Chapter Thirty-Three: My Brother-in-Law Soaked, Sharing a Room but Not a Bed!

The candlelight flickered, occasionally crackling and sending out a few sparks that vanished in an instant.

Inside, the room was dimly lit, imbued with a subtle fragrance.

Baili Mingsu watched Han Fu, her eyes full of puzzlement.

A single story, sold to a bookseller, would earn only a meager fee, hardly worth mentioning. For this reason, she could not quite understand his talk of making money.

Han Fu nodded with a smile. "Yes, it’s just something done in passing—surely better than letting it gather dust on the shelf after it’s written."

Hearing this, Baili Mingsu couldn’t help but smile, shaking her head in quiet amusement. Since it was no great matter, she said nothing more.

Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she caught a shadow flitting across the window ledge. Her delicate brows knit slightly as she poured water into the inkstone and began to grind the ink.

"Two birds with one stone—it’s not a bad idea," she said, lowering her head to focus on the inkstone. Her slender hands moved gracefully, creating a scene of tranquil elegance.

Han Fu openly admired her, enchanted by her beauty, and asked, "Does your family own a bookseller’s shop?"

"No," Baili Mingsu shook her head gently. "My uncle has no interest in business; our family has never ventured into such things. Unlike other noble families, most of whom own various enterprises."

"But if I were to sell my manuscripts, would your uncle object?" Han Fu asked.

"He wouldn’t. He simply has no mind for business, not out of disdain for it."

"That’s a relief," Han Fu sighed. The Zhou family was his main support now. If Zhou Xinyi were to object, he would have no choice but to find another way.

After a moment’s thought, Han Fu asked, "So, all the family’s income comes from land rents and official stipends?"

"Yes," Baili Mingsu replied as she continued to prepare the ink. Looking up with a smile, she added, "That’s why, though the Zhou family holds noble rank, we are not wealthy. My cousin Yuanshan holds office and draws a salary, but it’s not much. As for my cousin Yuantong, my brother, and myself, we each receive just a small monthly allowance."

"All things considered, among our generation, you, my husband, are the most affluent."

Han Fu chuckled. "Because of the emperor’s gift yesterday?"

Yesterday, at their wedding, Emperor Xiaokang had sent a congratulatory envoy. The amount, though not extravagant, was still considerable. The decree had specified that the reward was meant for Han Fu alone.

"Those gifts," Baili Mingsu said, "are for you alone. No one else may touch them."

Han Fu suddenly thought of Baili Mingda. "Isn’t your brother heir to a title? Shouldn’t he have a fief as well?"

"It’s all managed by my aunt. He receives only the monthly allowance."

Han Fu understood; such strict family discipline was indeed rare.

Their conversation had gone deep enough, and Han Fu pressed the matter no further. From just these few words, he had gleaned a rough picture of the Zhou family’s financial situation—comfortable, if not affluent.

Since the Zhou family owned no businesses, he would have to seek out a bookseller on his own if he wished to earn money from writing.

This was not urgent; he could always write a couple more stories first.

As Han Fu pondered, he suddenly noticed Baili Mingsu rising, carrying the inkstone over to the brass basin and pouring the dark ink into it.

He was puzzled, unsure why she did this.

Baili Mingsu smiled at him, then glanced toward the window.

Han Fu followed her gaze to the tightly closed window ledge—and suddenly understood.

No doubt, her cousin was eavesdropping again.

He was at a loss for words. If they were to consummate their marriage tonight, would the fellow outside listen in on their most intimate sounds, feeling no embarrassment at all? After all, it was his own sister.

The thought made Han Fu shake his head repeatedly.

Baili Mingsu returned to the desk, perhaps finding the ink too weak, added water to the inkstone, and continued grinding.

"Your stories are wonderful, my husband. I enjoy them greatly. When you write more, might I read them?"

Was this his first loyal reader?

Han Fu nodded, smiling. "Of course."

"Thank you, my husband."

"No need for thanks."

They fell into silence, the room growing quiet.

Baili Mingsu focused on the ink, while Han Fu retreated into his thoughts. Days spent in study, calligraphy, and martial practice were rather monotonous. Engaging in a bit of business might be a stimulating diversion, and perhaps earn some money for future needs. With the Zhou family behind him, there shouldn’t be too many obstacles. Still, it required careful planning.

After a while, Baili Mingsu rose again and poured the ink into the basin. Instantly, the water changed from gray to inky black.

She looked at Han Fu, who understood at once and went to lift the basin.

Baili Mingsu moved to the window, gently slid it open, and Han Fu followed, pouring the water out beneath the window.

A splash.

A cry: "I—"

Squatting beneath the window, Baili Mingda found himself drenched, leaping up in shock.

Before he had recovered, he met the calm gazes of Han Fu and Baili Mingsu.

"Ha ha... I couldn’t sleep, so I went for a walk and somehow ended up here," Baili Mingda said, grinning sheepishly, his teeth flashing white.

At that moment, he was almost swallowed by the darkness, his eyes blinking anxiously.

Baili Mingsu’s face was expressionless. "Brother, are you lost?"

"Yes, lost," Baili Mingda nodded quickly. "I’ll go to bed now."

After a few steps, he noticed his vision darken. Wiping his face, he stared at his palm, now black with ink.

"Sister, wasn’t it a bit much to add ink?" he complained, catching Baili Mingsu’s cool gaze.

He immediately grew flustered and quickly amended, "Not too much at all. Not at all."

He glanced at Han Fu, his look full of encouragement, though he said nothing.

Han Fu ignored him.

With the window closed again, Baili Mingsu suddenly broke into a radiant smile—the sight of her brother moments earlier had been so comical she could not help but laugh.

Han Fu said, "Your brother is in for a long time cleaning up."

"He brought it upon himself—who else is there to blame?" Baili Mingsu shook her head.

Han Fu nodded, then turned to the western couch. "Let’s sleep."

As she watched Han Fu’s retreating figure, Baili Mingsu’s expression softened. "Yes."

On the eastern couch, Baili Mingsu lay on her side, fully clothed, gazing across two bamboo screens at the western couch, a little distracted.

This husband of hers seemed rather different from most.

...

Hidden Fragrance House stood in a shabby alley somewhere in Dingxing—a gathering place for all sorts, from street performers to petty peddlers, a ramshackle den of noise and chaos.

Usually the place was raucous, full of shouting and the rough-and-tumble energy of the streets.

But today, two distinguished guests had arrived, and the patrons dared not make a sound, shrinking into themselves in fear.

The innkeeper, terrified, scratched his bald head in confusion. How could such noble figures have found their way to such a disreputable place?

He served them with the utmost care, afraid of giving offense and bringing disaster upon himself.

Lu Ziyuan ate and drank with gusto, paying no heed to the stares of others, nor disdaining the poor food and cheap wine.

Zhou Yuanshan, on the other hand, had little appetite. After a few mouthfuls, he set his chopsticks down. Watching Lu Ziyuan relish his meal and drink, he found him an eccentric among the nobility.

After a moment’s thought, Zhou Yuanshan asked, "You and Han Fu are strangers—why did you send him an invitation?"

Lu Ziyuan, his mouth full, mumbled, "I delivered it for someone else."

"For someone else?" Zhou Yuanshan was puzzled. "For whom?"

"My sister—Lu Zhiyu. She has loved poetry since she was a child, and even started a poetry club under my name, becoming its leader. I wonder how the club members would feel if they knew their leader was a woman."