Ch 15: Reborn to Raise My Husband

Xiao Hu was delighted to see the two children return home without bringing the items back untouched. He immediately asked how things had gone at the Fang household.

Qi Beinan said, “From what I saw, Grandma Sun has likely lowered her guard a little. She even sent a few things back with us.”

“If we keep visiting often, it shouldn’t be much of a problem.”

After a few days of observing, Qi Beinan had figured out that his father-in-law really was too trusting by nature—but for a rough country man, that wasn’t so unusual.

Judging by what he’d seen, the closeness between the Xiao and Fang families in the past had likely been because Sun Yuan had put in the effort to maintain those ties.

Xiao Hu wasn’t good at managing social affairs, so after Sun Yuan passed, things naturally grew more distant. And with Qin Niazi adding fuel to the fire, it was no surprise the two households had grown cold.

Qi Beinan could only do his best to steer things along. He said to Xiao Hu, “Though the Fang family is getting warmer with us again, we still don’t know what caused the distance in the first place. It’d be better if we found out, so we can avoid it happening again. Don’t you think so, Uncle Xiao?”

Xiao Hu replied, “I’ve been thinking the same. I’m planning to invite the Fang family over for a meal to talk things out.”

Qi Beinan was pleased to hear Xiao Hu had that in mind. “That’s a good idea. But from what I gathered when chatting with Grandma Sun, she was closest with Aunt Sun before. Since we’re not hosting anything at home right now, she might not be willing to come. And even if she does, women and wives tend to speak more freely with each other. If you’re the one asking, she might not tell you the truth.”

Xiao Hu considered it and nodded. “You’re right. So what should we do?”

Of course, Qi Beinan had long since prepared for this—it was a great chance to peel back Qin Niazi’s façade. He said, “I’ve already invited Brother Fang to visit and chat when he has time. He seems like a straightforward person, so I think he’ll come.”

“If you really want to know why the Fang family distanced themselves, why not set aside a few coins to buy some wine? When Brother Fang comes, invite him to drink with you. With wine in the belly, words flow more easily, no?”

Xiao Hu let out a rare chuckle and praised, “That’s a good idea.”

He was more and more impressed by Qi Beinan. “You really think things through well. When I have time, I’ll head to town and get some good wine.”

Qi Beinan knew Xiao Hu had been busy tending to the farmland lately. Though most of the land was leased out, some was kept for growing rice and vegetables. And if the soil wasn’t loosened and the irrigation cleared in winter, it wouldn’t be fertile come spring. If the harvest was to be good, the land had to be worked.

Qi Beinan had originally suggested going out to the fields with him, but Xiao Hu refused, asking him instead to stay home and look after Xiao Bao.

Seeing that it wasn’t the peak of the farming season, Qi Beinan didn’t insist. He said, “The weather’s been cold but dry these past few days. The new year is coming up, and town is lively—I’m thinking of setting up a stall to write letters and couplets.”

“Uncle Xiao, just tell me where the good wine is. I’ll go fetch it.”

Xiao Hu was a little surprised by his plan, but still nodded.

He wasn’t sure if folks would actually pay a child this young to write spring couplets—but he figured making money wasn’t the most important thing. What mattered was the intent.

As a man, having the drive to earn one’s own way early in life and the willingness to act on it—that was a good trait.

“Alright! Then take Xiao Bao with you when you go.”

Qi Beinan had been planning that anyway. Bringing Xiao Bao along more often would help him grow bolder and more cheerful.

Unlike the children of wealthy households, who didn’t leave the compound but had tutors brought in to teach them and broaden their horizons, kids in farming families who never left the house truly did grow up knowing nothing about the world.

It was rare and precious that their views aligned so well. Qi Beinan felt reassured.

He was about to call Xiao Bao over and ask if he wanted to go into town—only to find the boy had disappeared.

At that moment, Xiao Bao was standing in front of a low bamboo table about his height, staring at the pile of roasted sweet potatoes on top, fretting over how to divide them.

There were five: one big, four small.

Two for his father, two for his brother, and one left for himself!

