The Overachieving Little Husband of the Top Scholar’s Household - Chapter 68: Hot Pot

After Du Yunse and Yun Cheng entered Qingfeng Academy to study, the house became quieter, but Qiu Huanian quickly found something new to do.

That day, Su Xinbai chatted with Qiu Huanian for a while about the books circulating in Xiangping Prefecture. A few days later, he sent an invitation, inviting Qiu Huanian to visit the bookshop.

Meng Yuanling had only recently begun learning to read and write and wasn’t very interested in such things, so he stayed home to look after the children and play with the cats. Qiu Huanian went out on his own.

The bookshop Su Xinbai invited Qiu Huanian to was not the same one Qiu Huanian had visited last autumn. It was likely the largest among the bookshops owned by the Zhu family, located near Qingfeng Academy, covering at least a thousand square meters. It was built in a courtyard layout, complete with a garden and a small lake.

At the very back of the courtyard, in a place customers couldn’t reach, amidst the overlapping shadows of bamboo, stood a delicate two-story building. The painted eaves and pillars were adorned with decorative patterns. Sitting on the second floor, looking out through the window, one could see a winding bridge and the garden.

The building was named Kuzhou Tower, taken from the phrase “The mountain of books has a path through diligent study, the sea of learning has no end and hard work is the boat.” The plaque and couplets at the entrance were all written by renowned calligraphers.

The second floor of the small building was spacious and unobstructed. In the center stood a long, broad desk several zhang in length, with piles of manuscripts neatly categorized.

Su Xinbai said to Qiu Huanian, “The scholars of Xiangping Prefecture submit their writings to the bookshop. If chosen by the shop, they can be printed and published, and the authors receive a copyediting fee.”

“These are manuscripts the Zhu family’s bookshop has received over the past few months. If you want to read something different, feel free to look through them.”

Qiu Huanian had never really looked into the ancient publishing industry. Listening to this, he realized that bookshops weren’t just printing houses or bookstores—they also acted as publishers. One shop served multiple functions.

Qiu Huanian noticed that all the manuscripts related to the imperial examination were stacked off to the side. It seemed Su Xinbai wasn’t very interested in them.

Knowing that Qiu Huanian was coming today, Su Xinbai had ordered that all the other types of manuscripts be brought out and laid on the desk for him to browse.

In ancient times, without phones or the internet, books were the most concentrated means of accessing large volumes of information. With so many manuscripts laid out before him, Qiu Huanian felt like he was connected to the web and read them with great interest.

The manuscripts that hadn’t yet been selected for publication by the bookshop were more varied in type and bolder in content.

Qiu Huanian saw at least a dozen strange tales. Some involved love between humans and ghosts, some between humans and demons; there were stories about ethics, horror and suspense, and even those deliberately comedic.

Some featured men and female demons, others women and male demons. Some were even bolder—threesomes, and even taboo brotherly love appeared. Although the wording was rich in ancient style and full of emotion, it was unmistakably erotic content.

Phrases like “a pear blossom bathed in spring rain,” “dewdrops blooming on a peony,” and “a winding path leading to a secluded place”—one couldn’t dwell too much on their full context.

Who said ancient people were conservative? Anyone who had read just two ancient novels wouldn’t dare say such a thing.

Although these strange tales were novel at first, after reading a few, one would realize they all followed one or two common tropes. Compared to modern web novels and TV dramas, the plots seemed crude and straightforward. After a while, Qiu Huanian lost interest.

Su Xinbai was reading something else nearby. When he saw Qiu Huanian put down those strange tales, a look of approval flashed in his eyes.

“Out of a thousand such books, maybe one is worth reading. But most are just people chasing trends for the copyediting fee. Read enough and you’ll see—they’re not worth the time.”

Qiu Huanian nodded and moved on to read manuscripts in other categories from this “publisher.”

What interested him most, unsurprisingly, were travelogues. However, there were very few travel manuscripts on the table—only four or five, and even those were vague and poorly written.

Ancient scholars traveled rarely, and travelogues didn’t sell as well as strange tales, so few people wrote them.

As for technical agricultural books, the kind Qiu Huanian was really hoping to find—not a single one appeared.

From the submissions received by the Zhu family bookshop, it was clear how books were currently distributed across genres in the market.

Qiu Huanian asked Su Xinbai about it, and Su Xinbai explained, “Every year the Imperial Book Repository in the capital compiles some agricultural books and presents them to His Majesty. No one in the common folk writes them.”

