"Fine," Tongzi agreed cheerfully, and Ajji took the two ginseng roots back to her room.
What Grandma said made sense, but Ajji wondered if they could be successfully planted.
Upon entering her spatial realm, she tossed the dried ginseng into the spiritual spring water, pondering if it might sprout after a few days' soak.
The morning was the most crucial part of the day. After eating, Mao Junlan took the two little ones and headed out.
"The boss said we get a day off on the day we receive our monthly wages. I'll come see you then."
"Don't worry about us. We've found a good employer now. You focus on their children and don't get distracted."
As soon as Cai Lihua saw Mao Junlan off, she urged Meng Shaode to leave. She was determined to go to the private school and get to the bottom of things today.
Suddenly, Ajji felt a void. Only three patients had come in the morning, leaving Ajji with little to do.
"One liang, three liang... and here's one guan. That's twelve liang of silver in total," Tongzi happily counted the money.
"Jiuer, once we save up one liang of gold, we can melt it into liquid and add a golden plaque to our Huanlan Medical Hall. What do you think?"
"Mm." Ajji stood outside, looking around. It was nearing noon, and Sister Cai'er hadn't returned, nor had her parents.
She wasn't sure how long this job would last, or if it would succeed.
With that thought, Ajji realized she'd have to cook lunch today. She walked into the kitchen and her head spun.
No, Ajji had to go see. She was worried about Mother's temper. The kitchen knives were gone; she feared her mother had stuffed them into her bosom and taken them.
Wisteria Garden.
A group of over ten children, big and small, were huddled against the wall in fear.
Two elder scholars were fuming, their mustaches bristling. "This man has a fierce face; how can he be a teacher?"
Cai Lihua stood with her hands on her hips. "So what if he's ugly? Does ugliness affect literary talent? Shall we have a competition? Don't even talk about my man; even I can produce something substantial."
Meng Shaode stood to the side, his face creased with worry. He tugged at his wife's sleeve in a low voice. "Stop talking, let's go. If I can't teach, I can do manual labor."
"Let go," Cai Lihua batted away her husband's spineless hand.
"You... a mere woman, daring to speak such arrogant words? Speak, what shall we compete on?"
The children in the corner craned their necks. They all loved watching contests of skill. When they saw Meng Shaode, they all ducked their heads back.
"Anything," Cai Lihua declared, patting a desk with a stick she held.
"What a boastful claim." The two scholars were old and nearing retirement, and were now actively seeking virtuous successors to take over their teaching duties.
Alas, many of the city's men had been conscripted into the army, and those who could read and write were assigned as scribes. Who would have thought a genuinely ugly person would appear?
She remembered being terrified the first time she saw him yesterday, thinking he was there to snatch children.
"Then poetry and essays. I'd like to see how much ink you have."
"Alright, Shaode, you get the ink and brush," Cai Lihua picked at a hangnail on her finger and sat with her legs crossed. "Are there any rules? Speak."
"We have a shortage of rain here, so let's talk about rain," Elder Scholar Li said, stroking his beard with his hands behind his back. "We'll set the time for one incense stick. This is not an attempt by the elders to deliberately trouble the younger generation."
"No need, it's coming," Cai Lihua said, slapping the table. Meng Shaode knelt on a cushion, and as he picked up the brush and ink, his heart felt strangely at ease.
Those old geezers, why pick poetry and essays to compete on? Oh my, why use a butcher's knife to kill a chicken? Heh heh...
The two scholars exchanged glances.
"Good rain knows its season, and springs forth when spring arrives. With the wind, it sneaks in at night, moistening things silently."
As Cai Lihua spoke, the dozen or so children's eyes widened. "Wow, what a poem! Teacher, this auntie's poem seems better than yours!"
"Yes."
Hearing the children's commotion, the two scholars' pupils contracted. They were speechless for a long time.
"That's for light rain. Shaode, give him a few different ones," Cai Lihua said.
Meng Shaode stood up with confidence, shaking his head and chanting:
"You ask when I will return, but there is no set date;
In the south, the night rain swells the autumn pond.
When shall we trim the west window candles together,
And talk of the night rain between heaven and earth?"
Ajji, just reaching the doorway, turned in fright and hid behind a wooden pillar outside.