Ch 23: The Regent’s Farmer Husband

The next morning, Jiang Ji got up early, planning to take the ox to plow the field. He intended to use one of the more fertile plots of land as a nursery bed for seedlings. If he could plow it all at once, he wouldn’t need to dig manually with a spade—it would save both time and effort.

According to the memories of the body’s original owner, he knew how to plow. Jiang Ji went over the process in his head, brought the plow out into the courtyard, and figured he could finish that patch before breakfast.

He opened the cowshed door. The ox, lying on the ground, stood up as he entered. Jiang Ji walked over, fastened the rope around its head, and gave a command to move. The ox didn’t budge.

He tried twice more, even flicking the rope to urge it forward.

The ox glanced at him and shuffled back into the corner.

Hearing the noise from the kitchen, Zhao Ru came out and saw the plow in the yard. She quickly said, “Xiao Ji, the ox is new. You have to wait a few days before using it.”

“Huh?” Jiang Ji looked puzzled. “But it’s local stock, not from far away. The seller said it came from a household just east of town. Why would I need to wait a few days?”

“It’s in a new place, not familiar with the surroundings yet. Give it time,” Zhao Ru said, looking into the cowshed. “See? It barely touched the fodder we gave it yesterday. Let it get used to its new stall first.”

Jiang Ji scratched his head, looking at the ox standing stubbornly in the corner. With a sigh, he untied the rope. “Alright, then I’ll go borrow the village head’s ox.”

The village head was already up and about, preparing to fetch water. When he heard Jiang Ji’s request, he set down the buckets and led him to the cowshed, explaining the basics of caring for an ox along the way.

“I forgot to tell you yesterday—newly bought oxen shouldn’t be worked right away. For the first few days, don’t take it out to graze either. Just let it stay penned up and get used to the place. Watch its eating and drinking. Once it’s feeding well and starts bawling to go out, then you can lead it outside. And for the next couple of months, when you graze it, don’t let go of the rope. Keep it tied, or it might run off.”

“Got it. Thanks for the reminder, Village Head.”

Jiang Ji drove the village head’s ox back home, hitched up the plow, and headed to the field.

This plot was about half a mu, long and narrow. Following the instructions in his memory, Jiang Ji yoked the ox, stood behind it, held the plow handle with his right hand, and gripped the reins with his left.

The village head’s ox was a big yellow one. Jiang Ji, plowing for the first time, was nervous. He tried to coax it. “Brother Bull, let’s work nicely today, yeah? I’ll feed you plenty of grass when we get back.”

The ox just kept its head down, munching on tender grass, completely ignoring him.

Jiang Ji straightened the plow, flicked the reins, and called out,

“Hyah!”

The rope flicked against the ox’s belly. The animal snorted and started forward.

It had rained lightly two days ago. The surface of the soil had dried, but beneath it was still damp. The field had been worked before, so the earth was soft and easy to turn. The plow sank smoothly into the soil, the ox pulling it along steadily.

A layer of earth split and flipped over neatly. Jiang Ji, inexperienced, lost control of the angle at first, the plow going crooked, but he quickly adjusted.

The yellow ox moved at a surprisingly brisk pace. Jiang Ji stumbled after it, one foot deep, one foot shallow.

“So this is plowing, huh? Not bad—it’s easy once you get the hang of steering.”

He even found time to glance at his livestream. It was still early, dawn barely breaking. Only about a thousand viewers were online—mostly office workers watching during their morning commute.

“Good morning, everyone! Today I’m showing you how to plow a field—my first time doing it.”

【Morning, streamer! Wait, you actually know how to plow?】
【Not bad, looks decent.】
【Didn’t expect this—you’re full of surprises.】
【Nice, nice. You’re really turning into a proper farmer now.】

“Not bad, right? Didn’t think I’d have such a talent for farming,” Jiang Ji said cheerfully.

But no sooner had he finished bragging than he ran into his first major problem—controlling the ox’s direction.

Fresh grass had sprouted across the field, tender and green, and the ox kept stopping to eat, moving in fits and starts.

“Hey, hey, brother, don’t stop! You can’t just keep eating!”

