Chapter 26

After finishing the drawing, Song Sheng added small notes beside it, marking the points that needed attention. He planned to consult a craftsman the next day to see if it was feasible.

Since it was still early and not yet fully dark, Song Sheng took out the book he hadn’t finished copying yesterday. He wanted to complete it so he could return it to the academy tomorrow.

By the time night had fallen completely, the book was finally copied in full.

He stretched his wrist and glanced across the room. Under the oil lamp, Lu Qing had just tied off a thread and bitten it off.

Lu Qing stood, shook out the finished garment, and managed to complete it that night. By the next afternoon, it could be worn, offering at least some warmth on the road.

Seeing Song Sheng finish his copying, Lu Qing said: “Husband, stand up and let me measure it against you.”

Song Sheng looked at the garment in his arms, surprised: “This is for me?”

Ever since buying the fabric, Lu Qing had kept it hidden. While Song Sheng was at the academy, Lu Qing sewed at home. When Song Sheng returned, the garment was put away. He had assumed Lu Qing was mending old clothes.

“Of course it’s for you. It’s new fabric, warmer to wear. You leave early in the morning, and the cold is harsh. If you’re chilled too long, you might fall ill.”

Song Sheng stood, and Lu Qing held the garment at the shoulders to measure. “The shoulders seem a bit wide.”

“No matter. Wider means you can wear more layers underneath.”

“Alright, then I won’t alter it. Try it on so I can see.”

“Okay,” Song Sheng replied.

The sky‑blue fabric suited him well. It didn’t look bulky at all, but rather made him appear tall and elegant, strikingly handsome.

Watching him, Lu Qing couldn’t help but think of the Jiurong cloth he had seen before. That fabric would have been even warmer, but he hadn’t had enough money.

九稯布 (Jiurong cloth): A high‑quality, thick fabric known for warmth, more expensive than ordinary cloth.

Song Sheng noticed Lu Qing’s mood dip and bent down to ask softly: “What’s wrong? Why do you look unhappy?”

Lu Qing raised his eyes, watery with guilt: “Husband, I wanted to buy that Jiurong cloth for you. It’s warmer than this fabric. But my embroidery patterns sold too few, only three hundred coins, not enough… Do you dislike this fabric?”

Song Sheng hadn’t expected this. He wrapped Lu Qing in his arms, resting his head on his shoulder, and whispered: “It’s fine. I’ll wear anything. Besides, you bought this for me—I treasure it. How could I dislike it? I haven’t earned a single coin for the family yet. I live off them and off you. Have you ever despised me for that?”

Lu Qing shook his head quickly: “Of course not. You’re amazing, you can study. I like you best.”

“And I like you best too, Qing.”

Hearing this, Lu Qing looked up. It was the first time his husband had spoken so directly, and the first time he called him “Qing.” He blushed furiously, caught off guard.

“Husband…”

His gentle, innocent nature made Song Sheng love him all the more. Only Lu Qing, so simple‑hearted, would offer his whole heart without hesitation, loving him completely and without thought of consequence.

Song Sheng couldn’t help recalling how, in the original book, the former self treated Lu Qing with blows and curses. Back then, Lu Qing’s sincere devotion had been trampled. How hopeless he must have felt.

Thinking of this, Song Sheng’s chest ached. He was grateful, thankfully he had crossed into this world. He would treat Lu Qing well, never letting him suffer the pain written in the book.

Song Sheng tightened his embrace, holding Lu Qing as though he wanted to merge him into his very being.

“Husband… it’s late. Tomorrow you must go to the academy. Let’s sleep.”

But Song Sheng didn’t move, still holding him.

“Husband?”

Lu Qing struggled to turn in his arms, lifting his head to look at him. He didn’t know what Song Sheng was thinking. His dark eyes were deep and searching. Softly he said: “Husband, we should sleep.”

Song Sheng’s thoughts returned. The memories of the book had been swirling in his mind, but now, seeing Lu Qing’s moist eyes gazing at him, warmth flooded his heart.

“Yes, let’s sleep.”

They removed their outer garments. Lu Qing pinched out the lamp wick, and together they walked in darkness to the bed. But Lu Qing stumbled on a shoe, pulling Song Sheng down with him onto the bed.

In the dark, with no light, expressions were unseen, and hearing became sharper.

Lu Qing felt his husband’s breathing grow heavier.

Song Sheng, tall and broad, pressed down on him heavily. He quickly tried to rise.

Lu Qing, already experienced, remembered the night before. Braver now, he hooked his leg around Song Sheng, pulling him back.

Song Sheng braced his arms on either side of him, their breaths mingling. His voice was unsteady: “Do you want it?”

Lu Qing blushed and nodded. “Mm…”

“But you just… last night. Won’t it hurt today?”

Lu Qing shook his head. It had been sore in the morning, but only a little. Now he remembered the pleasure more than the pain.

“It’s fine. Husband is quick. It won’t delay your early class tomorrow.”

Song Sheng’s mouth twitched—how could he remember the timing?

