As evening fell, moonlight streamed into the courtyard, and through the window, Chen Xian looked out at the persimmon tree.
With grain prices constantly rising, the cold noodle business is also becoming increasingly difficult.
This business deal may have to be put on hold for now.
In years of famine, ordinary people couldn't even afford to eat white flour.
It's incredibly difficult to get money out of their pockets.
It's necessary to choose a new way to make money.
Aunt Mei's voice came from the isolation area: "Tiger, hurry up and go to sleep. Don't run around outside at night, or Ma Gao will catch you."
Tiger is Aunt Mei's son next door. He is chubby-faced and energetic. He never goes to sleep and always runs around playing outside.
"Horse lambs" is a general term for unclean, wandering ghosts in the village.
It's a way of saying that adults make up stories to fool children.
Chen Xian smiled knowingly, then suddenly paused, "Making up a story? Can I write one?"
It should be noted that the original owner of this body was a highly educated person in the village, having attended a private school for a year and a half, so he naturally knew Chinese characters.
It just requires converting between simplified and traditional Chinese characters, which is a bit troublesome.
Naturally, there's no way that someone would suddenly become literate and be suspected by the villagers of being possessed by a ghost.
The cool moonlight shone through the window onto his handsome face. The more he thought about it, the more feasible it seemed, except that the subject matter of the story needed to be carefully considered.
It must be consistent with the original person's life background.
For example, ghosts and monsters would fit the bill.
The story that became a household name in later generations came to mind.
In his dream, Chen Xian had a dream.
He saw that by writing books, doing business, and tinkering with small inventions in his spare time, he had unknowingly become the richest man in Qingxia Village, Daxing Town, Lushang County, and Yingzhou Prefecture...
Qingxia Village became a popular tourist destination for the entire Qianlong Emperor, and a saying circulated among the people: the Qianlong Emperor cannot lose Qingxia Village, just as a man cannot lose a woman.
"Chicken hook..."
The crowing of roosters echoed throughout the village.
The tenth day of the fifth lunar month, at the hour of Mao (5-7 AM).
The morning mist permeated the entire village, making it impossible to see faces more than ten feet away. A cool breeze blew by, and Chen Xian wrapped his long robe tighter around himself.
Cuihua and Liniang were cooking in the kitchen; one was tending the fire, and the other was chopping vegetables.
Smoke curls from the chimneys.
Chen Xian planned to borrow some straw paper and writing materials from the old village head.
As the richest man in the village, if the village head's family didn't have these things, he would have to buy them in town.
With a dozen or so coins in his pocket, Chen Xian greeted people as he walked away.
"Uncle Shan, have you eaten yet?"
"Aunt Hua, yes, I just got up. Have you eaten yet?"
According to the village custom, younger generations must greet their elders; otherwise, they will be considered impolite.
When in Rome, do as the Romans do.
These rules are largely abolished as young people grow up, as they are unwilling to maintain superficial politeness and find it troublesome.
Chen Xian felt that many rules were products of their time, and there was no need to make up or escalate them just because the young people hadn't informed him.
There's absolutely no need for that.
Those who sit at the village entrance, spouting nonsense and gossiping about everyone, especially women and old men and women who lecture like fathers, are the most detestable.
"What's wrong? Is Brother Xian saying hello to me?"
The original owner was a good-for-nothing, and when he suddenly started talking to people, it was very strange, like having a piece of vegetable stuck in your teeth while eating.
Discomfort.
At the village head's house, several hens pecked at each other occasionally in the yard.
Hehehe.
Chen Gui was somewhat surprised, "Xian-ge'er?"
Chen Xian smiled and said, "Uncle Gui, I was thinking of borrowing your writing brushes, ink, and paper for a while."
Upon hearing this, he frowned.
He coughed lightly a few times and laughed, "What bad luck! Xiwa is learning to write, and there aren't many sheets left at home."
Xiwa is the family's youngest grandson, four or five years old, who is learning to read. For ordinary families, being able to read is an extremely luxurious thing.
A single calligraphy brush can cost anywhere from tens to hundreds of coins.
Paper was also a very precious commodity; the worst yellow straw paper cost about one penny for two feet.
Uncle Gui then scrutinized Zhou Shi with his gaze and interrupted her.
"Go cook first."
"What is it?"
Before, Chen Gui would have ignored him, but things are different now. Ever since Chen Xian took the initiative to tell him about the pineapple and the method of watering the bamboo yesterday.
He thought the child was still a good person.
“I don’t have much money left at home. Right now, I’m earning a meager living by selling cold noodles, but the price of grain keeps rising, so making food is going to be very difficult. I have to find another way to make money.”
“I often wake up from nightmares, and my mind is always filled with scary ghost stories, so I thought I might as well try writing something to see what it’s like.”
"It only requires mental and physical effort, without much cost."
Chen Gui was puzzled at first, but then he thought it made sense; having ambition was a good thing.
Yes, these days, ordinary people can barely earn a penny carrying heavy loads, let alone afford snacks.
In addition, Chen Xian and his eldest son had attended school for a year and a half, so they knew Chinese characters.
He took out a large sheet of red paper from the inner room and patted off the dust.
"If you don't mind, you can use the leftover couplets from last year."
Chen Qingshan came out of the field and picked some wild vegetable leaves.
After hearing Chen Xian's purpose, he took out a pen and ink from the house.
"These are all hand-me-downs from Xiwatao. The brushes often split when writing, but they're still usable."
Half an ink stick.
Chen Qingshan's wife, Wu, stood at the door and kept giving him meaningful glances.
Chen Xian silently accepted the loan; this guy was easy to get along with.
They didn't see the reproachful look in Wu's eyes.
Leaving in a huff—was it ambition? Or backbone?
Is that thing edible?
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