Chapter 8: Plum Blossoms Thrive in Bitter Cold
Han Min lay on the ground for a while, then quickly pulled himself together. He straightened his hair and began copying the book again.
The system said, “That’s more like it. Keep working slowly—things will happen.”
While writing, Han Min said, “I think I should find some other way out.”
“You’re already doing two jobs. Writing storybooks, copying texts… what else do you want to do?”
“I don’t know yet, but I need other ways to earn more money. The household needs money, my older brother’s leg treatment needs money, Grandpa gets cold easily and needs tonic medicine—money again. And if I want to retrieve Grandpa’s lost manuscript, I’ll probably need even more to smooth things over.”
“You’re right. Our money indeed isn’t much.”
“It’s my money. You’re a heartless machine, you don’t have money.”
The system fell silent for a moment, then sent him a new book:
“College Student Employment Handbook.”
Han Min pressed his lips together. “Do you have an ancient-era version? Maybe called ‘Imperial Academy Student Employment Handbook’?”
“No.”
Han Min flipped through it casually. “I think there may be some… time gap issues here. A whole epochal gulf.”
“Think slowly then. There’s no rush. You still have copying work.”
“That’s true.”
Han Min collected his thoughts and continued copying.
At nightfall, Han Min carried a bowl of ginseng soup to his grandfather’s room.
It was really more “soup made with the wispy ends of ginseng roots” than actual ginseng soup.
Watery and bland, though it likely had some effect.
Han Min sat on a small stool by the couch, blew on the soup to cool it, scooped a spoonful, and brought it to his grandfather’s lips.
Grandfather Han twitched the corner of his mouth. “I’m not senile. What’s the point of feeding me like this?”
Han Min smiled. “I was away the last few days, so Grandpa didn’t drink the soup, right?”
Caught red-handed, Grandfather Han’s face stiffened. “It tastes bad. I don’t like it.”
“That’s why I’m personally supervising Grandpa today.”
Grandfather Han drank half a bowl, waved his hand, and asked, “How did you know?”
Han Min said smugly, “I counted the number of ginseng strands before I left.”
“That’s not very decent of you…” Grandfather Han paused. “Save the money for the household. Why buy these things? I’m old bones—just leave me be.”
Han Min stood up from the stool, sat beside him on the couch, and squeezed in close. “No. Grandpa must live a long, long life.”
Holding the bowl, his dark eyes stared at Grandfather Han. He coaxed, “Grandpa, one more sip. Just one last sip.”
Grandfather Han shook his head. “Han Jiaojiao, Han Jiaojiao.”
When Han Min was little, he was soft and chubby like a pink dumpling, and others often mistook him for the Han family’s second granddaughter.
He got annoyed after being mistaken one too many times.
Once, when someone asked again, fed up, he said, “Yes, I’m Han Jiaojiao, the Han family’s second granddaughter.”
For a long time after, the family brought it up occasionally.
Unable to resist “Han Jiaojiao’s” coaxing, the old man finally took one more sip.
After a few more words, Han Min carried the bowl out of the room.
After washing up, holding a wooden basin and towel, he returned to his own room.
Winter nights were cold, so the three Han brothers usually slept together.
When he went back, Han Shi was reading a book, and little Han Pei was leaning against their eldest brother, listening to the story.
Without looking up, Han Shi said, “The floor is cold. Hurry and come over.”
Han Min put down the basin, hung his outer robe, and crawled onto the bed from the foot.
Han Pei reached out. “Second Brother.”
Han Min hugged him briefly. “Go back under your blanket.”
He lifted the blanket covering his older brother’s legs and poked the leg lightly through the pants.
“These last few days, while I wasn’t home, no one massaged Brother’s legs.”
Han Pei, like a little wriggling candy twist, burrowed into his arms. “I massaged Big Brother.”
Han Shi nodded. “Mn. Pei-ge helped me.”
Han Pei shot Han Min a proud look.
Begging to be praised.
Han Min smiled. “Good. After Second Brother finishes copying the book, I’ll take you to buy malt candy. Now climb back under the blanket—Second Brother will massage Big Brother’s leg.”
“Okay!”
Han Min lowered his head and began massaging Han Shi’s leg.
The method was taught by an old doctor in Tongzhou. Nothing magical—just to promote circulation.
Whenever he was home, he massaged his brother every night. It had been almost two years.
Watching his focused profile, Han Shi asked, “Grandpa drank the soup?”
“Mm.”
“Only you, Jiaojiao, can convince him. Others say anything and he won’t listen.”
Before Han Min could reply, Han Pei blinked his confused eyes. “Who’s Han Jiaojiao?”
Han Shi held back a laugh and said solemnly, “Your second sister.”
Han Pei became even more confused. “My second sister? Who’s that?”
“Han Jiaojiao.”
Han Pei couldn’t make sense of it. Seeing the two older brothers snickering, he grew annoyed.
“You’re keeping secrets from me!”
Han Shi and Han Min exchanged a look.
Han Shi said, “Tell him, he’s getting mad.”
Han Min lowered his head. “I won’t say it. I can’t bring myself to say it.”
Han Pei widened his eyes and shook Han Min’s arm. “Second Brother, I’m closest to you. You tell me.”
Han Shi coughed. “How are you closer to him?”