Jiang Ji flicked the reins, and the ox moved a few steps—only to veer off course toward the right. The plow nearly crossed into someone else’s field. Jiang Ji quickly tugged the ox back, steering it straight again.

When he reached the other end and turned around, he saw the furrows he’d made zigzagging across the field like a snake.

【Hahaha, sure, “pretty easy,” I believed you for a second】
【Yeah, looks real easy, hahaha】
【When does this streamer not mess up?】
【I’m dying—every time he says something’s easy, disaster follows】

The livestream was running on the side, and with one glance at the scrolling comments, Jiang Ji pouted. “Hey, it’s my first time, alright? Totally normal. Give me two laps and I’ll have it down.”

Not far away, an auntie picking vegetables in her own field called out, laughing, “Jiang Ji, what’s wrong? That ox not listening to you?”

“Auntie, it’s got a bad case of morning temper,” Jiang Ji called back with a grin.

【LMAO, morning temper】
【Same, I get morning temper too, snort snort】
【Imagine being dragged out to work this early, who wouldn’t be mad?】
【Ah, brothers and sisters, don’t laugh—we’re just like this ox, up early to work every day】

That comment struck a chord—soon the chat was full of groans.

【You hit too close to home, man】
【Don’t say it out loud, my morning temper’s flaring up now】
【Up before the chickens, asleep after the dogs】

Jiang Ji burst out laughing. “Early to bed and early to rise keeps the body healthy, guys—don’t stay up late!”

【Yeah right, like you ever slept early before】
【Why do I not believe that for a second】

Jiang Ji sighed. “Honestly? I used to stay up till one or two every night. But here, well—there’s nothing to do after dark. No phone, no computer, not even cards. What else can I do but sleep?”

He chuckled. “But for real, sleeping early and waking early makes you feel great. Try it sometime.”

【We all know that】
【If I had that much discipline, I wouldn’t have dark circles every day】

“If you all transmigrated here, you’d be early birds too.”

【Yeah, no thanks】
【I can’t live without Wi-Fi and takeout】

Chatting with his viewers, Jiang Ji continued plowing. After a couple of laps, he finally got the hang of controlling the ox. The furrows straightened out, the plow moved smoothly, and the work began to look decent.

Row by row, the soil turned over, burying the grass beneath it. Without sunlight or rain, the buried greens would decay over time and become fertilizer for the land.

In modern organic farming, this was known as green manure—after the second rice harvest, farmers would sow grass seeds in the field, and by spring plowing time, the grown grass would be turned under as natural fertilizer.

“Brother!” “Big Brother!”

Jiang Nan and Jiang Bei’s voices came from the distance. Jiang Ji turned to see the two little monkeys running toward him, with Jiang Yan following in his blue robe.

“You’re up already? What are you doing out here?” Jiang Ji asked.

“Mother said to call you back for breakfast,” Jiang Nan said, stopping at the field’s edge.

“Oh, got it. Just a bit more to plow, then I’ll head back.”

Jiang Yan stood at the boundary of the field, watching his movements. “Jiang Ji, is this easy to learn?”

“What, you wanna try?” Jiang Ji raised an eyebrow.

To his surprise, Jiang Yan nodded. “Can I?”

“Sure. Come on, I’ll teach you. Whoa—” Jiang Ji called the ox to a stop and waited for him.

Jiang Yan stepped down into the field. Jiang Ji handed over his spot. “Here—hold the handle like this. Left hand on the reins. A little flick and the ox will move. If it drifts right, pull back. Keep your right hand steady on the plow.”

Jiang Yan nodded, got into position, and flicked the reins. “Go.”

The ox trudged forward. Jiang Yan focused intently, holding the plow straight, though he wasn’t quite used to walking through the uneven soil yet—his steps wobbled a little.

“When you see it lowering its head to eat grass, give it a nudge,” Jiang Ji said, walking beside him, coaching patiently.

Jiang Nan and Jiang Bei followed along, watching eagerly.

Jiang Yan was a quick learner, attentive and precise. “Feels kind of like driving a carriage,” he said thoughtfully.

