Chapter Two: Gratitude and Repayment

Stepping into his own courtyard, Chu Youcai was immediately greeted by the forlorn scent of withered flowers and fallen leaves. This was a house he rented—crude and meager. The maidservant, Hongju, stood by the door clutching the bolt, her voice trembling as she whispered, "Young Master, you have returned." She glanced nervously toward the direction Wang Hai had departed, still visibly shaken—doubtless frightened by the threats Wang Hai and his henchmen had uttered when they had knocked at the door.

"It's alright now. Did anyone else come by last night or this morning?" Chu Youcai inquired, worried that the old procuress might have already visited.

"No," Hongju replied, shaking her head.

Relieved, Chu Youcai stepped inside, only to see a young girl leaning by the doorway. Petite and delicate, she wore a plain blue dress of coarse cloth, yet her beauty shone through, solitary and striking as a magnolia blossom. But between her brows lingered a sorrow and exhaustion that could not be dispelled.

Beside the bed lay a garment, half-mended.

The girl, upon seeing Chu Youcai's return, did not smile, yet attended him with earnest care—helping him remove his outer robe and laying it aside. "Husband, you are back." Her gaze fell on the mud-stained clothes and the bloody scrape upon his forehead, and worry mingled with pity in her voice. "You're hurt? Was it those men just now? Juexue, quickly, fetch a doctor."

This young woman was Yun Cuixian.

Chu Youcai shook his head. "No need. It's only a scratch, already healed."

Yun Cuixian insisted, "No, you mustn't be stubborn. What if the wound festers and leaves you ill?" At her command, Juexue hurried out to summon a physician.

Seeing that he could not win against Yun Cuixian's concern, Chu Youcai let the matter rest. At that moment, Yun Cuixian gazed at him intently and said, "You are my husband, and I am determined to share my life with you. These past days, your worry over our debts has weighed heavily on you, and I am ashamed I cannot ease your burden. The household is almost empty now—only that maid remains. If we send her to another home, it might help cover some expenses."

Hearing this, Chu Youcai clenched his fists.

In the past, when Chu Youcai banged tables, threw chopsticks, or scolded the maids, Yun Cuixian always endured, feeling more ashamed for being unable to help than for the humiliation itself. Even when Chu Youcai squandered his nights in pleasure, conspiring with the old procuress to sell her, staying out all night, Yun Cuixian only considered his plight, volunteering to send the maid away to lighten his load.

Such a woman—how could one not feel both ashamed and moved?

A wave of emotion surged through Chu Youcai. He noticed the half-mended garment by the bed, the wounds on Yun Cuixian's hands—clearly pricked by days spent repairing old clothes. When she first married, her family had sent dowries of clothing, tools, jewelry—enough to keep her comfortable. She was learned in the classics, skilled in poetry, painting, and music. Yet, in his household, she endured hardship, sewing and scrimping to keep the home afloat.

How could anyone bear to see such a woman suffer?

She was a woman worth cherishing for a lifetime.

A thousand thoughts churned in Chu Youcai's mind. At last, his expression grew solemn. He gazed earnestly into Yun Cuixian's eyes and said, "Cuixian, I am sorry. I have made you suffer."

Yun Cuixian froze, astonished by the sincerity in Chu Youcai's tone. His face was as before, yet the warmth in his words was something she had never felt—a year of marriage spent enduring scorn and suppression, never once met with true kindness.

Was this the last bit of warmth before he sold her, or just another of Chu Youcai's old deceits?

She had long guessed he meant to sell her.

Forcing a smile, she replied, "I haven’t suffered, truly."

She thought of her mother—frail in health, worried always for her daughter's marriage. Though their family was well-off, her mother cared only for her happiness. If she knew of her daughter's current plight, she would be tormented and furious.

Chu Youcai knew it would take more than a few words to ease Yun Cuixian’s doubts—the chill of years could not be thawed in a single day. Only by striving sincerely, over time, could he hope for change. Yet when he saw Yun Cuixian’s desolate smile, compassion filled his heart. Moved by impulse, he turned to the table by the window, dipped his brush in ink, and wrote a poem.

For in this world, scholarship was revered, and feelings were often expressed through verse. He wrote:

"An ornate lute, unreasonably strung with fifty strings,
Each string, each fret recalls a youthful year.
Zhuangzi's dream dawns lost amid butterflies,
The heart of Emperor Wang entrusted to cuckoos in spring.
Over the sea, the moon bathes pearls in tears,
Sun warms the blue fields, and jade breathes mist.
Can these feelings await remembrance?
Only at the time were they already forlorn."

This was a lament for the departed, with the “jade breathes mist” allusion forming the emotional core. In ancient times, Ziyu fell in love with Han Zhong, a poor scholar. Han Zhong failed to win her hand and left to study abroad. Ziyu pined herself to death. When Han Zhong returned and mourned at her grave, Ziyu was so moved she emerged, and they became husband and wife in the tomb. Parting, she gifted him a pearl. Han Zhong presented the pearl to King Fuchai, who, suspecting grave-robbing, ordered Han Zhong’s execution. Ziyu appeared before the king to explain, but when her mother tried to embrace her, Ziyu vanished into mist.

As he finished the poem, Chu Youcai gazed at the young woman before him.

Once, Yun Cuixian had been a joyful maiden, raised in luxury, as flawless as jade, with a sweet, sprite-like smile—alas, a smile now vanished like mist.

The teardrops on the pearl at sea were now reflected in her eyes.

He could no longer bear to see her suffer. He had to change their fate.

There were three days left—he must resolve the crisis before him.

