Chapter 295: No Regrets

Chapter 295: Chapter 295: No Regrets

It was just about time to finish work for the day. Ji Xuelan and Widow Xie put down their tasks and came over from the back courtyard.

The two of them lavished praise on the paper Ji Mingfang had written on, even though neither could tell if it was good or bad.

Ji Mingfang was happier today than he had ever been. Flustered by the compliments, he made up a random excuse and headed home first, looking as if he were fleeing in a panic.

After he left, Widow Xie didn’t linger either.

But Ji Xuelan wasn’t in a hurry to leave. She took Ji Huan’s hand, her eyes suddenly turning red.

"Wan, thank you... Really, thank you so much..."

Ji Huan knew what she was talking about.

"There’s no need for that between us."

"No, you don’t understand... I haven’t seen Ming Fang this happy in years."

He had been happy the day he started working at the workshop, but anyone with eyes could see the difference between that happiness and the heartfelt joy he felt today.

Ji Xuelan didn’t know how Ji Huan had managed it.

The two of them had gone to town together that morning. Having guessed a little of what was going on, Ji Xuelan’s mind was elsewhere all morning. If Widow Xie hadn’t been there to keep an eye on her, she would have made several major mistakes.

When the two finally returned from town, Ji Xuelan wanted to ask but didn’t dare. She held it in until she was on her way home at noon.

Halfway there, it was Ji Mingfang who spoke first.

He told her that his leg was completely beyond healing.

His expression was calm, and it wasn’t the kind of peace he was forcing himself to show.

Instead, it was Ji Xuelan who was overcome with sadness, turning away to cry.

She silently cursed the heavens for being so blind. Ming Fang had endured so much bitterness and suffering; why couldn’t he be given just a sliver of hope? Even a tiny bit would have been enough.

Ji Mingfang ended up comforting her for a long time. When Ji Xuelan finally composed herself, she felt both relieved and puzzled.

She didn’t know what had happened during their half-day in town, but it seemed Ji Mingfang had truly let go of the burden he had carried for so many years.

That was until Ji Mingfang revealed his plan to save money and study.

"Sister, I’ve done the math. At twenty cents a day, that’s six hundred cents a month. I’ll give half to the family and keep half for myself. That way, in a year, I can save at least three taels. After two or three years, I can attend the village school. I won’t study for long—just a year or two to learn all the characters and understand their meanings. Then I’ll leave and continue to study on my own while working at home."

As he said this, his eyes shone, and his whole being radiated with life. He wanted to study not for the sake of the imperial examinations, but simply because of his heartfelt passion for it.

"If you hadn’t guided him, he wouldn’t have known what path to take... You gave him a wage and even had Dabao teach him how to write. I really don’t know how..."

Ji Huan interrupted Ji Xuelan’s words of gratitude.

"Cousin, there’s really no need. I didn’t actually help much. This path was always in his heart, just shrouded in fog. Now that the fog has cleared and he can see his way forward, it’s a joyous occasion for everyone. As for how he’ll walk this path and how far he’ll go, that’s still up to him.

And having Dabao teach him is actually good for Dabao, too. He doesn’t have any playmates and is always cooped up in the house. If he develops an introverted personality, it’ll be a problem later on. I’m planning to send him to the village school next year, so it’s essential for him to get used to being around people beforehand. Besides, he gets to satisfy his craving to be a little teacher. He’s happy about it too."

The not-so-happy Dabao: "..."

After seeing Ji Xuelan off, Ji Huan ruffled Dabao’s hair, then took his right hand and began to massage his wrist. "Are you tired? It must be sore."

Dabao’s sour expression softened slightly, but he still squeezed out two words with a hint of disdain: "He’s stupid."

Ji Huan pinched his cheek. "You little rascal, don’t talk about him like that. He’s my cousin, which makes him your cousin too. Weren’t your first attempts just chicken scratch? Did I ever show you any disdain? Be more patient. First, teach him how to pronounce the words, then how to write them, and then explain the meaning clearly. You did a great job today. You remembered everything I told you, and your teaching was quite convincing. Keep up the good work tomorrow."

Dabao pouted. "I was faster than him."

Ji Huan didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, defeated by his competitive spirit.

"Alright, alright, Dabao is the best! It’s too late to cook anything else tonight, so we’ll just have noodles. Tomorrow, I’ll make you something delicious to reward our amazing little teacher, how does that sound?"

