Chapter Thirty-Four: Festive Trivialities

With the crackling of firecrackers, the old year is bid farewell, and new charms replace the old ones on doorposts. The atmosphere is vibrant and bustling during the end-of-year festivities, and from then until the Lantern Festival, there is never a shortage of things to do. Even as a son-in-law by marriage, Ning Yi could not avoid these events. All the visits Su Tan’er had insisted he accompany her on before the New Year were to prepare for this busy season: the main and second branches of the family, both close and distant relatives, business partners—every household had to be visited in turn. If the visit was to family, Su Tan’er and Ning Yi would go together; if it was outside, he would usually follow Su Boyong. After all, Su Tan’er hadn’t yet officially taken over the main house; before the New Year, discussions were all business, but the symbolic visits after were still led by Su Boyong.

Before the New Year, the prefect Song Mao, whom they had visited several times, left Jiangning. Owing to a few kind words from Song Mao, Ning Yi’s standing in the Su household rose to new heights. Among the servants, there had never been any outright disrespect, but previously, few interacted with him and most remained distant. Now, however, many became notably more cordial, though such things mattered little to Ning Yi.

As for the family members, the younger sons and cousins—third, fourth, fifth, and sixth—were now more wary of him than before. In the past, they had simply ignored him; now, they had to be on their guard. But they could do little, for the old patriarch’s favor toward Ning Yi had grown. Ever since the exam at the library, Ning Yi’s value had increased significantly. The family all knew the old man’s wish: that the Su family might produce a true scholar, shedding their purely mercantile identity.

After all, what good is wealth, when disaster strikes and officials can twist and squeeze you at will? But a scholar, once he earns a title, will always have a voice, however humble his circumstances. The Wu Dynasty, though founded on military strength, had learned from early chaos to entrust governance to scholars, much like the Song Dynasty that Ning Yi knew from his previous life—scholars were honored, and the martial arts were neglected.

Now that the old patriarch had seen hope in Ning Yi, he paid him even greater attention. Especially during the New Year’s greetings, the old man’s conversation with Ning Yi lasted much longer than with anyone else, which did not go unnoticed. Mostly, the old man wanted to speak of reading and academies, and Ning Yi would casually share some thoughts on education through entertainment. The old patriarch didn’t understand these new ideas, and still preferred strict teachers and stern discipline, but as a seasoned family head, he knew to leave such matters to experts. He simply laughed and said, “If anyone is disobedient, you may discipline them as you see fit.”

He would then sigh, “Brother Zi’an had a fine grandson…”—referring to Ning Yi’s grandfather.

The old patriarch was still in good health and spirits. Though he now appeared kindly and easygoing, his grip on the family was firm. No one dared cross him in such matters. After this New Year’s conversation, while there was no shortage of side glances or whispers about Ning Yi—indeed, there were perhaps more than before—few would dare truly oppose him or make trouble for Su Tan’er or challenge the old man’s authority.

Still, even though the academy was now on break, whenever Ning Yi ran into Su Chonghua, he could sense a hint of wariness in the other’s eyes, which amused him.

These were only minor changes, and to Ning Yi, they hardly mattered. Those of a lower station could never stir up great waves, and those who liked to roll their eyes could do little more than that. During the day, he busied himself with errands, and sometimes when visiting business partners, those who knew of his reputation would bring their children to meet him. It was well-intentioned, but these were merely children who had read a few poems, and it was no more than a small, harmless encounter.

Since the poem “Prelude to Water Melody” had circulated at Mid-Autumn, Ning Yi had not been the subject of much public discussion in Jiangning. The poem was still sung daily, but talk of its author had cooled. If pressed, people would say he was twenty, the Su family’s son-in-law, teaching at the unremarkable Yushan Academy, supposedly using some odd “blackboard,” and barely socializing with other scholars—a reclusive and eccentric sort, at best. Quick-witted talents might rise to fame quickly, but there were plenty of bookish recluses who shunned society; it was simply rare for one to cause such a sensation with a single verse.

After that memorable evening conversation, his relationship with Su Tan’er had grown much closer. Previously, she had treated Ning Yi as a bookish scholar, always attempting to control the situation. After her initial “understanding” of him, she relaxed considerably. Realizing that they were both “eccentric,” she found great satisfaction—especially since Ning Yi had no qualms about her handling business publicly. Their conversations about business matters became more casual, and sometimes she would present a dilemma, explain her solution, and ask, “Husband, what do you think?”

It was less about seeking advice than about fulfilling her need to communicate. Few could truly understand or accept her; even when she spoke to Chan’er or the others, it was little more than talking to herself. To be able to discuss business with someone like Ning Yi, who had no stake in it, was a rare form of relaxation.