He had someone fetch the agricultural books compiled by the Imperial Book Repository, and before long a servant brought them over.

Qiu Huanian took a look and found that, while these books had their merits, they were clearly written for the scholar-official class. The language was difficult and obscure, with no accompanying illustrations. Even Qiu Huanian struggled to read them, let alone the farmers who could barely recognize a few characters.

“The books compiled by the Imperial Book Repository, once approved by His Majesty, are printed by all the bookshops. But only those trying to look cultured will buy them.”

Originally intended to develop agricultural production and spread farming techniques, these agricultural books ended up just flaunting their imperial label, placed high on the shelves of noble households. How ridiculous.

An idea stirred in Qiu Huanian’s mind. “Are the books printed by the Zhu family’s bookshop all selected by Young master Su?”

Su Xinbai shook his head. “If it were up to me, we might only publish one or two books a month. The books we print are chosen by the bookshop’s managers. I just come by when I have some spare time.”

“If Young master Su finds these books unsatisfactory, why not proactively seek out good ones?”

“How would I go about that?” Su Xinbai didn’t understand.

“Most people who submit manuscripts are after the copyediting fee. Of course they’ll write books that are easy to get accepted. The managers of the bookshop like strange tales, so that’s what people submit.”

“If Young master Su puts out the word, sets standards for the kinds of books and language styles you want, and offers a generous reward, wouldn’t people be motivated to write?”

“…Using money to lure people into writing manuscripts—it’s rather unrefined,” Su Xinbai said, still bound by the concerns of his upbringing.

Qiu Huanian shook his head with a smile. “People have to eat to live—what’s so improper about that? If Young Master Su can guide those with talent to apply their skills in the right place, instead of having to write shallow, trendy trifles just to make ends meet, wouldn’t that be a good thing?”

“You have the bookshop, the money, and unique insight. Who else is more suitable than you to do this?”

Su Xinbai was stunned for a moment, then turned to look out the window. The charcoal fire in the room was burning warmly, but outside the half-open window, the garden remained bleak. A cold crow skimmed across the icy surface of the water and flapped away into the distance.

“I never thought of that before… I’ll have to think it over.”

Qiu Huanian didn’t try to persuade him further, only said with meaning, “Whether or not you act, people should have a goal—know what they want to do, what they should do—only then can it be said they’ve truly lived.”

A goal…

Su Xinbai’s long, slender lashes trembled slightly, concealing the flicker in his clear eyes.

As he looked back in a daze, he realized that he had already been living in a fog for so long.

Life had returned to calm. The ambitions and dreams from before—was it still possible to pick them up again now?

…

Just how much impact that conversation in the bookshop had on Su Xinbai, Qiu Huanian didn’t yet know.

Nowadays, he spent his days at home either playing with the cat, painting, reading, or chatting. On fine days, he would go out for a stroll, and when he thought of a new dish, he’d ask Aunt Qiao to try making it.

At night, when everything was quiet, he would calculate when Du Yunse would have a day off, imagine what Du Yunse might be doing, and drift into sleep with a smile.

Until one day, Su Xinbai came to visit, bringing the steward of one of his dowry estates with him. Only then did Qiu Huanian stretch his somewhat slack muscles and return to proper business.

Su Xinbai and Qiu Huanian’s relationship had warmed quickly. Although Su Xinbai always wore a cold expression, judging from the frequency of his invitations and visits to Qiu Huanian, it was clear how pleased he was with his new friend.

The steward’s surname was Deng, and he was in his fifties. Most people around him called him Old Deng. He had been managing the estate for over ten years.

Knowing the estate was to be entrusted to someone new this year, Old Deng brought along his son and eldest grandson so that the new master could get to know them.

Old Deng presented the accounts from the estate for the past few years. Su Xinbai wasn’t much interested in those and handed them directly to Qiu Huanian.

The estate was forty mu in total—thirty mu of farmland, five mu of plum trees, and the rest residential. Where there was a hot spring, a house had been built, usually left empty, for the owner to visit during leisure time.

Of the thirty mu of farmland, ten were of top quality and twenty of medium quality, all planted with rice. In recent years, the average grain output was fifty dan, roughly equivalent to fifty taels of silver.

The five mu of plum trees were in peak fruiting condition. In summer and autumn, they produced four to five thousand jin of plums, also worth about fifty taels of silver.