He picked up the biggest one and agonized—should it go to Father or to Brother?

Father worked so hard in the fields and often went into the mountains, where there was nothing good to eat—so pitiful!

Xiao Bao nodded to himself and placed the big one in his father’s share.

But then he thought again—Brother just joined the family, maybe he’s never even had roasted sweet potatoes before. He should be treated well!

So he moved the big one to Brother’s side.

But Father liked sweet potatoes just like him… and Brother didn’t say he liked them, did he?

Xiao Bao kept moving the sweet potato back and forth, unable to decide fairly.

Finally, he made a decision… He peeled the big sweet potato and, face down, sadly ate it himself.

—

The next day, Qi Beinan rose early.

Planning to set up a stall in town, he needed to get there before the crowd dispersed or business would be poor.

He opened the trunk, taking out his writing brush, inkstone, and inkstick.

He hadn’t brought red paper for couplets from home since he had very little on hand and didn’t want to risk it getting wet on the road—he’d buy some in town instead.

After packing his things, the sky was just beginning to lighten. He prepared to go wake Xiao Bao.

The night before, he had lit two charcoal braziers in Xiao Bao’s room, so the chill had been mostly driven away.

In a countryside mud-brick house, charcoal alone couldn’t make things truly warm, but it did help the child sleep more comfortably.

Just as he feared the bed might be too warm and the child might want to sleep in, Qi Beinan opened the bedroom door—only to see a round little bundle huddled at the doorway, standing tiptoe and staring at his feet, having clearly been waiting there for quite a while.

As soon as he emerged, the child lifted his little face, eyes curling into a bright smile.

“You’re up so early? You’re all dressed too.”

Qi Beinan squatted down and noticed the little hat for town trips was already on his head.

Xiao Bao shyly pursed his lips and reached out to hold Qi Beinan’s hand.

They had said the night before they’d be going to town today. He’d been so excited that he could hardly fall asleep, tossing and turning all night. Afraid he might oversleep and Qi Beinan would leave without him, he had woken up at first light.

The night before, he’d soaked his feet with his father and brother until they were pink from the heat, and with the brazier warming the room, the bed had been wonderfully toasty when he woke up.

But he didn’t dare linger—he threw off the covers and got dressed right away.

Qi Beinan knew he’d been looking forward to it, so he held his hand and took him to wash up and rinse his mouth.

By the time they arrived at the county town, the morning market had just begun and was already bustling.

Qi Beinan found a general goods shop and rented an old long table with three plain round stools, quickly securing a spot in the busy street.

Then he went to the book shop to buy three batches of red paper in varying quality, along with a set of letter paper and envelopes. He even noticed they were selling gold ink and bought half a stick.

Gold ink was expensive, much more so than regular black ink, but it produced a bright, gilded hue—perfect for the festive season. Some merchants would buy gold-inked couplets and “fu” characters to display their prosperity.

Once preparations were complete, Qi Beinan laid out his stall.

Xiao Bao had never seen anyone selling couplets before and wanted to help, but didn’t know what to do, so he just stood obediently near the leg of the table and watched.

“How old are you, little friend?”

As Qi Beinan spread two sheets of rough paper across the table to prevent ink stains on the rental surface and was just pressing it down with paperweights, a voice came from beside him.

It turned out another calligrapher had also set up a couplet stall next to his. The man had a wispy beard on his chin and wore a traditional Confucian headscarf common among scholars.

His face was lined with age, clearly over forty, and the black headscarf was likely to lend him an air of gravity.

From the glint of amusement in the older man’s eyes, Qi Beinan could tell he found the idea of someone his age selling couplets rather laughable.

Still, since the man was older, Qi Beinan gave him a respectful scholar’s salute and replied, “Ten.”

The man raised his brow, clearly surprised that Qi Beinan was even younger than he’d expected.

“Ten? How many characters has your teacher taught you, then? How many can you actually write?”

His tone was openly condescending.

Qi Beinan remained unfazed. “I’m not especially talented, but I’ve learned most of what my teacher taught me.”