Dabao turned his head to the side, a little awkwardly proud, and finally fell silent.

Once the meal was ready, Ji Huan went to the earthen hut to deliver food to the vagabond as usual.

She had actually considered just giving the vagabond some grain and letting him cook for himself. It would save her the trouble of running back and forth.

But on second thought, it seemed a bit wasteful for him to cook for just one person. Making too little wouldn’t be enough, and making too much would go to waste. In the end, she decided against it.

When she arrived at the hut and set down the food basket, she was about to leave when the vagabond called out to her, handing her two books.

One was the sample book, and the other was...

Ji Huan’s brow furrowed slightly. She put down the books, grabbed his wrist, and enclosed his five fingers with her other hand, rotating it at several angles.

"How does it feel? Any stretching or discomfort?"

She hadn’t expected the vagabond to have actually finished copying the book.

Copying it wasn’t a huge feat in itself, as there weren’t that many words to begin with.

The crucial part was that the characters looked as if they were written by someone with perfectly healthy hands. You could hardly tell the difference without looking closely.

And then there was the script style.

Ji Huan had seen the marks he’d drawn in the courtyard with a tree branch and judged that his natural handwriting style, when healthy, was the "iron hook, silver stroke" type—seemingly wild and powerful, but actually profound and restrained.

But Ji Huan had told him that book-copying had to be done in a standard, proper script.

The vagabond had remembered. Now, the entire book didn’t bear a single trace of his own style.

This was incredibly difficult to do. He must have had to exert an immense amount of control over his hand while writing.

"How many times have I told you? A moderate amount of work is fine, but you can’t overdo it. Why won’t you listen?"

The vagabond’s gaze fell on her hands on his wrist. His eyelashes flickered, but he didn’t argue.

Ji Huan was both angry and helpless. She wanted to find the leftover medicinal packs to give him a hot compress, but the moment she let go of his wrist, the vagabond grabbed her right hand.

"There’s no stretching and no discomfort. You... don’t need to worry. I know my limits. I only write a few pages a day."

’It’s good that you know your limits, but...’

Ji Huan gestured to their clasped hands. "Can you let go now?"

The vagabond’s hands were huge, like cattail-leaf fans, and covered in calluses. Ji Huan’s hand was completely enveloped in his palm. It was a bit painful where the calluses pressed into her skin, and it gave her a strange, indescribable feeling.

She tried to pull away but couldn’t move.

The vagabond glanced at her, the corners of his mouth lifting in a tiny arc. He paused for a moment before slowly relaxing his grip.

When he saw Ji Huan pull her hand back and unconsciously rub it behind her back, the newly formed arc on his lips suddenly fell, showing a faint tendency to droop even further.

"Sorry."

The word was stiff, sounding anything but apologetic.

However, Ji Huan didn’t pay any mind to this subtle shift in his mood.

"It’s fine. When people get anxious, they don’t think about such things."

Ji Huan attributed his hand-grabbing to a moment of urgency. The vagabond’s face remained taut as he said nothing.

Ji Huan opened the copied book and flipped through it, praising it as she looked.

"To be able to write like this with an injured hand in such a short time is amazing. If I’d known, I would have had you teach my cousin... But no, you’ll be leaving soon..."

The vagabond’s lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but he changed his mind before speaking, only asking Ji Huan to continue bringing him books.

Ji Huan nodded. Although it had taken him nearly a month to copy this one book, he was idle anyway. And since he wouldn’t say when he was leaving, it was good to give him something to do.

"As long as you continue to know your limits, I’ll keep getting work for you from the bookshop. It’ll be good for you to save some money for your travels..."

The vagabond corrected her, "The money is for you."

’Isn’t that the same thing? If the money goes to me, I’ll still have to prepare travel funds for you when you leave.’

She deliberately provoked him, "Fine, then. All the money you earn from copying books from now on will be mine. Don’t you regret it."

The vagabond gazed into her eyes. "I won’t regret it."

Ji Huan was surprised. She never expected that this vagabond, who looked so fierce and gave off such a cold, unfeeling vibe, was actually someone who knew how to show gratitude.

It left her feeling a little flustered, unsure of how to respond.

"Ahem, well... we’ll talk about it later. You should eat first."