Tenant farmers on the estate could live in the houses rent-free, didn’t have to pay for seeds or fertilizer, and took twenty percent of the harvest.

In other words, this small forty-mu estate brought in seventy to eighty taels of silver a year for Su Xinbai.

According to Su Xinbai, he had around ten such small estates among his dowry, three large estates, as well as several shops, silver stores, and taverns. Just the annual income from these properties exceeded several thousand taels.

More than half of this dowry was provided by the Zhu family and handed to the Su family, becoming Su Xinbai’s personal fortune.

To marry a ge’er from a second-rank official’s household, the Zhu family had clearly spared no expense. But they also reaped enough benefits. With the provincial administration commissioner as an in-law, their business in Liao Prefecture had only grown larger.

It was the first time Qiu Huanian had heard all this, and he inevitably thought of his two dou of sorghum. He shook his head with a smile but didn’t take it too much to heart.

With the efforts of his whole family, he would surely build a better life.

Qiu Huanian quickly finished reading through the accounts and had a good grasp of the situation. He looked up at Old Deng standing in the center of the room.

Old Deng had been quite relaxed and confident, but under Qiu Huanian’s gaze, he gradually started to feel uneasy.

Who was this ge’er anyway? He hadn’t heard of him before. Could he really spot something?

“Huanian, is there anything wrong?” Su Xinbai asked.

Qiu Huanian shook his head and said to Old Deng, “You all go sit in the back for a bit. We’ll call you if anything comes up.”

Old Deng looked at Qiu Huanian’s flawless smile and grew even more anxious. After managing the estate for over ten years, this was the first time his palms started to sweat.

Old Deng and the others were led to the back room by Aunt Qiao for tea and rest. Only then did Qiu Huanian point out the problems with the estate to Su Xinbai.

“The grain yield from the top and medium-quality fields is listed separately, but the fertilizer use is the same. That’s illogical. There must be something fishy in the inflated fertilizer expenses.”

“Also, apart from the rice fields and the plum orchard, there are five mu unaccounted for. It’s unlikely they’re all taken up by buildings. They should include vegetable plots and poultry or livestock. Yet none of that income is in the accounts.”

“These records are incomplete. By my estimate, about twenty taels of silver are being concealed each year.”

Su Xinbai furrowed his handsome long brows.

He didn’t really care about that bit of silver, but this estate was one he had picked out for Qiu Huanian under the impression that there was nothing wrong with it. Now that he discovered something amiss, he felt a bit embarrassed.

Su Xinbai pursed his lips. “I’m not very good at managing family property. Before I got married, I only learned a little about it. Every year, I would go over the accounts with the estate head and stewards, and as long as they more or less matched, I didn’t look into it further. I truly didn’t expect there would be so many hidden details.”

Qiu Huanian smiled and said, “If one hasn’t lived in the village, few would know these things. The estate head covered it up cleverly, so it’s no wonder you didn’t notice.”

In fact, Old Deng hadn’t embezzled that much. On the estates of high-ranking and noble families, where the owners didn’t understand farming, there were probably similar problems everywhere.

But Qiu Huanian intended to use this estate to test and improve cotton planting methods. To prevent the tenant farmers from falsifying data or skimming profits—thus skewing the experimental results—he had to enforce strict standards from the very beginning, setting an example.

Su Xinbai let out a breath. “Huanian, I’ll hand the management of this estate completely over to you. I also need to sort out my other properties soon. Money is secondary—I just can’t let people make fools of me like this.”

Despite having only known Qiu Huanian for a short time, Su Xinbai had already found himself involved in a lot more matters again.

Now more familiar with Su Xinbai, Qiu Huanian joked, “‘Money is secondary’—I wonder when I’ll be able to say that as easily.”

A trace of a relaxed smile appeared in Su Xinbai’s eyes. “Once Young Master Du passes the imperial examination and receives fifteen mu of farmland from the court, plus exemption from taxes on fifty mu of land, you can buy another ten or so mu yourself. That would make a small estate.”

“Then you can buy a few loyal servants, use their names to conduct business, and once your shops and businesses grow, you won’t be short on money.”

Su Xinbai knew that Qiu Huanian was far more adept at managing affairs than he was. Though young, he was shrewd and experienced, not at all like a small-town-born young man.

“Pass the exam…”

The provincial exam, held once every three years in the autumn and commonly known as the Autumn Trial, was the true stepping stone into the scholarly class.

The next Autumn Trial was this fall—less than eight months away. Not a long time, but not short either.