"This poem, this poem…"

Yun Cuixian, herself highly literate, was struck at once by the grandeur of the opening couplet. Throughout, the poem overflowed with allusions, each exquisitely expressing delicate emotions, beauty woven seamlessly with feeling.

Yet what moved her most were the final lines: "Can these feelings await remembrance? Only at the time were they already forlorn."

Was he recalling their first meeting, when Chu Youcai had been mischievous and unruly, perhaps because his feelings were genuine and bewildered? Alas, that affection now belonged to memory.

With such talent, why did he always look so impatient when she read or studied?

Seeing Yun Cuixian lost in thought, Chu Youcai’s mind raced. The coming crisis was imminent—he could not simply wait for doom to fall. Extraordinary measures were needed.

In his previous life, Chu Youcai’s family was poor, and he had a younger sister to care for. Relying solely on book learning would have starved him long ago. His medical university was among the top three in the country; graduate and doctoral studies were fiercely competitive, filled with the sons of officials, all vying for position. He had only succeeded by resorting to unorthodox strategies—without them, he would never have prevailed.

Just then, the window fluttered. A wild goose, wings outstretched, landed on the sill.

Chu Youcai’s gaze sharpened. He recognized the bird—there was blood on its leg.

Could it be?

The goose chirped respectfully, bowing to Chu Youcai before flying to his side, gently tugging at his sleeve, clearly urging him to follow.

"So, it’s that same goose—here to repay a debt of gratitude?" Chu Youcai thought. In this world, flower spirits and fox ghosts ruled. The goose’s intelligence convinced Chu Youcai that this was no coincidence.

Just then, noises came from outside. Chu Youcai startled—was the old procuress here? He hurried to the door but saw only Hongju returning with a physician, and breathed easier.

The doctor checked Chu Youcai's pulse, examined his wounds, and declared them superficial—nothing to worry about. He prescribed a tonic, and Yun Cuixian handed him a silver hairpin as payment. The doctor sighed as he accepted it, saying it was enough for both the consultation and three doses of medicine, instructing Hongju to accompany him to the pharmacy.

Yun Cuixian went to fetch water from the well, intending to wash Chu Youcai's injuries.

Meanwhile, Chu Youcai approached the window and whispered to the waiting goose, "You want me to come outside?"

The goose nodded and chirped softly.

"Very well, go ahead. I’ll follow soon," Chu Youcai replied without hesitation.

He donned his outer garment and left the room. Passing Yun Cuixian at the well, he said, "Cuixian, I must step out for a while. Remember: if anyone comes knocking today, you must not let them in under any circumstances."

Seeing his resolute manner, Yun Cuixian nodded solemnly. Her mind still lingered on the poem "The Brocade Zither." She tidied his clothes gently and said, "Husband, do not trouble yourself over our household. Cuixian will be here waiting for you."

After a moment's hesitation, she drew a gold hairpin from her bosom and handed it to him. "You will need money outside. I only regret I cannot do more."

Chu Youcai knew the urgency of the times. He accepted the hairpin and followed the goose out.

No sooner had he stepped outside than he sensed something amiss.

He quickened his pace, then glanced back—and soon spotted a figure furtively tailing him, not far behind. The man’s attire and boots, embroidered with python patterns, marked him as a retainer of the Prince of Chu’s household. Chu Youcai frowned.

He tried to shake the man with several swift turns, but the pursuer remained. For the moment, he gave up.

Following the goose through the sky, Chu Youcai arrived at the docks. To the east of Yanzhou Prefecture lay a seaport. It was now afternoon; the sun blazed, the sea shimmering silver, waves rolling like snowy crests—vast and magnificent. Large ships lined the quay, anchors dropped, berthed along the shore.

A crowd had gathered around a great ship, jostling and clamoring to buy something.

Chu Youcai noticed that the cargo hold was ablaze with red—like countless sparks or a skyful of stars. The crowd was frantically buying these fiery red fruits.

Glancing back, Chu Youcai saw the goose circle above the ship before flying away.

Could these fruits be special? Or did the ship conceal some hidden treasure?

At that moment, each fruit sold for a tenth of a silver tael, with nearly all already bought. The seller, a frail scholar, suddenly announced he would sell no more, needing the rest for himself. The crowd lamented, "Bad luck! We came too late!"

The scene struck Chu Youcai as strangely familiar.

Just then, a dappled blue-bay horse galloped up, its rider shouting, "No more retail sales! These fruits are for Lord Gu Zhuoyue!"

The crowd, hearing the name, stepped back in respect.

The scholar, recognizing an important patron, emptied the remaining fifty or so fruits from his basket.

Seeing the fruit—red as fire, giant as hanging stars, even larger than the dragon fruit of his previous life—Chu Youcai’s mind thundered with realization.

He recalled from "Three Words, Two Slaps" a tale nearly identical to this scene. In "Astonishing Tales at the Riverside," a scholar named Wen Ruoxu, prophesied to become immensely wealthy, squandered his inheritance, then turned to business. He commissioned famous calligraphers to adorn fans for sale, but rain ruined his wares. Mocked and destitute, he joined merchants on a sea voyage. Lacking capital, he bought some fruit for the journey. At a foreign port, fearing spoilage, he dried the fruit on deck, sparking a buying frenzy among locals and selling at a high price.

Later, on his return, Wen Ruoxu found a massive tortoise shell—large as two beds—and took it as a curiosity. At a Persian port, he was offered fifty thousand silver taels for it, plus a shop, thus establishing his fortune.

"Has Wen Ruoxu already found the tortoise shell? That goose, so intelligent and grateful, would not mislead me—perhaps Wen Ruoxu has the shell now! But how can I enter the ship and investigate?" Chu Youcai pondered deeply.