Han Pei said with confidence, “I’ve known Second Brother since I was born. Naturally, by seniority, I’m closest to him.”
Han Shi countered, “Your Second Brother has known me since I was born. And he’s nineteen; you’re five. I’ve known him nineteen years. I’m closer.”
With that distraction, Han Pei forgot all about Han Jiaojiao, counting years on his fingers.
Han Min was puzzled. “Why are you two arguing about this?”
A little later, Han Pei fell asleep with a grin, drooling.
Han Min covered Han Shi’s legs again. “Brother, you should sleep too.”
“You’re going to copy more?”
“Just a little.”
“Come back early.”
“Okay.”
Han Min slept little at night—always making time to write.
The book he had to copy this time was huge, and the storybook he was writing was still unfinished. Ten days delayed already—he had to hurry.
The weather was cold, so he stayed home writing every day.
Under the dim candlelight, he carefully finished the final stroke on the page. Han Min set down the brush and stretched.
Han Pei leaned over to watch. “Second Brother, you finished?”
“Mm… one chapter left.”
Han Pei’s mouth drooped in disappointment.
Han Min smiled. “I’ll finish tonight. Tomorrow I’ll take you to buy candy.”
Han Pei nodded. “Second Brother can write slowly. I’m not greedy. Not greedy at all.”
Han Min pointed at the corner of his mouth. “But you’re drooling.”
Han Pei quickly wiped his mouth—only to realize he’d been fooled. With a huff, he ran off angrily.
Behind the screen, Han Shi lifted the curtain and waved him over.
“Your Second Brother isn’t sleeping yet?”
“He said one chapter left.”
“Alright.”
Han Pei climbed into bed and settled down.
Thinking of tomorrow’s candy trip, he smacked his lips unconsciously.
Han Shi remarked, “You’re drooling.”
Han Pei touched his mouth again—fooled once more—and slapped the bed, turning away angrily.
Look at that. That’s what real brothers are—same tricks, same lines.
Hmph.
Outside the screen, Han Min massaged his wrist, picked up the brush, and wrote again.
After a long time, the red candle burned shorter. Han Min put down the brush, twisted his neck, and looked up at the ceiling beams.
Suddenly—rustle, rustle—old dust fell from the beams and scattered over his face.
Before he could even rub his eyes, the ground shook violently.
Roof tiles fell with loud crashes.
In the inner room, Han Shi reacted quickly, shouting, “Han Min!”
Realizing it was an earthquake, Han Min ignored his stinging eyes and ran inside.
Han Shi was lifting the sleepy Han Pei. He handed the child over. “Get Grandpa!”
Without even answering, Han Min grabbed Han Pei and ran into the courtyard.
“Stand still. Don’t run.”
He only had time to say that before running to the next room.
Grandpa’s health was poor, so they lived close in case he needed help at night.
Han Min rubbed his dust-blurred eyes, saw the path clearly, and rushed inside.
The old man was already awake, holding his cane and trying to get out of bed.
Han Min hoisted him onto his back and carried him to the courtyard.
When he returned to his own room, Han Shi had gotten down from the bed, leaning on his cane.
Han Min swept him up in his arms too and carried him outside.
By then, Lady Yuan and Lady Liu had escaped from the inner courtyard, Lady Liu soothing Han Pei.
Lady Yuan checked both sons anxiously from head to toe.
It was likely the aftershock of the Liuzhou earthquake reaching Tongzhou.
Not strong—shook for a bit, then stopped once everyone reached the courtyard.
Han Min set Han Shi on the veranda railing and rubbed his eyes. Dust had gotten in—his tears spilled uncontrollably.
Lady Yuan pulled down his hand. “What’s wrong? Let Mother see.”
“It’s nothing. Dust from the beams fell in my eyes.”
She told Han Shi, “Son, blow on your brother’s eyes. I’ll get water.”
Han Shi held his face and blew gently. “How is it now?”
Before he could answer, Lady Yuan returned with water from the well, dipped a cloth, and wiped his eyes.
She scolded lightly, “Who told you to rub so hard? You made them red.”
Han Min blinked—eyes brimming with tears.
Pitiful.
Lady Yuan stopped scolding.
It was still early, but afraid of more tremors, they didn’t go back to their rooms. Everyone stayed in the central hall.
Soon, officers came beating gongs, telling people not to panic and to stay on alert.
Han Min and Han Shi sat together on the veranda railing.
Han Min held two wet cloths over his eyes.
When he finally removed them, Han Shi glanced over. “Still a little red.”
So Han Min covered them again.
Then Han Shi suddenly asked, “How did you lift me so easily?”
Han Min laughed. “It just… happened. If I try again now, I probably couldn’t.”
Later, he removed the cloth once more.
The roof tiles had fallen into the courtyard, scattered like rubble.
Han Min sighed. “Brother, we’ll need money to fix the house.”
Han Shi patted his head, said something seemingly unrelated: “But look—those plum blossoms are blooming beautifully.”
In the middle of the courtyard, the plum tree had sprouted fresh blossoms—rising from the debris.
Han Min’s nose stung. Quickly, he raised the cloth to hide his reddened eyes.
Author’s Note:
Poor Minmin, come here, let me hug you. Plum blossoms gain their fragrance through bitter cold…
…Forget it—Fu Xun! Just hurry up and become Emperor already!!!