“Huh? You’ve driven a carriage before?” Jiang Ji asked, then paused. “Wait—you remembered something?”

Jiang Yan shook his head, a faint confusion in his eyes. “Not really. It just… feels familiar somehow.”

Jiang Ji thought for a moment. “Maybe you did drive one before. Sometimes familiar actions trigger old memories. Keep at it—maybe this will jog your memory.”

Jiang Yan nodded and kept walking forward.

Drawing from the knowledge he’d gained from his previous life, Jiang Ji said, “Actually, if someone you know took you to familiar places, had you do what you used to do, it might help you recover your memory faster.”

Jiang Yan glanced at him. “That won’t work.”

“Yeah, true. Too bad there’s no one from your past here,” Jiang Ji said, shrugging. “Take it slow. You’ll remember eventually.”

In movies and TV dramas he’d seen, people with amnesia usually got their memories back after hitting their heads again.

But since he’d only seen that on screen and not in any medical journal, he wasn’t sure if it was real—and he wasn’t about to suggest it to Jiang Yan.

What if Jiang Yan really tried it, hit his head, and still didn’t remember anything?

Or worse, what if he hit it too hard and dropped dead?

No, definitely better not to mention that.

Otherwise, it could turn into a tragedy.

When Jiang Yan finished plowing the last bit of field, Jiang Ji said they’d come back after breakfast to harrow it smooth, and that would be that.

“Not bad at all, Jiang Yan,” Jiang Ji said, clapping. “Looks like you’ve got a farmer’s gift too.”

Jiang Yan looked at him with a faint smile. “Let’s go eat breakfast.”

Jiang Ji unhitched the plow. When Jiang Yan reached out to carry it, Jiang Ji took it from him. “I’ll carry the plow. Your wound hasn’t fully healed—don’t lift anything heavy. You lead the ox instead.”

Jiang Yan didn’t argue. If the wound split open again, it really wouldn’t be worth it. There was no need to insist on helping right now.

“Brother, I’ll lead the ox!” Jiang Nan called out eagerly.

Jiang Ji handed him the rope, still unsure why this child was so fascinated with the animal.

“Oh, right—the village head said our ox can’t be taken out for a few days yet. So this afternoon you don’t need to take ours to graze.”

Jiang Nan looked disappointed. “Huh? Why not?”

“Because it’s new here,” Jiang Ji explained. “It just came to a new environment—it needs a few days to get used to it. But this afternoon, you can help the village head’s family by herding their ox, okay?”

In the village, it was customary that when you borrowed someone’s ox—not rented it for coins—you’d repay them with fodder or labor. Usually that meant taking their ox out to graze in return, since herding took time and effort.

“Okay, okay! I’ll do it! I’ll make sure it doesn’t run away!” Jiang Nan said happily.

Jiang Ji shook his head, amused but not quite understanding what joy the boy found in it.

The group carried the plow and led the ox home. They tied the animal to a tree in the courtyard, and Jiang Ji gave it a bundle of straw before washing his hands and heading to eat breakfast.

After the meal, Jiang Ji went back to harrow the field, with Jiang Nan tagging along to help.

Back at home, Jiang Yan began transcribing the planting guides.

Since many villagers had come recently to register for seeds, he moved the table to the main hall, set out the writing tools Jiang Ji had bought for him—brushes, ink stick, and inkstone—along with two notebooks to copy into. He poured a bowl of clean water, rolled up his sleeves, added a little water into the inkstone, and began grinding the ink stick.

As the glossy black ink slowly spread and mixed with the water, that rich, distinctive fragrance of ink filled the air.

Jiang Yan noticed a small head resting on the table’s edge, watching him grind with fascination. “You like that smell?” he asked.

Jiang Bei nodded. “Yeah. It smells nice—it makes me feel like I’m learning something important.”

Jiang Yan couldn’t help but laugh softly. He hadn’t expected that answer. “Do you want to learn to read and write?”

Jiang Bei nodded again. “I do.”

Jiang Yan’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Then help me grind the ink, and I’ll teach you to write afterward.”

Jiang Bei’s eyes lit up. “Okay!”

Jiang Yan handed him the ink stick. “Roll up your sleeves.”

