Chapter Sixteen: The Path to Prosperity

"Feng Yuan, I'm back!"

Feng Yuan was writing inside the house when Zhang the Fatty’s voice sounded from outside. Feng Yuan set down his brush and walked out.

Zhang the Fatty had returned, bringing along two inn attendants, each carrying a large food box. They were setting an extravagant spread on the stone table in the courtyard: nearly thirty or forty dishes, as if for a banquet.

"How about it? Pretty decent, right?" Zhang the Fatty pointed at the table, a hint of pride in his eyes. His lips were greasy, suggesting he’d snuck more than a few bites on the way.

"So much food—can three people finish it?" Feng Yuan frowned as he surveyed the dishes.

At that moment, the door to the side room opened, and Hu Xiao emerged, her eyes gleaming as she stared at the feast. She quickly made her way to the table, glancing from the food to Feng Yuan, her throat working hungrily. Yet, since Feng Yuan hadn’t spoken, she dared not touch anything, only gazing at him with pitiful longing.

"I think we’ll finish it—maybe it’s not enough!" Zhang the Fatty, observing Hu Xiao’s expression, nodded at Feng Yuan with gravity.

"Sit down and eat," Feng Yuan said to the pair.

"Thank you, young master!"

"Thank you, Brother Feng!"

With his permission, they immediately sat down, devouring food with gusto. Zhang the Fatty tore off a large chicken leg and gnawed away noisily.

Hu Xiao was no less voracious, wielding a roast chicken and stripping it down to the bone in moments—clearly a practiced hand.

Feng Yuan shook his head at their display. Honestly, without money, he couldn’t afford to feed these two gluttons—especially Hu Xiao, who was a bottomless pit. Just moments ago, she’d looked frail and sickly, but at the mention of food, she sprang to life. Was it real illness, or just hunger?

Still, their enthusiasm was contagious; watching them eat made him hungry as well. He took a bite of beef, sipped a little wine, and felt comfortable and at ease. The only regret was that the wine was so weak, no stronger than beer from his previous life, and sour like vinegar—drinking it felt no different from vinegar soda, utterly uninspiring. Someday, he would have to make some proper strong liquor.

"Slow down—no one’s fighting you for the food. You look like you just got out of prison!" Feng Yuan admonished the two.

"Feng Yuan, you just don’t get it. Food tastes best when you rush and scramble for it!"

"That’s right, young master—food’s only good when you grab at it!"

"Don’t talk," Feng Yuan said sternly to Hu Xiao. "You call that scrambling? Look—your plate’s missing a piece!"

"Is it?" Hu Xiao glanced down and indeed found a chip missing from her plate. She blushed and murmured, "Sorry, young master. Next time, I’ll be careful and not eat the plate!"

"…That wasn’t you. It was chipped to begin with. I’m just warning you—be careful not to cut your mouth," Feng Yuan said, shaking his head with a wry smile.

"I’ll be careful. Thank you, young master!"

A whirlwind of appetite swept through, and the thirty or forty dishes were polished off. Ninety percent by Hu Xiao, eight percent by Zhang the Fatty, while Feng Yuan only ate a little.

Feng Yuan watched Hu Xiao, who looked completely satisfied, her belly still flat despite all she’d consumed. He began to wonder if her parents had really died—or perhaps they simply couldn’t afford to feed her and abandoned her in the mountains.

After the meal, Hu Xiao cleared the table and brewed a pot of tea. The two men sipped at their leisure, enjoying the cool breeze that occasionally drifted through, bringing a touch of refreshing comfort.

Once they had rested, Feng Yuan returned to his study to continue writing his novel. Zhang the Fatty watched from the side, utterly engrossed—so much so, he kept sucking his fingers as if savoring a lollipop, each finger in turn, leaving Feng Yuan bewildered. Had Zhang the Fatty not had enough milk as a child?

Sensing Feng Yuan’s confusion, Zhang the Fatty explained quickly, "There’s still some roast chicken flavor on my fingers—I can’t let it go to waste."

…

Spending most of the afternoon, Feng Yuan wrote over twenty thousand words, spread across two chapters—one a little over ten thousand, the other thirteen or fourteen thousand.

"Why don’t you write it all on one sheet?" Zhang the Fatty asked, puzzled.

"If I wrote it all on one, how could I make money? Let’s go—time to earn!" Feng Yuan replied, rolling up the manuscript and heading outside.

"Feng Yuan, how exactly do you make money from this? Tell me!" Zhang the Fatty called after him.

"You’ll see when we get to the Prefect’s Academy!" Feng Yuan answered without looking back, his tone mysterious, leaving Zhang the Fatty itching with curiosity.

Leaving the study, Feng Yuan gave Hu Xiao a few instructions to watch the house, then set off with Zhang the Fatty toward the Prefect’s Academy.

It wasn’t far, so they soon arrived. Even before entering, Feng Yuan saw a crowd of scholars lingering at the academy gates, glancing about anxiously as if waiting for someone.

As soon as Feng Yuan and Zhang the Fatty appeared, the scholars’ eyes lit up, and they rushed over, surrounding the pair so tightly there was no way through.

"Senior, you’re finally here! Is the novel finished?"

"Yes, senior, is it ready?"

"Senior, is that it in your hand? Let us see!"

The crowd clamored, eager as monkeys.

"Brothers, don’t be impatient. I’ll head inside and post it for everyone to read!"

Feng Yuan smiled as he addressed them, surprised at their enthusiasm for the novel—it far exceeded his expectations. It seemed his first step toward wealth would be even smoother than he’d imagined.

He and Zhang the Fatty entered the academy. Feng Yuan took the chapter just over ten thousand words and posted it on the wall for everyone to read.

His teacher, Master He, had been waiting, clearly distracted from his teaching. As soon as the chapter was posted, he took the prime spot, reading intently and nodding in approval.

"Feng Yuan, you still haven’t explained how to make money. Why not post the other chapter?" Zhang the Fatty asked.

Feng Yuan merely smiled. At that moment, Master He finished reading and hurried over, grinning at Feng Yuan. "Feng Yuan, is there more?"

"Of course, teacher. I saved a chapter just for you—please follow me to the rear courtyard," Feng Yuan replied.

"Excellent, let’s go!" Master He’s eyes crinkled with joy as he urged Feng Yuan onward.

In the rear courtyard, Feng Yuan unfurled the second chapter for Master He to read.

"Wonderful, simply brilliant!" Master He exclaimed, clapping with excitement. In no time, he finished the thirteen thousand words, still wanting more, his expression full of anticipation.

"Teacher, you wish for more, don’t you?"

"Indeed, is there another?"

"Not today, but tomorrow there will be," Feng Yuan said, watching Master He’s disappointment.

Seeing his teacher’s anxiety, Feng Yuan judged the moment right and smiled faintly. "Teacher, I’d like to discuss something with you, if I may?"

"Of course! Don’t hesitate. If I can help, I’ll do everything in my power," Master He replied heartily.

Feng Yuan nodded, then said, "Teacher, I recall there’s a large unused room in the academy. I’d like to borrow it to sell my novel to the students. Of course, I won’t use it for free—let’s split the sales profits thirty-seven. You three, I seven. What do you say?"

Master He’s eyes brightened. "The room can be yours, but if you’re publishing books for sale, why do you need it?"

"Yes, why do you need a room?" Zhang the Fatty echoed, confused.

"Heh, you’ll see soon enough!" Feng Yuan replied, smiling mysteriously at the pair…