Seeing him hesitate, Lu Qing asked earnestly: “What’s wrong, Husband? Don’t you want me? Or are you too tired today?”

If not for his serious tone, Song Sheng would have thought he was teasing.

“Qing…” he whispered.

“Yes?” Lu Qing answered, voice rising, unsure what he meant.

“A man must never say he can’t. Remember that?”

Before Lu Qing could reply, Song Sheng sealed his lips with a kiss.

Soon, the bedframe shook violently again. In the next room, Song Cheng, already asleep, was awakened by the creaking boards—and faint, broken sounds of moaning.

They were all young, strong men, and of course they knew what was happening next door. It irritated him, keeping him awake most of the night.

Early the next morning, Lu Qing woke to find Song Sheng already gone to the academy. He turned over, and a chill slipped into the bedding, waking him instantly.

Remembering last night, Lu Qing blushed so hard he didn’t want to leave the covers. He hadn’t realized his husband knew so many ways to touch him. Today his whole body felt sore, covered in bruises and marks.

Last night, he had thought he couldn’t go on, but when his husband whispered softly in his ear, calling him “Qingqing,” he couldn’t resist. Whatever his husband asked, he agreed.

Embarrassed as he was, he still felt happy. With his husband coaxing him, he would agree to anything.

Thinking of this, he placed a hand on his belly. His husband’s seed was still inside him. It had only been two nights, but he wondered when he might carry a child.

He knew his gē ér mole was shallow, meaning it was hard for him to conceive. It seemed he would need to try harder in the future.

That morning, Song Sheng went to the academy wearing the new clothes Lu Qing had sewn. They were much warmer than coarse hemp garments.

During lessons, the teacher questioned the students. When Song Sheng was asked, he showed remarkable improvement—almost as if he had suddenly awakened, able even to draw inferences.

The teacher was delighted. He knew of Song Sheng’s reputation as a child prodigy, though he had later become dull. Now it seemed he was opening up again.

The teacher asked him many passages from the Four Books and Five Classics, and Song Sheng answered fluently.

Only when the questions involved historical allusions did he falter.

But Song Sheng was humble and eager to learn, saying respectfully: “Please, Teacher, enlighten me.”

The teacher admired his attitude of honoring the master and valuing the Way. Without realizing it, his impression of Song Sheng changed greatly.

“Come see me after class,” the teacher said.

It sounded like he intended to give Song Sheng special tutoring. To avoid complaints, he added: “Anyone who feels they can finish the assignments may also come after class.”

Hearing this, those who had thought the teacher was showing favoritism fell silent. They could also attend, but it meant more work. With daily tasks already overwhelming, none wanted extra burdens.

Satisfied, the teacher continued the lesson.

Song Sheng understood, his teacher intended to cultivate him specially.

This meant that each day Song Sheng would not only have to complete the assignments given to the class, but also an additional set of tasks from the teacher. His studies would certainly become heavier.

Yet at the same time, it was a great opportunity to surpass others, and he had to seize it. It was only one more set of assignments, he thought it manageable, as long as he spent extra time each night.

When the morning lessons ended and lunchtime came, Song Sheng hurried to the dining hall, reheated the food he had brought, ate quickly, and then found an excuse to slip out of the county academy.

He carried with him the drawing he had made yesterday. Since both morning and afternoon were filled with lessons, he could only use the noon break to consult a craftsman about whether his design was feasible.

Leaving the academy in the south of the city, he asked around and learned that the nearest workshop was in Huichun Alley, about two quarters of an hour’s walk away.

Following directions, he arrived to find a large workshop with carpenters and blacksmiths. It was lunchtime, so they had stopped working to eat.

Though embarrassed to disturb them at mealtime, Song Sheng had no other chance.

Standing at the front, he asked: “Uncle, I have a drawing here. Could you please look at it and see if it can be made?”

Carpenter Li put down his bowl and took the paper.

The drawing’s lines were uneven, many parts unclear, so Song Sheng had added small notes beside them. Still worried it might be confusing, he explained:

“These two ends can be made into hollow iron rings, fixed with strong hemp rope onto the frame. The frame should be square, narrow at the top and wide at the bottom. Between each side, short wooden rods should be joined with mortise‑and‑tenon. The extended base should be buried in the ground for stability. Do you think it can be done?”

Carpenter Li pursed his lips, silent. It was the first time he had seen such a strange design. Some details seemed difficult, but perhaps there were alternatives. He would need to think carefully.

His family had been craftsmen for generations, rarely unable to make something. This was a challenge.

“Young man, I’ll have to test it first. You haven’t written the exact measurements, so I’ll make several sizes and see if they can be assembled as you described.”

Hearing this, Song Sheng was encouraged. “No problem. I’ll come back in a few days to ask how it goes.”

He hesitated, then asked: “How much deposit do you require?” His money was limited, only what Lu Qing had given him for meals.

Unexpectedly, Li was generous: “Since it’s uncertain whether it can be made, I won’t take a deposit. If it works, we’ll discuss the price then.”

Song Sheng bowed formally, thanking him: “Then I’ll trouble you for this.”

