Chapter 258
It had been rainy season a while ago, and things were getting moldy. These past few days, the weather had finally cleared up, and people were taking their clothes and books out to dry. He wanted her clothes out to dry, too. The box of clothes she'd left behind was also included. Even though she probably wouldn't wear them again, he still carefully kept her things for her.
The old lady was much nicer than Old Wu. She promised to store her things for her, and she did. Later, the place was closed down, and the things fell into his hands.
She had only a small suitcase of clothes, one white orchid dress that was considered decent, and it was obvious that it was the only dress she could wear. The rest were cotton clothes that had been washed white or were almost white.
He knew that she had lived an extremely hard life in the past, but he always felt sad in his heart: "What kind of life was that in the past."
Wang Jiazhi was copying something she had written for most of the day, using up two vials of ink and filling another. She had copied perhaps five thousand words. She rubbed the area just below the nail on the first joint of her right middle finger; it was rubbed sore. She'd been writing so much since she was a child, especially studying for exams, that it had become a protrusion. Back in Hong Kong, to earn money for her journey back home, she'd traveled countless places before finally finding work as a copyist. Her fingers were worn raw from copying.
Wang Jiazhi held the four fingers of her left hand against the middle finger of her right, rubbing the sore spot with her left thumb. She recalled copying 20,000 to 30,000 words a day. It was grueling. The pay was pitifully low, but she was thankful to have work at all.
She rubbed her fingers, remembering how he used to rub her fingers in the same way.
Suddenly, a chill ran down her spine.
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