Chapter Forty-Six: Sinister Intentions (Part Two) – Second Update

To tell the truth, Yanqing was no stranger to the pain of separation through life and death. Yet this time, the parting was so sudden, so abrupt that Zheng Yanqing was utterly unprepared. Yesterday, everything was as usual; how could they now be separated by a thousand miles today?

Naturally, Li Ji must have his reasons for leaving.

And Yanqing could not quite explain why he was so shaken, his thoughts in turmoil. He placed the books Li Ji left, one by one, onto the shelves, then hung the bow on the bamboo wall, and finally collapsed onto the couch.

His mind was in disarray; even lying down, his ears buzzed incessantly.

Li Ji’s departure from Luoyang—could it be somehow related to Du Guo and Zhang Chou Taiyi’s visit to the city a while ago?

If so, then Li Ji must be trying to avoid something…

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Night descended, and in a hazy state, Zheng Yanqing sensed someone in the room.

He opened his eyes abruptly and sprang up, sending the bedding tumbling to the floor.

Yanqing had no idea when he’d fallen asleep, but he was certain he hadn’t covered himself.

Candles were already lit in the bamboo house.

A little girl, her hair styled into twin crow’s buns and black locks draped over her shoulders, knelt before the writing desk with her back to Yanqing, tidying up. Yanqing rose silently; the girl, unaware of his presence, continued carefully wiping the desk.

“Who are you… Little Ya?”

“Ah!”

Yanqing’s sudden voice startled the child. The cloth in her hand dropped onto the desk, and she turned to see Zheng Yanqing behind her, his face filled with puzzlement.

Yanqing recognized her; she was Mao Wang’s youngest daughter.

Children of peasant families rarely had grand names. Mao Wang had eight sons and two daughters, most named in order. Mao Wang’s life had not been easy—eight sons, three died young, two served in Taiyuan. Of the remaining three, Xiao Ba had run off, and the other two had followed their elder sister to the Western Regions with a caravan of traders.

They claimed they wanted to see the world and find a livelihood.

Thus, though Mao Wang had many children, only his youngest daughter remained with him, named Mao Ya.

Back at the manor, everyone called her Little Ya out of habit. Yanqing vaguely remembered her as being delicate and cheerful, her plump little face charming. But in just two or three months, she had grown thin and frail.

“Young Master Zheng, you’re awake!”

Little Ya spoke timidly, instinctively stepping back, only to find the desk behind her, leaving her nowhere to retreat.

She kept her head down, unable to meet Yanqing’s eyes.

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Zheng Yanqing now recalled that yesterday Zheng Shian had mentioned taking in Mao Wang’s family.

“What are you doing here?”

“Steward Zheng—no, Old Master told me to tidy the room. He said I’m to look after you, help you with your studies and rest.”

“Oh!” Yanqing nodded.

He would not refuse, knowing if he did, it would only unsettle Mao Wang’s family.

“Well then, from now on, don’t clean the upstairs—just keep the downstairs tidy.”

The bamboo house had two floors; the upper level was Yanqing’s study and bedroom, filled with manuscripts and things he preferred kept private. Downstairs was where he received guests; it was spacious enough.

“Since the other houses aren’t finished yet, where is your family staying?”

“Old Master said I could stay downstairs, as long as I don’t disturb your studies… Father and Mother are living under Old Master’s roof for now, until the new house is ready.”

Yanqing gave a sound of assent and glanced outside—the night was fully dark.

“Little Ya, go downstairs for now.
Unless I call for you, don’t touch anything up here, understood?”

“I understand!”

Little Ya rose to leave, but after two steps, she turned back to retrieve her cloth from the desk, head bowed as she descended.

She had once been lively and bright; adversity had left her timid and withdrawn.

Yanqing settled behind the desk and took out Li Ji’s letter. After a nap, his mind was clearer, the emptiness within him much lessened. He was not a child at heart; he could rein in his emotions. He reread Li Ji’s letter, then put it away.

Li Ji was gone, yet his words rang true.

He had been stealing poems, fame had followed; it was time to lay low.

At least for now, Zheng the Scholar had shown no sign of targeting their family. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have agreed to let Zheng Shian convert land to wealth. So there was no immediate danger. With that settled, it was time to adjust.

There was much to be done.

First, he must address the malicious imitation and price-cutting of scissors in the Luoyang market.

A price war?

Yanqing would never resort to such tactics; they harmed all, benefiting none.

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If price adjustment was not an option, then innovation was needed. Before, he had used his poem on willows to seize the high-end market—a clever move, but clever moves lose their novelty if overused. So, if not clever, then new.

Scissors had many uses, far beyond tailoring.

Yanqing scratched his head, troubled.

He was no expert in economics; this was his weakness.

Innovation demanded creativity; he had to devise products suited to this era. Simply transplanting things from the future might not be accepted here. What, then, was truly suitable?

“Young Master Zheng, Old Master asks you to come down for dinner.”

“Alright, I know.”

No use rushing—it needed careful thought.

Yanqing stood, accidentally knocking a book from the desk. He bent to pick it up; it was the Wenxin Diaolong Li Ji had left him.

Since papermaking had not progressed as it would in later times, and printing was still rudimentary, most books in circulation were not well-bound.

Many pages were glued together; to read, one had to separate them first.

If only there were a small paper-cutting knife…

Yanqing’s eyes brightened as a strange idea flashed through his mind.

Anyone could use scissors, yet their purpose was not limited to sewing—they served many functions.

Business was a mundane affair.

But if business could be connected to reading, would it not become refined?

Yanqing’s notion was to further specialize the use of scissors. It was but a rough idea for now, requiring careful planning to realize.

Thinking thus, Yanqing quickly sat down, spread out a sheet of paper, and wrote down his thoughts.

If he forgot later, it would serve as a reminder.

Little Ya waited downstairs for a while; seeing Yanqing hadn’t come down, she tiptoed up, peeking secretly.

Yanqing was writing; she dared not disturb him.

So she went back downstairs, running all the way to the main hall.

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