Qiu Huanian looked toward the door. At some point, snow had started falling again in the courtyard. The maid Su Xinbai had brought, afraid the noble person might get cold, had let down the bright red flowered curtain, cutting off the snowy view outside.

“I wonder what Yunshe is… ahem.” Qiu Huanian remembered Su Xinbai was still present and awkwardly fell silent.

A faint trace of imperceptible envy flickered in the depths of Su Xinbai’s eyes, and he kindly changed the subject. “It’s snowing again. I wonder how many more snowfalls before spring arrives.”

Qiu Huanian calculated the days. “In a few days, it’ll be the Dragon Raising Its Head festival on the second day of the second lunar month. Then comes the Awakening of Insects, followed by the Spring Equinox and Qingming. Then spring will be in full bloom.”

“Oh right, isn’t Young Master Zhu due to return soon?”

“According to his last letter, it should be in these few days.” Thinking of the snow outside, Su Xinbai fell silent.

“When he returns, he’ll probably pick a day when Young Master Du is off duty to host a banquet for you all.”

Su Xinbai didn’t say whether he would attend, and Qiu Huanian didn’t press the issue.

Su Xinbai had always kept his distance from his husband, but Qiu Huanian faintly felt that he didn’t truly dislike Zhu Jingcheng.

The snow fell harder. Qiu Huanian asked Aunt Qiao to bring out the copper pot he had found while out shopping with Meng Yuanling the day before and decided to make hotpot.

The copper pot was made entirely of brass, with a central tube for burning charcoal and a surrounding circular trough—quite similar to a traditional Beijing-style hotpot. Qiu Huanian had been pleasantly surprised when he found it.

It meant he could have hotpot now.

Qiu Huanian gave Aunt Qiao detailed instructions:

“Go buy a few large bones and fish bones, fry them in oil, and then simmer them into a broth. After filtering out the bones and spines, add finely shredded and washed pickled mustard greens, some spice mix, and cook it into a sauerkraut(cabbage pickle) base.”

“For hotpot ingredients, weigh out a jin of lamb and slice it thin. Make a plate of fish balls, select tender corn, winter melon, and cabbage—cut and plate them—and add a dish of softened vermicelli.”

“For the dipping sauce, we need leek flower paste, sesame paste, and fragrant oil, with a little sugar to enhance the flavor. Make a small bowl for each person and season it accordingly.”

…

After Aunt Qiao memorized the instructions and left, Su Xinbai said, “Huanian, you really have a talent for food.”

He had long grown tired of the overly refined and delicate dishes served at noble households. None of them stirred his appetite like Qiu Huanian’s simple descriptions.

Qiu Huanian smiled and said, “It’s snowing outside anyway. Why don’t you stay and eat before you leave? You brought a lot of attendants—have them prepare another table for themselves and eat in the back.”

Su Xinbai lightly cleared his throat and replied with dignity, “Very well.”

Creamy Frost slipped in under the curtain from outside, meowing twice before jumping onto Qiu Huanian’s lap, sitting upright with both legs neatly together, elegant as ever. Qiu Huanian looked at the cat, then at Su Xinbai, and suddenly burst into laughter.

Su Xinbai looked confused. Qiu Huanian squinted with laughter, shaking his head repeatedly, but gave no explanation.

While Aunt Qiao prepared the food, Qiu Huanian dealt with the estate matters. He summoned Old Deng and his two grandsons to the study, took out paper and brush, and asked questions while writing.

How many people lived on the estate in total, their ages and genders; how many times fertilizer was applied each month and how long it took each time; what the estate people usually ate; what work the children who couldn’t yet farm did…

At first, Old Deng could answer everything thoroughly, but as the questions went on, he gradually became flustered, a layer of cold sweat forming on his forehead.

Each time his answers contradicted earlier statements, Qiu Huanian would deliberately pause, flip back through his notes, and directly point it out.

For example, if the estate folks mainly ate wild greens, why weren’t the children out foraging for them? Where did the wild greens come from? If it took half a day to apply fertilizer once, why did the records show three days’ worth?…

Sometimes, just as Old Deng was about to come up with a good excuse, Qiu Huanian would cut him off and ask his son or grandson to answer instead, making Old Deng scratch his ears and cheeks in frustration.

Throughout the entire process, Qiu Huanian didn’t say a single harsh word. He maintained a gentle temper and a pleasant expression, yet Old Deng felt that this unknown young man was more terrifying than the fierce stewards serving the masters in the Zhu residence.