The table was a bit tall, so Jiang Bei climbed onto the bench, kneeling as he leaned over the tabletop. He rolled up his sleeves and took the ink stick from Jiang Yan, copying his movements in small circles, grinding steadily.

Jiang Yan, seeing how seriously he imitated him, let the boy continue while he took out Jiang Ji’s notebook and a blank one beside it.

He didn’t write a title yet—he’d wait for Jiang Ji to decide when he got back.

When the ink was ready, Jiang Yan kept his promise. He picked up one of the brushes Jiang Ji had bought for Jiang Nan, laid a sheet of practice paper before Jiang Bei, and wrote a neat character at the top right corner: “江” (Jiang).

“This is the character ‘Jiang’—your family name.”

Jiang Bei’s eyes shone as he looked at it, then corrected him with a grin. “Brother Jiang Yan, you have the surname ‘Jiang’ now too.”

Jiang Yan smiled gently. “Yes, I do now. Here, first learn how to hold the brush, like this.”

He corrected Jiang Bei’s grip, then guided his hand, helping him trace the character stroke by stroke, letting him feel the brush’s motion. “From top to bottom, left to right—got it?”

It was a simple structure, easy to understand. Jiang Bei nodded obediently. “Got it.”

“Good. Write one yourself and let me see.”

Jiang Bei carefully followed the strokes, drawing one line after another.

When he finished, he compared his writing with Jiang Yan’s—his own was crooked and messy, while Jiang Yan’s was elegant and balanced. Scratching his cheek nervously, he asked, “Brother Jiang Yan, did I… write it right?”

Though it was clumsy, the strokes were in the correct order.

“You did,” Jiang Yan said.

Instantly, Jiang Bei’s face lit up with a smile.

“Pay attention to how you hold the brush,” Jiang Yan reminded gently.

Jiang Bei glanced at his grip, compared it to Jiang Yan’s, and quietly corrected his posture.

“Good. Keep practicing. Make the left and right sides about the same size and length.”

“Okay.”

Jiang Yan sat back in his place and began transcribing again.

The two of them—one tall, one small—were immersed in the scent of ink. Zhao Ru peeked in at the scene, smiling softly before backing out again.

From time to time, villagers came by to register for seeds. Jiang Yan set down his brush and recorded their names one by one.

When Jiang Ji came back from the fields, he was delighted to see Jiang Bei learning so earnestly.

“Oh, look at that—Jiang Bei’s learning to write now!”

Jiang Bei, seeing his brother, perked up and held out his brush excitedly. “Brother, I can write the character ‘Jiang’ now! Come see!”

Jiang Ji leaned over. Apart from the two neat characters at the top, the rest were crooked, blotchy, and smeared—if you didn’t know better, you might think they were ghostly scribbles.

“Brother, what do you think? Did I do good?” Jiang Bei looked up at him, full of expectation.

“Not bad,” Jiang Ji said without blinking, praising him readily. Then he slid the messy sheet aside and placed a new one in front of him. “Show me again.”

Jiang Bei realized his brother was testing him, but he wasn’t afraid—he was confident now!

He dipped the brush into the ink, scraped off the excess on the edge, and carefully began to write again.

A short while later, he finished and tilted his little face upward. “Did I get it right this time?”

Jiang Ji gave him a thumbs-up. “You did. Very good!”

Jiang Bei grinned from ear to ear. “Brother Jiang Yan taught me!”

Jiang Ji nodded approvingly. “Keep practicing. Learn from Brother Jiang Yan’s handwriting—it’s beautiful.”

Jiang Yan glanced at him, a faint smile flickering in his eyes. “Jiang Bei likes reading and writing. You should nurture that well.”

Jiang Ji glanced at Jiang Bei and patted his head. “You like studying?”

“Mm.” Jiang Bei nodded hard. Last year, Dazhu had started attending the village school, and Jiang Bei had been envious ever since. But knowing their family couldn’t afford it, he’d never said anything.

Now that his big brother had said he could go to school, he was overjoyed.

He could finally go to the academy too!

Jiang Ji ruffled his hair again. “Good. As long as you’re interested, your brother will support you.”

