The Fearless Husband - Chapter 11

Chapter 11 — The First Bucket of Gold Finally Earned…

At the first light of dawn the next morning, Yu Qingfa was already awake. He clutched his nose with one hand and carried a bucket of manure water in the other, crouching behind a wall, waiting for Yu Qinglong to pass by so he could dump it on him. But no matter how long he waited, Yu Qinglong never showed up—nor did anyone else from the main household.

He had waited for nothing, and later even got scolded by his second uncle for loitering around like a fool.

He didn’t argue back, just went home with his face looking like that of a ghost.

Meanwhile, Yu Qinglong had long since arrived at Doctor Mo’s house. He’d insisted on going by himself, but his family refused to let him, so his eldest brother accompanied him, carrying the water buckets. As a result, he arrived even earlier than usual.

He swept the courtyard as usual, then began his lessons with Doctor Mo. The old man was teaching Liang Mo to read, so he had Yu Qinglong join in as well.

Together, they recited, “Men at their birth are naturally good…”

Liang Mo could already recite half of it by heart!

Doctor Mo had chosen the Three Character Classic for a reason—not just because it was the traditional primer for children, but because Liang Mo already knew it. That way, the boy could supervise and correct Yu Qinglong’s studies when he was too busy himself.

Ridiculous.

But facts were facts—though Yu Qinglong recognized every word, he couldn’t recite the full text smoothly yet. Still, it wasn’t too bad; Doctor Mo only made him memorize a little each day.

From then on, the Mo family courtyard often echoed with two voices—one small and soft, still tinged with a child’s lilt, and one deeper and a bit rougher—reciting lines of the Three Character Classic.

Yu Qinglong memorized a hundred characters a day. Once he finished, he’d study herbs, learning to match their written names to real plants. Usually, it was little Liang Mo who helped him with that part. As for the more advanced lessons in medical theory, Doctor Mo hadn’t started teaching him yet. He wanted Yu Qinglong to first recognize enough characters to take proper notes—so the learning would stick. Yu Qinglong agreed with that logic, so that’s how he studied.

He spent every morning learning at the Mo house, and returned home at noon. After lunch, he would review the morning’s lessons, then help around the house—washing dirty clothes, watering the garden, sweeping the yard. He never picked or refused work; whatever he could do, he did. Once chores were done, he’d start working on his crafts.

Thankfully, the household had a brother trained in carpentry. The little boat and the miniature well he made for Liang Mo had both used leftover scraps from his second brother’s workshop. Without that, he wouldn’t have had the right materials—the branches he could gather himself were far too rough to produce anything so delicate.

That day, Yu Qingye returned from town and found his younger brother fiddling with some of the wood pieces he had brought home. “Little brother, when did you start playing around with these?”

Yu Qinglong replied, “Second Brother, I used some of the scraps you brought back to make a few small things. That’s alright, right?”

Yu Qingye smiled. “Of course it is. I told you before, didn’t I? Those are all leftovers from the big pieces—we keep them for whenever they might come in handy. If you see something you like, take it. I even brought back a few more this time.”

The trip to town was over twenty li one way—not close by any means—and he had carried the wood back on his own shoulders. Yu Qinglong noticed that among the load were several neatly carved chopsticks, all polished smooth and made from untreated wood—simple but of fine quality.

After a moment, Yu Qinglong slapped his forehead. “Oh, I almost forgot something important!”

He ran inside and came back holding a small embroidered pouch. “Here. This is from Qiu Ge’er. He said when you went to town looking for him, his father covered his mouth to stop him from speaking and wouldn’t let him out. He wants you not to give up on him—that no matter what, he’ll wait for you.”

Yu Qingye’s fingers trembled slightly as he touched the pouch, caressing it as if it were the face of a beloved.

Yu Qinglong thought his brother would be happy, but instead, the usually lively man just stared at the pouch. He neither smiled nor wept—only sighed after a long while and put it away carefully.

“Second Brother, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Yu Qingye said quietly. “By the way, I heard you got into a fight with Yu Qingfa while I was gone. Were you badly hurt?”

“Not really. It’s almost healed now.”

“That’s good. But remember, don’t be afraid of them. If something happens again, you have me and Eldest Brother. Still, take care of yourself, alright?”

