"This medicine… is seriously pricey!"
Now that he had a grasp of local prices, Chu Mu glanced at the herbs in his hand and couldn't help but grimace.
One trip to the pharmacy, and nearly ten silver—gone.
In local terms, that was almost fifteen shi, or fifteen hundred pounds of grain!
He remembered when he first transmigrated, Old Li treated him for days, and that cost another ten silver.
In just a few days, he'd blown through thousands of pounds of grain's worth. In this era, it felt almost absurd.
Chu Mu wasn't sure whether to be amazed at how cheap food was or stunned at how outrageous medical costs were.
His monthly salary of eight silver sounded decent, but it was barely enough to scrape by.
"Money slips through your fingers like water…"
Shaking his head, Chu Mu knew he had to get to the Patrol Division and start his job soon.
It was just a low-level soldier's post in a small town, but it was still an official role in Qinghe County—a coveted "iron rice bowl" job backed by the imperial treasury.
The original owner's memories made it clear: this patrol gig was a hot commodity. Plenty of people had their eyes on it. If the original owner's father hadn't died tragically in the line of duty—without even a body to bury—this job wouldn't have landed in his lap.
Shaped by decades of experience in his past life, Chu Mu had high hopes for this official post.
As a newcomer to this world, he needed this job to dive headfirst into this era and find his place.
Plans for the future flickered through his mind. Before long, he was back at his house.
Closing the courtyard gate, the noise from the street faded, and a strange sense of calm washed over him.
His mood lifted out of nowhere. Humming a tune, he picked up the long saber from the ground. Morning dew clung to the blade, and new rust spots had crept onto its once-shiny edge.
No big deal—he'd sharpen it later.
Using the embers still glowing in the stove, he tossed a dose of herbs into a clay pot, added water, and let it simmer slowly. While it cooked, he took the time to sharpen the rusted saber and rubbed some lard on it to keep it in good shape.
About half an hour later, the steaming medicine, rich with herbal aroma, was ready on the table.
But Chu Mu's focus wasn't on the liquid. He poked at the boiled herbs in the pot, muttering to himself.
"Is this huangjing? Looks like ginseng…"
Using chopsticks, he sifted through the herbs, recognizing a few from his limited knowledge, though he wasn't sure if they had the same names here.
Old Li's prescription listed everything, but Chu Mu—still illiterate—couldn't even write his own name.
"I've got to learn to read and write."
The decision hit him instantly.
He didn't care about grand ambitions. The thought of a guy who'd survived nine years of compulsory education struggling to read a sign like it was some alien script? Unacceptable.
No time to waste—Chu Mu wasn't one to dawdle. He downed the cooled medicine in a few gulps, cleaned up the stove, and headed out again with purpose.
The original owner's memories confirmed that Nanshan Town had schools—more than one. The southern school was the county's official academy, where rich families sent their kids.
In the north, a private school run by a xiucai scholar offered cheaper tuition.
For basic literacy, Chu Mu wasn't fussy. He headed straight for the private school in the north without a second thought.
It wasn't far from his place, just a few hundred meters, but the school was tucked in a quiet, out-of-the-way spot. He zigzagged through alleys for a while before reaching the gate.
It was a private school, sure, but clearly just a regular house turned into a classroom. Still, it was way bigger than his own place.
The tall gate alone screamed wealth compared to his modest setup.
He paused outside, eyeing the grand gate, then glanced up at the signboard. One look, and he quickly looked away.
Know your limits—why stare at words you can't read?
He knocked and went in.
Less than fifteen minutes later, he was back outside.
Turning around, he stared at the signboard again. Now he got it—why the original owner, despite his father's decent job and solid family situation, stayed illiterate.
Studying… was outrageously expensive!
Scholar Chang had laid it out: tuition was twenty silver every six months. That was just tuition—books, ink, brushes, paper, and meals were all extra.
Chu Mu did some quick math. To aim for scholarly success, you'd need years of study to build a foundation.
Forty silver a year for tuition, plus ink, brushes, and paper—call it fifty silver annually, minimum.
A few years? That's hundreds, maybe nearly a thousand silver!
Even with the original owner's decent circumstances, it was a stretch. For regular folks? A pipe dream—completely out of reach.
"Six months should be enough to learn to read, right?"
Chu Mu patted the paper notes in his robe. He'd only paid for one term, figuring he'd squeeze in study around his Patrol Division job.
If he couldn't learn in six months, that'd be another twenty silver down the drain…
Grumbling to himself, he didn't slow down. After weaving through the alleys, he made a beeline for a bookshop on the main street.
Reality hit him like a brick.
Cheapest inkstone? Three silver. A low-end ink stick and brush? Two silver. Two stacks of paper, sixty sheets total? One silver.
The kicker? The four beginner books the scholar mentioned… twelve silver for the lot!
"The sages say knowledge is priceless, worth more than gold. Young sir, you look like a man of destiny…"
The bookshop owner, sensing a big sale, piled on the flattery. Chu Mu tuned it out, stuck on one thought…
Was he getting scammed?
He hadn't even started studying, and already tens of silver were gone.
Knowledge is priceless, sure—but this was ridiculous!
As the owner rambled on with praise, Chu Mu quietly set a bronze token on the counter, engraved with "Patrol Division."
The Patrol Division had wide reach. As Qinghe County's only armed force, they could meddle in almost anything, short of matters involving the elite.
A bookshop like this probably had some powerful backing.
But… it's easy to handle the big shots; it's the small fry who make trouble.
Chu Mu figured a businessman would get the hint.
…
*(End of Chapter)*