Ning Yi would respond with a few teasing remarks or expressions of admiration, which left Su Tan’er content. The urge to express oneself has nothing to do with ability—even the most capable feel stifled at times and wish for someone, anyone, to know what’s on their mind, so long as that person is uninvolved. It’s not unlike telling your secrets into a hole in the ground and burying them—a form of relief.

Most of their exchanges, however, were idle chatter. In the evenings, after returning home, they would eat, tell stories, and play Five-in-a-Row. At first, Su Tan’er found Ning Yi’s stories rather childish, but soon came to enjoy them as a way to unwind. Sometimes she’d ask for another tale, or boast about her victories at the game. In truth, Chan’er had the most talent for Five-in-a-Row, winning the most matches, but Ning Yi was the hardest to beat. When he played seriously, he didn’t rush to win. If his opponent lined up two pieces, he would block them, over and over, until the board was full and his opponent frustrated, then seize the opportunity for a counterattack.

This style drove the three young maids to distraction. In the warm, lamp-lit room at night, their protests would ring out: “Young Master, you’re cheating!” Su Tan’er, the quickest learner and most patient, would sit with pursed lips, matching Ning Yi block for block. Once, the two of them filled the entire board, ending in a draw. The three girls whispered that their master and mistress must be monsters in disguise. After a few days of this, Ning Yi laughed helplessly, “Why must we torment each other so?” Su Tan’er, usually so serious at the game, could not help but smile, then promptly blocked his next move with a grin.

After that, the two of them developed something of an understanding and stopped playing such grueling matches.

Occasionally, Su Tan’er would ask about Ning Yi’s latest projects. He would gesture as he explained, “Here, I need to make a cylinder from iron, set it upright… Over here, I’ll pour water through to cool it… But it needs to resist strong acids, and I have to increase the concentration of sulfuric acid—er, that’s ‘aqua fortis’—but without a container that can withstand it, I can’t increase the concentration. And without a higher concentration, I can’t make the right container. It’s a chicken-and-egg problem… And making glass isn’t easy either… Um, do you understand?”

Since she had asked, Ning Yi would answer offhandedly. Su Tan’er, for her part, would just stare blankly, “Um… husband, what exactly are you trying to make?”

“Oh, it’s a food additive. If you want a comparison, it’s like salt. You know how kelp soup tastes so good? If we boil a hundred pounds of kelp into soup, filter it, and dry it, we get a tiny bit of something like salt. Its purity isn’t high, but if you add it to food, it tastes wonderful… That’s what I’m after.”

“Kelp soup… using the essence of a hundred pounds of kelp for one dish… how many dishes can you make with that?”

“One bowl, at least,” Ning Yi said, blinking. “So it’s not practical, which is why I want to find another way.”

“Oh…” Su Tan’er nodded, resting her cheek on her hand in a look of pained resignation—if only such a thing could be made in abundance, using just a bit as powerful as a hundred pounds of kelp, that would be impressive… but kelp soup wasn’t that delicious anyway.

“Husband, you’re a strange man…” she finally admitted honestly.

What Ning Yi wanted to make was monosodium glutamate.

He had experience with this before, at least he understood the modern industrial process, but to be honest, that knowledge was useless here. Vessels resistant to strong acids, fermentation enzymes, strain cultivation, crystallization, freezing, temperature control—all these things were trivial in the modern world, but in the Wu Dynasty, they were pure fantasy. Worse still, aside from the most modern methods, he only knew of extracting MSG from kelp, as in history. But the leap from that to simple industrial production was vast, and without it, he’d have to spark half an industrial revolution just to make monosodium glutamate.

Still, resignation was not in his nature. MSG was something he had to at least try for. Over the past few months, he had sketched out basic flowcharts and thought about alternatives when bored. Before the New Year, he’d already scoured all the markets in Jiangning, assessing the local level of development, and even studied books like “Dream Pool Essays.”

Of course, as he had told Su Tan’er, this was just a hobby for idle moments; he expected no results for years, and had no intention of assembling a team to force a breakthrough. There would be countless byproducts along the way, their value uncertain; for now, basic research was enough. There simply wasn’t much else in this era that interested him.

Yet, there was one other pursuit—one that, compared to MSG, intrigued him even more.

Martial arts.

On the night of the Lantern Festival, out with Su Tan’er and the others, he saw for the first time a true master of the martial world—a figure of legend. Not as superhuman as in the dramas, perhaps, but still… truly extraordinary.

***

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