“Got it, Second Brother. Oh—should I invite Qiu Ge’er over sometime?”

“Better not,” Yu Qingye said quickly. “If people found out, it’d cause trouble for him. I’ll go put these things away. Go on and play.”

Yu Qinglong nodded and didn’t press further, though his gut told him something was weighing heavily on his brother’s mind.

Later, Yu Qingye went to wash his dirty clothes, then ate a bit of food before sitting down on the stone stool in the back garden. He took the embroidered pouch back out and opened it. Inside wasn’t incense, but a tiny handkerchief embroidered with two small fish circling each other, swimming together in a loop.

When he saw it, his heart felt as though a great stone had been placed on top of it—but that stone was honey-soaked. The sweetness was unbearable, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to let it go.

That day, when he’d gone to see Bai Wanqiu, they hadn’t exchanged a single word. But soon after, Bai Wanqiu’s father, Bai Lishan, had come to him with a condition: he would give them three months.

In those three months, if Yu Qingye could save enough to hold a proper wedding and provide Bai Wanqiu a home of his own—something with a roof and walls to keep the wind and rain out—then they would agree to the marriage.

Otherwise, they would marry Bai Wanqiu to someone else.

Three months. Yet Yu Qingye was still just an apprentice; he wouldn’t even finish his training for another year. He could hardly earn a single coin right now. The workshop already provided food and lodging, which was generous enough, and even if he managed to make small items to sell, he might only get a few coppers at best—and even that wasn’t guaranteed.

But for a decent wedding? He’d need at least five taels of silver.

Five taels—five thousand wen—in three months? Impossible. But without it, Bai Wanqiu couldn’t marry him.

If Bai Wanqiu didn’t love him, perhaps it wouldn’t sting so much. But he did. They’d been promised since childhood. Yu Qingye had known since the age of eight that Bai Wanqiu would one day be his spouse. He had never imagined things could turn out otherwise.

In the front shed, Yu Qinglong was waiting to show his brother what he had made, but after waiting a long while with no sign of him, he carried his work to the back. “Second Brother, why are you sitting here staring off into space?”

Yu Qingye quickly tucked the little handkerchief away. “Nothing. What’s up?”

“I wanted to show you something,” Yu Qinglong said, holding up the item in his hands. “Tell me if you think it could sell in town.”

Yu Qingye blinked in surprise when he saw it move—it was a tiny wooden waterwheel.

As for the little well Fang Shu had asked for, Yu Qinglong had already finished that the day before and delivered it to the Mo family, in case Fang Shu arrived early. He’d even made sure Liang Mo understood—money in hand first, then the item.

Leaving the transaction to a child wasn’t ideal, but for now, it was the only option.

If this kind of “business” worked out long-term, he’d ask his teacher for help next time.

“Have you seen something like this before?” Yu Qingye asked, studying it in astonishment.

“This?” Yu Qinglong paused. “I found it by accident in one of my master’s books. Thought it looked fun, so I tried making one myself. What do you think? Could it sell?”

“I doubt it,” Yu Qingye said. “It’s very well made, but our town’s not that big. People either save their money or spend it on meat. The rich families who could afford trinkets like this are few, and most of them think toys are a waste of time. Why the sudden idea to sell things anyway?”

“I just wanted to see if I could earn a little extra,” Yu Qinglong said honestly. The nights had been cold, the rustle of straw in his thin quilt kept him awake, and the diet—endless porridge and soup—was starting to wear on him. Eggs were a luxury, meat a myth. He’d been here half a month and hadn’t so much as smelled a hint of oil or fat.

“Maybe,” Yu Qingye mused, “if you added some lucky phrases on it?”

“Lucky phrases?”

“Yeah. People love those. I can carve them, but I can’t read, so I wouldn’t know what to carve.”

Phrases like “Many sons bring fortune,” or “Longevity and prosperity,” were common—but none of them could write them down.

“I can ask my master,” Yu Qinglong said quickly. “I’ll have him write a few for me. You can copy them. Even if we only sell each piece for ten wen, it’s just a bit of time and labor—hardly any cost.”

It was, frankly, the most low-cost small business he could think of.

He silently thanked his grandparents for all those childhood “interest classes” they’d paid for out of guilt. They’d signed him up for crafts, robotics, puzzles—he’d spent half his childhood building and taking apart toys. Now it was finally paying off.

