Outside the private school, there was no shelter from the wind, so he was essentially listening to lectures in the freezing cold, freezing to the bone. Sometimes, when he returned, his lips were purple. In winter, most students liked to sleep in, and some even made up excuses to skip classes. However, Shen Ci never missed a single day of class and always woke up earlier than any of them.

Shen Ci disliked heavy rain the most because the sound of the rain drowned out the voice of the teacher's lecture, making it very difficult for him to listen outside the private school. Even so, he tried very hard to listen.

He probably felt that he was taking advantage of the private school teacher's lessons, so during holidays or the New Year, he would always use his own money to buy things. Although it was little and not expensive, he would still secretly give it to the teacher.

He felt that although the teacher did not know him, he had indeed attended the teacher's classes and was indebted to him as a teacher.

He attended classes for two years and then never went again. The twelve-year-old Shen Ci began to take responsibility for his own and other children's lives in the dilapidated temple. He felt that he could not put all the burdens on Shen Chaomu.

After learning that he could make money by writing storybooks, Chen Ci started writing and selling them. After two years, he made a lot of money, which was enough to at least cover part of the living expenses for the little ones.

The little ones in the dilapidated temple all like Shen Ci's storybooks very much.

But Chen Ci couldn't speak, so he could only gesture and Chengzi would repeat it.

The story of Yuanyuan just now is the storybook that Chen Ci recently sold.

When talking about storybooks, Qing'er thought of Zhang Xiuyuan, who also wrote storybooks.

"Xiao Ci, which bookstore do you write your storybooks for?" Qing'er asked. He felt that his brother's storybooks were of a completely different style from Zhang Xiuyuan's, but both were very well written.

Shen Ci shook his head a little embarrassedly.

My writing is not good. No one wants my book in the bookstore, so I sell it to someone else.

At first, Chen Ci took his books to a bookstore to sell, a big bookstore, because he felt that he was not good enough. The main reason was that he was only twelve years old at that time and had just started writing storybooks, so he was not very confident in himself.

He went to the smaller bookstores, but none of them wanted it.

Finally, someone happened to see his storybook. The person criticized it, but said that since it was well written and the story was very pitiful, he could help him revise the storybook and sell it, but he had to give him half the money.

To be honest, Shen Ci was not very willing.

But Shen Ci was only twelve years old at that time, and since Little Grape was sick, he finally agreed.

For the next two years, he kept giving the storybook to this person.

He also thought about trying again at the bookstore. In fact, he did try, but still no one wanted it.

Later, he gave up the idea and focused on writing storybooks. He even earned half a tael of silver from selling the latest one about Yuanyuan and his parents.

Shen Ci thought this was pretty good.

He thought it was good, but Qing'er felt it was a little weird.

He thought Shen Ci's storybooks were well written, so why was no one buying them in the bookstores?

However, Qing'er had only read Zhang Xiuyuan's storytelling books and was not very familiar with the storytelling world, so she temporarily suppressed her doubts.

"Xiao Ci, can you lend me this storybook to read when I go back?"

Shen Ci was very happy that Qing'er liked the storybook he wrote. He nodded and hurriedly took out the draft.

He usually wrote two copies of the storybook, one was a draft, and the other was copied and sold.