Chapter Two: The First Pot of Gold

Regrets from his previous life were far too many. Half a lifetime spent diligently working brought nothing but endless mortgage payments and a mediocre existence. While studying, his parents told him that only those who could endure hardship would rise above the crowd. Yet after entering the workforce, he discovered that all it took to eat bitterness was the ability to endure, and the supply of hardship was inexhaustible.

So, this time around, he was determined to live at least as an idle son of a wealthy family.

But medicine was no longer an option.

Jiang Han gazed silently at the leftover medicinal dregs on the stove. The original owner truly lived up to his reputation as a clever one! Last night, he brewed his own remedy and, after consuming it, suffered agonizing stomach pains. By the time Gu Xirou arrived to break off their engagement, he was already at death’s door.

But what should he do next to make money?

If this were a dynasty he remembered, it would be easy: simply act according to certain historical events or find a famous figure to support, and wealth and prosperity would be within reach.

Yet as Jiang Han recalled, this was an era called "Great Yu." In all his memories of Chinese dynasties, there was no such thing as Great Yu.

As for the imperial examination, that too was out of the question.

The original owner’s mind contained scant knowledge of the Four Books and Five Classics! To start studying from scratch—well, ancient imperial exams were even harder than modern postgraduate tests!

Then perhaps business?

Jiang Han pondered what he knew.

Salt-making? He could do that, and the profits were huge. But he’d likely be arrested before selling a single batch, for trafficking private salt in ancient times was a capital crime punishable by extermination of one’s entire clan.

Brewing? Where would he get the capital?

Jiang Han reached into his pocket and pulled out two copper coins—apparently, that was all the original owner possessed.

He used to receive two taels of silver as a monthly allowance, and though he had saved quite a bit over the years, it was all squandered after he began studying medicine.

His father was wealthy, but the original owner had exhausted his father’s trust. Now, after the broken engagement with Gu Xirou, news of it would soon reach his father’s ears. Getting money from Jiang Zhen Sheng? Impossible.

After an afternoon’s contemplation, Jiang Han was forced to admit, without capital, he couldn’t even begin to do business!

"Enough, no more thinking."

Sitting at home and brooding would yield no path to wealth; better to go out and see what inspiration might strike.

Walking through the bustling streets, Jiang Han felt as if he’d stepped into a painting—perhaps the famous Riverside Scene at Qingming Festival. The sky in ancient times was truly blue.

By noon, Jiang Han arrived before a grand pavilion on the west side of Yunyang County. The eaves soared high, the corridors wound elegantly, and it was exceedingly impressive. Many scholars gathered inside, reciting poetry and prose.

Memories surfaced, and Jiang Han immediately recalled this place was called Cuiyun Court, where a literary gathering was held today.

Great Yu revered Confucianism, and scholars enjoyed high status. Every year, there were all sorts of literary gatherings.

Whoever won the top prize would become the center of attention and, in addition, receive a reward—usually silver.

But Jiang Han quickly abandoned any notions of pretending to be a scholar.

He had no invitation; he couldn’t get in.

However, he did think of some ways to make money.

For example, he could try to discover the poetry topic, compose a poem, and sell it at the entrance!

He remembered plenty of poems; surely the scholars would be eager to buy from him.

It was the simplest method.

Jiang Han quietly circled to the other side of the wall. Seeing the area was deserted, he climbed atop the wall to eavesdrop.

Cuiyun Court was even livelier than usual. He saw a middle-aged man standing on a high platform, announcing, "Today my young lady gathers friends through literature. The topic is... May the talents of all flow like the Three Rivers; compose poems with vigor. Whoever wins the top prize..."

He was too far to hear clearly.

Soon, though, a banner was raised on the platform, unfurling a huge scroll with the topic written in bold: "Compose a poem on the theme of longing."

Jiang Han watched with interest. Longing? Which wealthy young lady was hosting this gathering?

He had worried none of the poems in his mind would suit, but it turned out he was overthinking.

This topic matched many poems he knew.

He could simply copy a few and sell them at the entrance.

Jiang Han climbed down from the wall, but as he turned, his expression froze.

In front of the wall ran a small stream, lined with peach blossoms. A young woman stood gracefully beneath the flowers, gazing at Jiang Han.