He didn’t say anything about taking the imperial exams or becoming a scholar. This was ancient times—passing the exams was far harder than getting into a good modern university. Just as he wanted his younger sister to learn to read and understand reason, he didn’t expect his brothers to become officials. He just wanted them to grow wiser and broaden their minds.

After all, he himself had nearly worked himself to death getting into a key university. Thinking back to those chaotic senior high school days still made him shiver.

Jiang Bei nodded happily. “Thank you, big brother.”

Jiang Ji walked over to Jiang Yan and looked at his writing. “Your handwriting is beautiful—looks just like it was printed.”

Because it was written in a notebook, Jiang Yan’s calligraphy was neat and precise, with not a single blot or correction mark.

Jiang Ji truly admired these ancient scholars. Anyone who could read and write seemed to have impeccable handwriting.

Jiang Yan asked, “Do you want to try writing?”

“No, no, no,” Jiang Ji waved his hands quickly. “My chicken-scratch handwriting isn’t worthy of that paper.”

Jiang Yan’s lips curved slightly. “Do you want to learn?”

Jiang Ji refused without hesitation. “Nope.”

He could never sit quietly at a table practicing brush strokes. He had no interest in that kind of suffering.

As long as he could read and write traditional characters, that was enough. Calligraphy wasn’t his kind of hobby.

Jiang Yan: “…”

Afraid that Jiang Yan might continue trying to persuade him, Jiang Ji quickly diverted the topic and pointed to Jiang Nan. “Jiang Nan wants to learn.”

Jiang Nan blinked. “…I never said that.”

“You have to learn,” Jiang Ji said firmly. “You’re going to school soon anyway—better start practicing now.”

Jiang Nan glared at his brother. “Why don’t you learn then?”

“I can already write,” Jiang Ji lifted his chin. “It just doesn’t look nice. But you can’t write yet, so you need to learn.”

Jiang Nan: “…” He couldn’t argue with that.

But then he thought of something. “I still have to herd the village head’s ox this afternoon!”

“I didn’t say today. I meant later.”

Jiang Nan: “…”

Jiang Bei giggled as he watched them. “Jiang Nan, writing is fun!”

Jiang Nan shot him a glare. “Fun? Why’d you start writing instead of playing outside? Now I have to write too!”

Jiang Ji chuckled. “You’d have to learn anyway.”

“Hmph! I’m done talking to you guys.” Jiang Nan huffed and ran off.

Jiang Ji called after him, “Don’t forget, we’re visiting the teacher this afternoon!”

Jiang Nan: “…”

Jiang Yan shook his head with a faint smile as he watched the three brothers bicker. He then handed Jiang Ji the notebook where he’d recorded the seed buyers. “A lot of people came to register this morning. Several of them bought twice as many seeds as everyone else. Take a look.”

Jiang Ji took the book and scanned through it. Indeed, a few names had unusually large quantities next to them. “Did they acquire more land or something?”

“I asked. They said they were taking a gamble.” Jiang Yan frowned slightly. “But their expressions didn’t really match that explanation.”

Jiang Ji glanced again at the list but couldn’t make sense of it. “Forget it. Let them plant however they want.”

After lunch, Jiang Ji and Zhao Ru took the three children and a small gift of tuition offerings to the neighboring village.

That village was larger than theirs and had a small school where children from several nearby villages studied. There were two teachers—one an old scholar from their own village, the other a man from a nearby one who had studied in town for over ten years but never passed the scholar exam, so he now taught basic literacy here.

It took them less than fifteen minutes to walk there.

Jiang Ji knocked on the teacher’s front gate.

The one who opened it was the teacher’s daughter-in-law, Hong Xiu. The families from both villages were familiar with each other.

Seeing Zhao Ru and Jiang Ji, her eyes brightened. “Auntie, what brings you here? I was just about to come find you. Come in, come in!”

Zhao Ru smiled. “We’ve come to see the teacher. The new term is starting soon, and we’d like to send our children to study with him.”

The teacher was in his early forties, with a short goatee, sitting in the courtyard weaving a bamboo basket while helping his grandchildren recite poetry.