The old man chuckled—such arrogance from a child.

“You do realize writing couplets isn’t just copying a couple of lines like ‘a bountiful harvest and thriving livestock’? People buy the characters themselves!”

“You can’t just pick up a brush and call yourself a master. Without ten-plus years of work, who’d dare show off in the street like this?”

The nearby street food vendors and early market-goers had caught wind of the brewing drama and started gathering around.

The old man seemed to be deliberately picking a fight, using Qi Beinan as bait to attract attention—then he could laugh him off and sell a few couplets to the crowd.

Although the town was crowded, there were many stalls; without a bit of spectacle, most booths would get ignored.

People loved a commotion. Once they saw a crowd, even if they were busy, they had to squeeze in and see what was going on.

Clearly enjoying the attention, the old man said, “Go fetch your teacher if you want a few sales. A little child like you, standing here freezing for nothing—if you’re that desperate, I could at least get you a job copying books at a script shop.”

Then he turned to the crowd, hoping for affirmation. “Of course, that depends on whether the boy’s writing is any good. Am I right, folks?”

He must’ve been selling couplets here for a long time—several familiar customers chimed in:

“Master Chen’s right.”

Xiao Bao, nervous from the rising tension, shrank behind Qi Beinan.

Qi Beinan hadn’t wanted to bother with this arrogant elder, nor did he want to embarrass him. But when the man started using him to attract business and even frightened Xiao Bao, that was going too far.

With a calm voice, Qi Beinan replied, “Thank you for the advice, sir.”

Then he pulled Xiao Bao to sit on the stool next to him and sat down himself.

The bystanders realized he was about to write and leaned in, curious to see if the boy had any real skill.

The old man chuckled, “Oh? So we’re getting a demonstration now?”

Qi Beinan dipped his brush in ink, his slender fingers steady, his strokes smooth and flowing.

In a matter of moments, a couplet reading:

“Plum and bamboo bring peace, spring overflows with joy;
Parents flourish, and longevity springs eternal.”

was completed—followed by a final stroke for the horizontal scroll:

“All things go well.”

There was a beat of silence.

Those who couldn’t read admired the visual elegance, while the literate ones immediately exclaimed in praise.

The old man craned his neck and finally caught a glimpse—and what he saw made his heart sink.

The characters weren’t just neat “for a child,” they were powerful, confident, with a strength of brushwork that frankly rivaled his own—even after decades of writing.

If not from a family with deep scholarly roots, how could a child this young possess such skill?

Old Chen had taken one look at the two plainly dressed boys and assumed they were from a poor household—never imagining they were descendants of a learned lineage.

He’d thought he was picking a soft persimmon to squeeze, only to grab a burning hot stone instead.

“Master Chen, what do you think of the boy’s calligraphy? Good or not? Shall we call a teacher over for him?”
One of the onlookers who understood what was going on couldn’t resist teasing the old man.

Old Chen scrambled to save face. But seeing that Qi Beinan was using a low-grade pig-bristle brush and the most basic red paper sold at thirty wen for ten sheets from the bookshop, he couldn’t even fall back on the excuse that the brush or paper made the writing look good.

He was a scholar after all. With so many people watching, his face did burn a little with shame.

So he didn’t answer the teasing at all. With a cold snort, he packed his things into his calligraphy box, gave a flick of his sleeve, and left.

Qi Beinan gave a subtle shake of his head. He hadn’t even shown the full strength of his hand—after all, back in the capital, his couplets once fetched hefty silver. But today he had deliberately reined in his skill, doing his best to write like a proper youth.

And yet this old man, not even older than him in truth, had dared to lecture him about seniority.

With a gracious smile, Qi Beinan addressed the curious onlookers, “I write couplets and letters on commission. If any sirs, gentlemen, young ladies, or scholars are in need, please come this way.”

“How much for a set of couplets? I want one!”

Qi Beinan replied, “Ten wen for the basic paper, twelve for mid-grade, and fifteen for the high-grade.”

“Then I’ll take a set too!”

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