Yu Qingye, desperate for money himself, agreed. “Alright then. Go ask tomorrow, and I’ll carve what he writes. Ask him what phrases would sell best, too.”

Yu Qinglong promised he would.

The next morning, he was up early again.

Summer was nearing; daylight came faster, the trees were greener, and the soybean sprouts in the fields had already broken through the soil.

He plucked a few willow leaves as he walked, thinking of the day ahead—today was when Fang Shu, his golden patron, would be coming. His steps felt lighter than ever.

He’d wrapped the little waterwheel carefully in a piece of gray cloth, hoping that if Fang Shu liked it, he might sell that too.

But before he could even reach the Mo house, a voice grated behind him.

“Yu Qinglong, where are you going?”

It was Hu Bo.

Yu Qinglong didn’t even bother replying. He just made a face at him and kept walking, ignoring the man’s repeated shouts.

When he arrived and saw the ox cart outside, his heart leapt—Fang Shu was already there!

He could barely contain his excitement—but, truth be told, Fang Shu was just as thrilled.

The moment they saw each other, both froze. Neither spoke. Instead, they exchanged an awkward smile before looking away.

For Fang Shu, these five days had crawled by. He’d spent them lying on his bed, thinking endlessly about that miniature well. Before dawn today, he’d finally hitched the ox cart and rushed over. The two villages were barely three li apart—close, yet it had felt like an eternity.

He had already received the little well from Liang Mo, but he hadn’t left yet—partly because he needed another acupuncture session, and partly because there were things he wanted to ask Yu Qinglong.

Conveniently, Yu Qinglong also had something to ask him. But given their identities, there was no way they could just talk openly in broad daylight. One careless word, and not only he, but also his family—and even Doctor Mo’s household—could suffer for it.

Just as both of them were quietly fretting, Mo Xiaoning came out.

“Big Sister Mo,” Yu Qinglong said quickly, “could you do me a favor?”

“Go ahead.”

He handed her the cloth bundle. “My second brother and I made this. We wanted to add some auspicious words, but I don’t know enough yet. Could you maybe ask Scholar Fang for suggestions?”

Mo Xiaoning smiled. “Of course. Go help Mo’er with his reading. I’ll ask him for you.”

Yu Qinglong nodded and glanced toward Fang Shu—only to have Liang Mo sneak up and tug his sleeve. “Uncle Qinglong, come with me.”

He followed the boy into a narrow passageway behind the house, beside a few chicken coops. Liang Mo cupped his small hands around his mouth and whispered, “Uncle Fang left fifty wen here for you.”

Yu Qinglong’s heart jumped. He reached down—and sure enough, there was a small pouch, heavy with coins.

He slipped it into his chest, his pulse pounding. He hadn’t felt this tense even when he first arrived in this world.

“Thank you, Mo’er,” he whispered. “Next time I’ll bring you something delicious.”

Liang Mo grinned. “No need, Uncle Qinglong. Uncle Fang already brought me sweets today—look!”

He pointed proudly to a tiny wooden jar hanging at his waist, filled with oat candies dusted in sesame seeds.

He poured one out and offered it up. “Here, Uncle Qinglong. You have one too.”

Yu Qinglong didn’t hesitate. He popped it in his mouth—and the sweetness nearly made him tear up.

How long had it been since he’d eaten a piece of candy?

He ruffled Liang Mo’s hair. “Thank you, Mo’er. You’ve really helped your uncle today.”

He would have to find a better way to communicate with Fang Shu from now on—he couldn’t keep relying on a child like this.

Just then, Liang Mo added, “Oh, Uncle Qinglong—Uncle Fang said, if you make more fun things, you can bring them to him. If he likes them, he’ll buy them too.”

Yu Qinglong’s eyes widened. A living god!

Heaven truly had eyes! Someone like Fang Shu deserved to be handsome, young, a scholar, and heir to a wealthy family!

Who said he should be beaten? Whoever said that—he’d do the beating instead!

Fang Shu was his god of fortune!

At that same moment, Fang Shu himself was equally thrilled.

After all, Mo Xiaoning had just shown him the little wooden waterwheel—and he was absolutely enchanted by it! He wanted one too!