Jiang Ji and his family bowed respectfully.

When he heard their purpose, the teacher looked over at Jiang Nan and Jiang Bei. “These two little ones?”

Jiang Ji shook his head. “And my sister, Jiang Xia. All three together.”

The teacher froze. “This little girl too?”

Jiang Ji nodded. “Yes.”

The teacher frowned slightly.

There were indeed girls who studied in town, but they were all from wealthy families and attended private classes with only other girls.

For someone like Jiang Ji to send his sister to a school full of boys—that was unheard of. No one in the village had ever done such a thing. Even he, as the teacher, only taught his granddaughters at home.

He looked at Jiang Xia, clearly conflicted. “Our school doesn’t have any girl students.”

Jiang Ji met his gaze calmly. “Then it’ll have one starting today. Everything has a first time.”

The teacher still looked uneasy. “Our students are all boys. There’s a difference between men and women—it might be inconvenient for her to attend.”

Jiang Ji understood what he meant. This was ancient times, after all—people were conservative. In town, young ladies from respectable families weren’t even allowed to meet unrelated men. Village life was looser, since girls had to help with farm work, but gender separation was still a rule everyone followed.

He thought for a moment, then said, “Teacher, my sister Jiang Xia can start in the beginner’s class with her younger brothers. She won’t be with the older boys. The beginner’s class children are still small—it won’t cause any trouble. She just wants to learn to read, write, and understand proper conduct. Please, Teacher, allow her to attend.”

The teacher, seeing how sincere he was, glanced at Jiang Xia and after a pause asked, “How old is the young lady?”

“Thirteen,” Jiang Xia replied.

The teacher froze again. At that age, most girls were already at home preparing for marriage—how could she still be sent to school?

“Isn’t that a bit… inappropriate for her age?” he said hesitantly.

Jiang Ji quickly responded, “Teacher, she’s only thirteen—it’s not that old.”

The teacher shook his head. “If she were younger, perhaps. But at thirteen…”

Seeing her father-in-law about to refuse, Hong Xiu hurriedly spoke up. “Father, it’s rare for Jiang Xia to want to learn. Their home is right behind ours, and she’ll be studying with her two younger brothers. Just let her come.”

The teacher looked at his daughter-in-law, and she gave a small cough, glancing toward her mother-in-law, who was pounding rice nearby.

Catching the hint, the teacher hesitated a moment, then nodded. “Very well. She may join.”

The school belonged to the old scholar anyway—his word was final. Jiang Ji and his family were delighted and immediately offered the tuition gift they had brought.

Seeing that business was settled, Hong Xiu quickly said, “Just in time, Auntie—I heard your family has those new rice seeds and something called corn seeds, is that true?”

The two villages were close; everyone knew one another. From yesterday to this morning, people in Shanqian Village had been busy renting and buying land. News had spread quickly—Jiang Ji’s family had rice that could double the yield, and seeds of new foods from the south.

People in this village were intrigued and had already begun asking around, hoping to get help from Shanqian villagers to buy some seeds.

Two or three women married into Shanqian Village had even reserved seeds for their natal families.

Naturally, the teacher’s household had also heard. They had discussed visiting Jiang Ji’s home that afternoon to ask—but unexpectedly, Jiang Ji himself had come first.

Hearing this, Jiang Ji wasn’t surprised. The two villages were close; everyone’s fields bordered each other. News traveled fast.

Then it struck him—the families who had bought larger quantities of seeds this morning all had wives from this very village.

After thinking it through, he understood: they were likely buying seeds for their maiden families.

And that little glance Hong Xiu had given her father-in-law earlier—maybe she had persuaded him to accept Jiang Xia as a student precisely for this reason.

Once he realized it, Jiang Ji smiled. “Yes, we have new high-yield rice, and also sweet potato, potato, and corn seeds. Originally they were meant for our village first, but if your family wants some, I can set aside a batch for you.”

Hong Xiu’s face lit up. “That would be wonderful! We’re just not quite sure how good these seeds actually are.”

Jiang Ji said, “How about I explain a bit about them?”

“Please do!” Hong Xiu said eagerly.

