Chapter 281: What to Bring as a Meeting Gift?
Chapter 281: What to Bring as a Meeting Gift?
Song Yingxing ate a bowl of rice noodles and felt invigorated.
After a journey filled with dried rations and northern dishes he couldn’t adapt to, finding southern-style rice noodles here in Gaojia Village was utterly moving.
He was, for a moment, struck by a surge of sentimentality!
Just then, a mother and son entered the rice noodle shop—Gao San Niang and Gao Sanwa. They sat at a table next to Song Yingxing and ordered two bowls of noodles.
Gao Laba served them and, instead of returning to the counter, settled beside Gao Sanwa. “Sanwa, you’re just in time. Could you help Uncle Laba calculate the accounts for the past three days?”
Gao Sanwa smiled and replied, “Sure, no problem.”
Gao Laba presented his account book—a tangled mess. He couldn’t read or write; he recorded transactions solely through drawings. A single noodle bowl sold was a circle ⭕️, two bowls were two circles ⭕⭕️. A grain of rice purchased was an oval ◯, a bundle of bamboo chopsticks was a series of lines — — — —.
As soon as the account book was laid out, Song Yingxing inhaled sharply beside them: How could anyone make sense of these scribbles?
He watched Gao Sanwa pick up a pen and begin jotting down calculations on paper—addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division. In no time, the boy announced, “Uncle Laba, your expenditures over the past few days totaled one thousand five hundred thirty-two wen coins. Your income was three thousand two hundred thirty-two wen coins. That means your profit is one thousand seven hundred wen.”
Song Yingxing thought, “!!!”
He stole a glance at the boy’s paper. It was covered in symbols he couldn’t comprehend.
Song Yingxing frowned. First, in the county town, some child had baffled him with physics. Now, in Gaojia Village, another boy was flaunting advanced arithmetic. This place made the pressure feel enormous!
Early in the morning the next day, Song Yingxing was roused from his plastic bed by a loud “clunking sound” outside. He stretched, got up, and opened the window to witness an enormous, garishly colored giant train rumbling into the distance.
Song Yingxing thought, “!!!”
Two servants burst in from an adjacent room, panic-stricken. “Master, Master! A strange, giant machine passed by, making weird noises. It was terrifying!”
Song Yingxing snapped, “Calm down! It must be some special device built in Gaojia Village. We’ll study it gradually—we’ll uncover its principles.”
The servants forced themselves to settle.
Song Yingxing mused, “Today, I visit the school to request some books… but what should I bring as a meeting gift?”
The servants replied helplessly, “We’ve nearly exhausted our travel funds along the way. We lack any respectable gift.”
Song Yingxing furrowed his brow in thought.
The three descended the stairs. Song Yingxing sought directions to the school and noticed a fabric shop next door. He stepped inside—
And paused. The shopkeeper, oddly enough, was a young woman.
She wasn’t strikingly beautiful but possessed a gentle refinement—notably unlike a rural farmwife. Clearly educated, yet utterly unruffled, unlike the demure daughters of official families. She greeted Song Yingxing candidly, “May I help you, sir? We carry quality cotton cloth and ready-made cotton clothes. We also offer tailoring to your measurements. Prices are very reasonable!”
Song Yingxing privately wondered: Why does she give me an impression of a brothel girl?
He’d guessed correctly. This woman, Chunhong (a classic brothel name), was one of four brothel girls “bought outright” by Li Daoxuan. Assigned by Gao Yiye, she managed the fabric shop in Gaojia Village.
The shop was a cooperative founded by the village women. Previously mired in disorganization, it now flourished under Chunhong’s management—business boomed, accounts were orderly, everything ran smoothly.
The women bought cotton from the village treasury, wove cloth at home, and sold it at the shop. They also provided tailoring services, measuring customers for custom clothes. Their incomes surged considerably, boosting their influence within their households.
Song Yingxing said, “Apologies. I’m not here to buy clothes. I wondered if you could tell me the way to the school?”
Chunhong smiled, “The school? Head this direction… You’ll see an enormous five-story building with bright white walls. That’s it—impossible to miss.”
Song Yingxing said, “Thank you, young lady.”
He turned to leave just as another woman entered the shop—the woman he’d glimpsed at the noodle shop last night, Gao San Niang. Behind her, two laborers carried a battered weaving machine.
She hurried over to Chunhong. “Shopkeeper Chun, terrible news! My weaving machine broke. I brought it—can someone look at it? Can it be fixed?”
Chunhong answered reassuringly, “That’s simple. I’ll send word to the artisans’ well to fetch a woodworker—”
As they spoke, Song Yingxing darted suddenly to the loom’s side. He examined it left and right, then shook his head decisively. “This weaving machine is obsolete. Not worth repairing.” He addressed Gao San Niang, “Madam, you don’t strike me as impoverished. Why not commission a new machine?”
Gao San Niang blinked. “A new one?”
Song Yingxing nodded emphatically. “This style is inefficient. Jiangnan no longer uses these. Here—” He promptly pulled out paper and pen. “I’ll sketch a new, modern design. Take it to your woodworker.”
Right there, he began drawing—
Gao San Niang and Chunhong stared, bewildered. What kind of master is this? Sketching a weaving machine design on the spot? Was he just boasting?
But Song Yingxing was not bragging.
He was genuinely formidable.
He’d memorized every component of Jiangnan’s latest weaving machines. Drafting one was effortless. Swift, precise strokes soon brought the advanced loom to life on paper. Rice paper couldn’t capture intricate details, though. Explanatory notes were necessary—a bit tedious.
He blew the ink dry and handed Gao San Niang the drawing. “Show this to the woodworker. If he has questions, tell him to find me. Once built, if you struggle to operate it, come find me too.”
Gao San Niang carefully took the paper, baffled. Who is this man? Can I trust him?
A sudden confidence straightened Song Yingxing’s posture. My dilemma about the school gift is solved. Gift my knowledge. Offer what I know to gain knowledge I lack. A fair exchange. Perfect.
He drew himself up to full height, radiating newfound assurance. To the school—proceed!