With such a good appearance, living in such a fine house, dressed impeccably, and being friends with the young madam, he was obviously a rich young master—so how could he know so much about farming? He was impossible to fool!

Su Xinbai sat next to Qiu Huanian, not saying a word, which only added to the psychological pressure on Old Deng.

Finally, just before Old Deng broke down, Qiu Huanian said lightly, “Steward Deng’s bookkeeping is too muddled. Go back and review it carefully. Next time I go to inspect the estate, I want to see new ledgers.”

Su Xinbai added, “I can overlook the past, but if you’re still muddled after today, we’ll get someone else to run the estate.”

Old Deng let out a breath of relief and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. He knew there would be no more bluffing from now on and quickly agreed, hoping at least to keep his position.

After Old Deng and his family left, Su Xinbai frowned and asked, “Wouldn’t it be better to just replace him right away?”

If Qiu Huanian hadn’t said he wanted to see new accounts next time, Su Xinbai had already planned to replace the steward directly.

Qiu Huanian said, “He’s managed the estate for over ten years. If we replace him now, we might not find someone better immediately. Just wait and see—people like him, once brought under control, often work harder to redeem themselves.”

Su Xinbai thought for a moment, then shook his head, saying, “Learning all this is still too difficult for me.”

“You don’t have to learn it. No one knows everything. Since you have loyal servants and stewards and no real interest in business, it’s enough to just keep the properties running smoothly.”

Qiu Huanian said with a smile, standing up and lazily stretching, “I think I smell the sour cabbage bone broth hot pot base. Let’s go eat in the inner courtyard—the food tastes best when it’s just cooked.”

The rich aroma of bone broth and pickled cabbage blended with the rising steam, drifting in from the kitchen next to the study and making mouths water.

Qiu Huanian lifted the thick curtain of the study door and quickly walked into the courtyard. The snow was falling heavily now, dusting his eyelashes with white. The maids hurried to raise oil-paper umbrellas to shield him and Su Xinbai from the snow.

Granny Qiao came out carrying the finished hot pot. The brass pot emitted thick white steam, rising amidst the snowy scene. The milky-white bone broth was still bubbling, and the black-red charcoal in the central chimney was clearly visible.

“Come on, it’s time to eat!” Meng Yuanling, who had been waiting in the kitchen, quickly called out to them.

The group braved the snow to the flower hall. The table was already laid out with ingredients ready for hot pot. Granny Qiao had carved a rabbit pattern into the winter melon, making it look translucent and adorable.

Qiu Huanian taught everyone how to place the ingredients into the boiling pot, cook them for anywhere from a few seconds to a few minutes, then dip them in sauce before eating.

It was Su Xinbai’s first time seeing this kind of eating. At first, he felt a little stiff, but gradually the lively atmosphere infected him, and he started dipping food on his own. By the end, even one jin of lamb wasn’t quite enough for them.

Su Xinbai, still unsatisfied, said, “Next time, I’ll bring some things to cook in the pot.”

The phrase “cook in the pot” coming from someone as cold and elegant as Su Xinbai sounded delightfully awkward.

Qiu Huanian teased, “If Young Master Su wants to cook hot pot, couldn’t you do it anywhere? Why wait till next time to come here?”

Su Xinbai shook his head. “This kind of meal is only fun with a crowd.”

Su Xinbai stayed at Qiu Huanian’s house until it was getting dark before heading back.

The Zhu residence was vast, with four or five branches of the family living together—dozens of masters in all. When Su Xinbai returned, the servants were all very respectful, and people from other branches greeted him with pleasant words.

Su Xinbai knew he was the “golden Buddha” the Zhu family had invited back. His life wasn’t unpleasant, but it wasn’t truly satisfying either.

He walked all the way back to his own courtyard and found the study lit. He summoned a little servant who swept the courtyard to ask.

“Reporting to Young Master, the eldest master has returned.”

“When?”

“Just after noon.”

It had been half a day since noon, and no one had come to summon him, the young madam. Everyone had grown used to this.

Su Xinbai lowered his gaze, his long eyelashes brushing off the falling snow. He replied with a soft “Mm,” and said, “Take good care of the young master.”

With that, he walked straight to the main room to change and rest.

Zhu Jingcheng heard the noise outside and paused his hand that was flipping through account books but didn’t get up to go out.

Better not go be an eyesore or ask for trouble…