Carpenter Li liked polite scholars. “You look like a county academy student. It’s time, go back quickly, don’t miss your afternoon class.”

Song Sheng agreed, took back the drawing, and returned to the academy.

During the break after the first afternoon lecture, Song Sheng took out the drawing again. He recalled the two issues Carpenter Li had pointed out at noon and began thinking of possible solutions.

From the back row, Liang Youming noticed him staring intently at the messy sketch and asked: “What are you drawing? What’s on your mind?”

Song Sheng’s thoughts were interrupted. Frowning, he replied: “It’s a small mechanism I thought of. If it works, it might help the laborers transporting timber for the palace construction at Xiaoyunting in the south of the city.”

Hearing “Xiaoyunting,” Liang Youming immediately thought of the corvée his father had been complaining about. He knew Prince Chen had conscripted many villagers, hauling timber from the mountains beyond the Congyuan River—a dangerous task that had already cost several lives. His cousin, the county magistrate, had been troubled by this for some time.

“You really think this ugly thing can help move timber across the river?”

“Mm, it should work, though it still needs refining. I consulted a craftsman at noon, but these two parts require more thought.”

To Liang Youming’s ears, that meant it was possible.

“Tomorrow at noon I’ll take you to meet my cousin, the magistrate. He’s been worrying about this. Tell him your idea, maybe he can help.”

Song Sheng hesitated: “I’m not sure the device can be built. If it fails, wouldn’t that just disappoint the magistrate?”

“But there’s no loss. If it fails, things stay the same. If it succeeds, it’s a great benefit.”

Persuaded, Song Sheng agreed to go with him the next day.

The second afternoon lecture was on law, Song Sheng’s favorite subject. He memorized statutes quickly, though applying them to real cases was harder. He listened attentively, and the hour passed swiftly.

After class, he went to see the teacher as instructed. At the door, he unexpectedly met another classmate, Ling Wenhua.

He knew Ling Wenhua—also from a humble family, from Qiuming Village. Ling Wenhua’s grades were consistently good, though he rarely spoke, always cold‑faced, with few friends.

The teacher had said anyone willing to take on extra work could come after class. Looking around, Song Sheng saw only Ling.

They weren’t familiar; the original self had no connection with him, and their seats were far apart. Song Sheng nodded politely in greeting.

Unexpectedly, Ling Wenhua spoke: “The teacher praised your progress today.”

“Mm…” Song Sheng nodded, unsure of his meaning.

“Could you share your study methods? How did you improve so quickly?”

Song Sheng was momentarily stunned by his serious tone.

“If it’s inconvenient, forget it,” Ling Wenhua added.

Song Sheng collected himself and replied: “It’s no inconvenience. It’s nothing more than diligence.”

Song Sheng was telling the truth. His recent progress was mainly due to diligence and hard work. But if one looked deeper, it was also because his body now carried a different soul—his greatest secret, one he could never reveal. So to Ling Wenhua, all he could say was “diligence.”

Song Sheng worried Ling Wenhua might think he was brushing him off, but instead Ling Wenhua lowered his head in thought and said: “Indeed, diligence alone can break through.”

Before Song Sheng could respond, the teacher called them inside.

The teacher wasn’t surprised to see Ling Wenhua. He knew Ling Wenhua was hardworking, though lacking a spark of insight. If he could open up, he too might become a fine scholar. Teaching one or two made no difference—why not teach both? Perhaps both would succeed.

The teacher himself was a juren (a scholar who passed the provincial exam), though ranked lower. He could have returned home to serve as a county assistant, but for some reason remained here as an academy teacher.

He questioned them carefully about their knowledge, then assigned tasks based on their weaknesses, instructing them to return the next morning.

Before they left, he took two books from his shelf: “You two are ahead of the others. You may move forward. Each take one book, then exchange when finished. From now on, come here after class each day for an extra half‑hour of study.”

After a few more instructions, he dismissed them.

By the time they left, half an hour had passed. Ling Wenhua, though from distant Qiuming Village, rented a house in town, giving him more time to study.

Song Sheng, however, had to walk all the way home from the academy, meaning he would always return later.

Ling Wenhua knew this and asked: “Brother Song, why not rent a place in town? You’d avoid the long, freezing walk and gain more time for study. Isn’t that better?”

Song Sheng replied: “…I have no money.”

“At our age, study is most important. The family should support you. Repay them after you succeed.”

Song Sheng answered simply: “…My family is poor.”

He wondered why Ling Wenhua, usually cold and silent, suddenly spoke so much.

Ling Wenhua had no rebuttal, after all, even heroes can be defeated by poverty.

Song Sheng admitted his poverty openly, and Ling Wenhua did not look down on him. On the contrary, he respected his honesty even more.

A true man can bend and stretch; poverty is no shame.

Ling Wenhua’s family, though from Qiuming Village, ran a medical clinic in town, so they had no financial worries.

Song Sheng’s impression of Ling Wenhua improved. Though rigid in manner, he was upright and kind, a man worth befriending.

Still, Song Sheng was eager to hurry home and had little time to chat further.