Chapter 027: Voluntary Concession

Hearing Shi Xiang’s words, Fu Cong’s face turned ashen. He stood in silence for a long while before walking to the doorway and saying to Xue Rui, who was holding a stack of rice paper, “Since you’ve taken on this task, you’d best do it well. If any of us ever run short of paper, don’t blame me for reporting your negligence to Lord Gao!”

At first listen, his tone was full of threat, yet everyone could hear that Fu Cong was yielding of his own accord, admitting defeat. In other words, Xue Rui’s desperate gambit had succeeded—he now held the authority to manage the supply of paper in their office.

Given this, Xue Rui had no reason to stand on ceremony. He went straight into the main room, found an empty desk, and began to count the paper. Previously, Chief Clerk Cui had given him six reams—six hundred sheets—which would normally last three days. However, Chief Clerk Cui had told him that a large portion of the paper was wasted; some of the astronomy students even took leftover sheets home on the sly, causing the annual consumption of paper in the observatory to rise year after year.

The reason Chief Clerk Cui had suggested this to Xue Rui was to curb the wasteful habits and control costs, lest the deficit in the funds allotted by the Ministry of Revenue became too great, making things difficult for him as the official in charge of supplies.

Ordinarily, Xue Rui would have been too lazy to bother with this, but now things were different. With this powerful bargaining chip in hand, if the old hands dared make things difficult, he could simply restrict their supplies!

After this incident, no one came to trouble him all day. Yet Xue Rui did not become arrogant because of his temporary advantage; he continued to diligently fulfill his menial duties so as to give no one reason to find fault.

Apart from running errands to the archives to fetch books and occasionally helping the astronomy students with water, he spent his time in the office reading.

During the day, he also poured tea for Gao Mian several times and once helped deliver an official document. Gao Mian, however, showed him no warmth, always wearing a stern face as if Xue Rui owed him money; sometimes, if Xue Rui was slow, he would seize the chance to scold him.

Xue Rui had prepared himself mentally for this, treating the harsh words as mere background noise. Outwardly, he was all humble obedience, but inwardly he cared not a whit, even wishing that Gao Mian would scold him more so he could build up his resilience.

This behavior left Gao Mian somewhat surprised. He had heard that Xue Rui was a troublemaker—someone who didn’t even fear the likes of the overbearing Peng Ying, a true young upstart with no respect for authority. Today, with Xue Rui assigned to his office, Gao Mian understood well that this was Peng Ying’s way of using him as a tool to deal with Xue Rui.

Yet Gao Mian still brooded over the departure of Xue Yuanhao, and now that Xue Rui had fallen into his hands, he was determined to give the boy a hard time—to show him that even a clay idol can have a temper!

Unexpectedly, Xue Rui behaved contrary to his reputation, showing only humility and obedience, nothing of the arrogance or insolence that had been rumored. This sapped Gao Mian’s own desire to teach him a lesson.

Thus the day passed, and soon it was time to end work.

He took a carriage home with Hu Zhong. Hu Ying’er had already prepared brush and paper in the study and was waiting for Xue Rui to answer the questions she had assigned him.

In his previous life, Xue Rui had only practiced a few calligraphy characters during summer holidays in elementary school; he had no idea how to begin writing properly now. The instincts remaining from his predecessor’s life had faded with time so that now, his calligraphy skills were likely worse than a young child’s.

“What’s this? You’ve forgotten how to write?”

Seeing him hesitate to pick up the brush, Hu Ying’er grew annoyed and tapped the table. Yesterday, Xue Rui had spoken knowledgeably about her lessons, and as he left, she had reminded him to review carefully. Yet now, after only a day, he seemed unable to write at all. She began to suspect her makeshift apprentice was only going through the motions to appease her.

Seeing his teacher’s irritation, Xue Rui quickly offered an excuse: “I do know how to write, but today I was on duty at the Imperial Observatory, doing heavy work all day. My arms are sore and weak—I’m afraid my writing will be poor.”

Hearing this, Hu Ying’er’s expression softened a little. “It’s not as though you’re sitting the imperial exams. Even if your writing is poor, I won’t toss out your paper, will I?”

“Then I’ll do it,” Xue Rui replied, resigned, and wrote out the answers stroke by stroke.

Hu Ying’er glanced over, her eyes first surprised, then puzzled, and finally as if she’d thought of something, she couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

Xue Rui knew exactly what she was laughing at. Flushed with embarrassment, he said, “My writing is rather ugly, but it’s still legible. Please check if I made any mistakes.”

Hu Ying’er struggled to stifle her laughter, then picked up the exercise and read through it. Finding no errors, she asked curiously, “Did Uncle Xue never teach you to write?”

He certainly had, and Xue Rui used to write much better. As for his decline in calligraphy, Xue Rui had already prepared an explanation: “Of course I learned to write, and quite well, too. But I was struck on the head some time ago and forgot many things. Writing technique was one of them.”

“Really?” Hu Ying’er was half convinced, half doubtful.

Still, since Xue Rui recognized so many characters, he ought to have learned to write; even if his skill had declined, it shouldn’t be to the extent that even the basic structure was lacking. His explanation, though, was not without plausibility.

Fortunately, all this was of little consequence—handwriting could be improved with practice. For now, the most important thing was to study astronomy and calendrical science, which directly affected his exam results.

Hu Ying’er stood and searched the bookshelf for a while, eventually finding a copybook. She handed it to Xue Rui with careful instructions:

“This is a model of Liu Gongquan’s ‘Stele for Liu Mian’ from the Tang dynasty, perfect for a young man to study. Take it home and practice often. Calligraphy is the face of a scholar—if your writing is too poor, you’ll be the laughingstock of many.”

“I understand,” Xue Rui replied as he accepted the copybook, but he was troubled—he didn’t even have brush, ink, or paper at home. Practicing calligraphy would be impossible without the materials.

They studied for another half hour, and then it was time for dinner.

As expected, the table tonight lacked fish, shrimp, or meat; the meal was mostly vegetarian. Hu Zhong, however, found nothing strange—after so many rich meals lately, a light dinner was a welcome change.

Xue Rui and Hu Ying’er exchanged a glance—no words were needed.

After the meal, Xue Rui played with Hu Cheng’an for a while before taking his leave.

He had intended to ask Hu Zhong for money to buy writing supplies when he took the copybook, but with Hu Ying’er always by his side, he couldn’t bring himself to ask. And so, frustrated, he left the Hu residence.

Walking along the market street, Xue Rui sighed repeatedly, cursing himself for his pride and stubbornness.

“Rui! Rui!”

Lost in thought, he suddenly heard a familiar voice behind him. Turning, he saw a square-faced man in a gray robe and scholar’s cap waving to him. Behind the man were several ox-carts and mule-carts.

“And you are…?” Xue Rui asked, feeling the man was oddly familiar.

The man stared for a moment, then, displeased, said, “What, it’s only been a few months and you don’t recognize your own uncle?”

Uncle?

After racking his memory for a while, Xue Rui finally recalled that this was his mother’s elder brother—his own uncle, Liu Ren!