She wore a pristine moon-white gown, her figure tall and elegant. Her delicate oval face was as exquisite as a crescent moon or a newly blooming begonia.

At that moment, she was slightly bent, holding a freshly removed white stocking, and stared blankly at Jiang Han.

Jiang Han hesitated, wondering if she thought he was a thief.

The young woman seemed to realize he was looking at her and, with a faint frown, lowered her head to put on her stocking.

Apparently, she had just been washing her feet by the stream.

Jiang Han turned away; the most important thing now was to sell poems and earn his first pot of gold.

He reached into his pocket, took out some paper and a brush, and went to the riverbank to fetch water for grinding ink.

The young woman finished putting on her shoes and socks, then stood by the riverbank, watching him curiously.

Once the ink was prepared, Jiang Han began to write, but his brows furrowed.

His handwriting was atrocious!

Though muscle memory lingered, the original owner’s script looked no better than a doctor’s prescription.

Such scrawls would surely put off any scholar.

After some thought, Jiang Han approached the young woman. "Miss, could you help me write a few words?"

She remained silent.

Jiang Han held up two fingers. "I won’t ask you to write for free. I’ll pay two coins."

Still, she said nothing.

Was the offer too low? Jiang Han considered giving up.

Suddenly, she spoke softly, "What should I write?"

Her voice was cool yet melodious.

Jiang Han quickly handed her the paper and brush. "Write a poem."

She took them silently.

Jiang Han thought she was quite aloof.

After a moment’s thought, he said, "Write out 'Longing.'"

She swiftly wrote the title in elegant script.

Jiang Han continued, "Longing in Luoyang. The crickets cry in autumn by the golden well rail, thin frost chills the mat’s color."

The young woman paused, raising her head in surprise.

Jiang Han thought she hadn’t heard, so he repeated the lines.

She quickly resumed, writing as he dictated. Jiang Han continued, "A lonely lamp grows dim, thoughts verge on despair; drawing the curtain, gazing at the moon, only long sighs. The beauty is like a flower beyond the clouds. Above is the endless sky, below, the rippling green waters. The heavens are long, the road far, the soul flies in pain; dreams cannot reach the distant passes. Longing breaks the heart."

This was a famous poem by Li Bai, widely known in his era—a masterpiece.

Jiang Han believed that selling this poem to scholars would easily fetch at least a hundred taels of silver!

With his first pot of gold, his business could begin in earnest.

After the young woman finished writing, Jiang Han smiled and handed her two coins. "Thank you, Miss. We’re square."

She didn’t take the coins, still lost in the poem’s beauty. Raising her head, she asked, "Who are you giving this poem to?"

"Not to anyone—I'm selling it," Jiang Han replied, finding her agreeable and offering more explanation.

"Selling?" Her gaze was puzzled.

Jiang Han thought it no harm to tell her. He pointed at Cuiyun Court and raised his brows. "There’s a literary gathering inside today, hosted by some wealthy young lady. The topic is longing... I wrote this poem and plan to sell it at the entrance. Those wishing to attend will surely pay me for it."

She was dumbfounded. "Do you know who’s hosting the gathering?"

"I don’t, and it doesn’t matter. As long as I make money."

She opened her mouth, but said nothing.

Seeing her silence, Jiang Han remarked, "Thank you for writing. I need to sell my poem now, so I’ll take my leave."

But just then, she called out, "Wait."

Jiang Han turned. "Is there something else, Miss?"

She asked softly, "How much are you selling your poem for?"

"I plan to sell it for a hundred taels... If you want to cooperate, I’ll recite a poem, you transcribe it, and for every poem sold, I’ll pay you ten coins." Jiang Han considered that even a hundred taels might not be enough start-up capital; better to seize the chance and sell a few more poems.

"How many do you want to write?"

"Let’s start with three." Jiang Han reasoned that three hundred taels should suffice as seed money.

He truly intended to hawk poems at the entrance... The young woman seemed to envision him waving sheets of paper, flaunting them before Cuiyun Court.

After a pause, she whispered, "I’ll buy your poem."

Jiang Han was stunned. "You’ll buy it? Do you know how much it costs? That’s a full hundred taels!"

She frowned slightly, then, after a moment’s thought, said, "All the poems you write—I’ll buy them."

Jiang Han: ???