So Jiang Ji briefly described the benefits of each crop and added, “Most families in our village are planting half new seeds and half old, just to be safe. You can do the same. When you’ve decided, come register at my house. The day after tomorrow we’ll start selling sweet potato and potato seedlings, so if you want any, decide soon.”

After discussing with her father-in-law, Hong Xiu said, “Alright, my husband’s gone to town. When he’s back, we’ll talk it over and come find you.”

“Good,” Jiang Ji replied.

With the school matter settled, everyone was in high spirits.

When they got home, there were already people registering for seeds.

After chatting with them and seeing them off, Jiang Yan asked, “How did it go? Did the teacher agree to take Jiang Xia?”

Jiang Ji nodded happily. “He did.”

“That teacher’s more open-minded than I expected,” Jiang Yan remarked.

Jiang Ji chuckled and lowered his voice. “There’s a story behind it.”

Jiang Yan raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Jiang Ji told him what had happened at the teacher’s house. Jiang Yan nodded when he finished. “I see.”

“Yeah,” Jiang Ji sighed. “I’d prepared all sorts of arguments to persuade the teacher—didn’t even get to use most of them.”

Jiang Yan’s brows lifted slightly. “You sound almost disappointed.”

“Kind of,” Jiang Ji admitted with a grin. “Didn’t get to show off my eloquence. But I’m still really happy he accepted Xia.”

Jiang Yan smiled and shook his head. He turned to the notebook he’d been copying from. “This one’s done—it’s the sweet potato guide. What should I write on the cover?”

“Just ‘Sweet Potato Planting Guide,’ plain and simple,” Jiang Ji said.

“Alright.” Jiang Yan picked up his brush and began to write.

Jiang Ji watched him—his back straight, his head slightly bowed, movements calm and sure. His grip on the brush was steady, his long, clean fingers precise and graceful.

Each stroke flowed smoothly like drifting clouds and flowing water—poised and elegant, pleasing to the eye.

The characters he wrote were beautiful: upright, bold, and strong, with a confident flair that made them even more striking than printed text.

Jiang Ji thought Jiang Yan truly had the bearing of a scholar. Yet Jiang Ji had also seen his physique—broad shoulders tapering to a trim waist, each muscle lean and defined, a body shaped by rigorous training.

A sharp, stoic face, a powerful frame, and yet that calm, refined aura—it was a strange contrast that somehow fit perfectly together, as if that combination was exactly what he was meant to be.

It was… captivating.

Jiang Ji found himself staring a bit too long. When Jiang Yan finished writing and looked up, he caught Jiang Ji watching him, lost in thought.

Jiang Yan paused, then lowered his gaze slightly. “What is it? Did I make a mistake?”

Snapping out of it, Jiang Ji said quickly, “No, I was just thinking—the characters on the cover look a bit different from the ones inside. Do you use a different style for large writing?”

“I don’t know,” Jiang Yan lifted his gaze to meet his. “How about I write something for you to see?”

“Sure,” Jiang Ji said at once.

Jiang Yan set the notebook aside and spread out a fresh sheet of paper. “What do you want me to write?”

Jiang Ji thought for a moment. “How about ‘May wealth flow in from all directions.’”

Jiang Yan: …

Seeing his slightly speechless expression, Jiang Ji blinked. “What? Isn’t that a good phrase?”

Jiang Yan shook his head with a quiet laugh. “No, it’s fine. ‘Wealth from all directions’ it is.”

He held his brush poised in the air for a moment, as if considering the composition, then began to write.

Within moments, the four characters were finished—strokes bold and vigorous, full of strength and life, the momentum of the brush like coiling dragons and soaring serpents.

Jiang Ji could only gasp in amazement, raising a thumb.

“Damn, that’s incredible!”

“You’re a calligraphy master!”

Jiang Yan turned to look at him. “You like it?”

“Of course I do—love it! I’m framing this and hanging it on the wall!” Jiang Ji’s eyes shone brightly.

Jiang Yan’s gaze softened, a quiet gleam in his eyes, and the corners of his lips curved upward again despite himself.

🌾🌾🌾🌾🌾