon as he stepped out of bed, a chill rushed in. He quickly tucked the quilt back in place so Lu Qing wouldn’t catch cold.

Lu Qing, who always clung to him while sleeping, woke as soon as Song Sheng got up. Rubbing his sleepy eyes, he pulled his clothes closer and sat up, ready to dress.

Today was the first day back at the academy after the farming break, and he needed to get up to prepare breakfast for his husband.

In the past, Zhang Xinghua always woke early to prepare breakfast for Song Sheng. Now that he was married, this responsibility fell to Lu Qing, his husband.

Song Sheng could make simple food himself. Seeing Lu Qing awake, he said: “Did I wake you? Sleep a little longer, I’ll make breakfast myself.”

Lu Qing shook his head. The truth was, once his husband got up, the bed lost its warmth, and he couldn’t sleep anyway.

“It’s fine, I’m already awake. I can’t sleep without you beside me. I’ll make breakfast for you.”

It was around four in the morning, still dark, though a rooster somewhere had already crowed.

Lu Qing quickly dressed and went to the kitchen. He took some coarse flatbreads from a bamboo basket. They were dry and hard, and he worried they would scratch his husband’s throat. Since Song Sheng needed his voice for reading, he couldn’t risk that.

He scooped some lard from a bowl, melted it in the pan, and fried the flatbreads until golden and crisp.

Meanwhile, water boiled in the back pot. He mixed flour with water into a paste, dropped it into the boiling water to make a light porridge—two bowls, enough to warm the body.

He wanted to fry a vegetable dish too, but time was short. Instead, he mixed the pickled radish shreds prepared the day before. Though cold, they were crunchy and refreshing.

By the time breakfast was ready, Song Sheng had finished washing and was mentally reviewing yesterday’s lessons, since it was too dark to read.

Lu Qing called him to eat. Song Sheng ate a flatbread and a bowl of porridge. Before he left, Lu Qing cut open another flatbread, stuffed it with pickled radish, wrapped it in oiled paper, and gave it to him for lunch. He told him to ask the kitchen auntie at the academy to heat it up at noon.

Though academy meals weren’t expensive, the family’s situation meant saving wherever possible.

Song Sheng’s travel chest was already packed, light enough to carry.

At the door, Lu Qing looked reluctant, as if his husband were leaving for a month. Song Sheng stroked his head and kissed his forehead: “Be good. I’ll be back tonight. Wait for me at home.” Then he left.

Lu Qing watched his figure shrink into a small dot before closing the gate. Though his husband had just left, he already missed him. He rubbed his face and scolded himself: “Useless!” But even after scolding, he still longed for him.

By November, northern mornings were already winter‑cold, with heavy dew and low temperatures.

Song Sheng tucked his hands into his sleeves, walking briskly toward the county town. Inside his sleeve was a warm egg Lu Qing had given him, to keep his hands warm on the road.

He thought the road would be empty so early, but halfway there he saw many villagers carrying baskets on shoulder poles, filled with vegetables, fruits, or animal pelts, heading to the county’s morning market.

As Song Sheng approached the city gate, a burly man carrying animal pelts struck up a conversation.

“Young man, you look like a scholar. It’s not exam season yet—what are you heading into the city for?”

The man was tall and strong, but his face was honest and good‑natured. Song Sheng smiled: “You’re right, it’s not exam season. I’m a student at the county academy. The farming break is over, so I’m returning to study.”

Hearing that Song Sheng was a tongsheng (lowest exam rank, recognized scholar), the man immediately showed respect: “So you’re a county academy student—impressive! Unlike me, my head’s no good for books. I can only hunt in the mountains to make a living.”

Song Sheng glanced at the basket he carried and saw a fine white fox pelt—rare snow fox fur, worth a good price.

He said: “You’re lucky, brother. This snow fox pelt is pure and clean. Sell it to the right buyer and you’ll earn well.”

The man grinned. He had indeed been fortunate. The day before, despite heavy rain, he had gone hunting and found the rare fox caught in his trap.

“This was yesterday’s catch. Thanks for your good words, may it fetch a fine price.”

Song Sheng frowned: “But yesterday was pouring rain. Wasn’t it dangerous to go up the mountain? Landslides are common then.”

The man sighed: “You don’t know. My mother is ill. The rain lasted days, and her medicine ran out. We had no money left to buy more, so I braved the storm. Heaven must have helped me, letting me catch this fox.”

Song Sheng nodded: “Yes, it will surely sell well.”

At the city gate, Song Sheng carried only a small chest, so he didn’t need to pay the gate fee. The hunter, with two baskets on a shoulder pole, had to pay one coin as required.

Inside the city, they parted ways—Song Sheng went to the academy on South Street, the hunter to the market on West Street.

Following familiar paths, Song Sheng walked another half hour before reaching the county academy gates.

The academy divided students into four classes—jia, yi, bing, ding (A, B, C, D)—based on exam results. Song Sheng’s last score had been poor, so he was placed in bing class (C class).

He found his classroom and seat, unpacked his writing tools, when someone tapped his shoulder.

“brother Song, brother Song?”

He turned and recognized his classmate Liang Youming. “What is it?”

Liang Youming was one of the few students from a wealthy family not placed in jia class. His grades were simply too poor. Had he ranked just ten places higher, the teachers would have moved him up.

Now he asked hesitantly: “brother Song, did you finish the holiday assignments? Could you lend them to me to copy?”