The border town of Yiwu in Huyi.

A hundred years ago, Huyi and Da Lin could be considered of the same ancestral origin, before they established themselves as separate nations.

Therefore, aside from differences in clothing, their systems and official positions were quite similar—divided into townships, counties, and provinces, governed by county magistrates and official lords. Each region also had inspectors stationed to oversee salt, military forces, ships, and such. The official ranks progressed layer by layer, strict and orderly.

Yiwu in Huyi was not much different from Jinjiang in Da Lin—both were water towns!

Yiwu held the title of “City of Beautiful Jade,” meaning the jade extracted from this place was unparalleled. Therefore, every day many traveling merchants came and went, conducting trade transactions here. Once night fell, the entire street would be decorated with lanterns, like Dali and Lijiang, with beautiful scenery and households leaving their doors unlocked!

It was like this every day!

Song Zhi had been staying home these past few days, shut in and writing a script.

He had gone without sleep for many nights now!

After countless revisions and refinements, early this morning, the script was finally completed. He checked it over and over several times from front to back, and only after confirming that the content in the script was accurate and error-free with no plot holes did he hurriedly steam a bun in the pot, barely stuff it down his throat, and head out.

As he left, that dilapidated door creaked with a “creak.”

It made a chilling sound!

He sighed, then looked up at his roof—most of those tiles had fallen off. If things continued like this, there would be a risk of collapse. If he encountered heavy rain or snow, he estimated he would freeze to death here.

“I only hope this script catches the troupe master’s eye!” He placed all his hopes on the script in his hand.

If it succeeded, he could get himself two sets of winter clothes and also repair his broken roof.

But if it didn’t…

“Ah!”

Not wanting to waste any more time, he hurried toward the Zhao Family Troupe!

This man called Song Zhi was twenty-five years old this year. He had delicate features and a gentle manner. Though dressed entirely in coarse hemp cloth, wearing extremely shabby clothes, he still faintly resembled an elegant young scholar, and he was indeed a scholar with extensive knowledge. He was born into a renowned family—originally the Song family had been civil officials for generations, but by his generation, they had gradually declined. Yet Song Zhi could compose excellent poetry and had the reputation of “Poetry Immortal” in Yiwu. Every time he published a poetry collection, it would sell out in less than half a day. Therefore, his literary talent also attracted many young masters from noble families to befriend him and curry favor. Though Song Zhi didn’t know how to refuse, he was deeply aware of his impoverished status, so when others showed him goodwill, he would return their respect threefold but never became close friends.

However, five years ago, Song Zhi suddenly stopped writing poetry and gradually faded from literary circles. After his fame greatly diminished, those literati, refined scholars, and young nobles who had befriended him all said his talent had run dry, that his literary brilliance was exhausted, and they began to distance themselves from him, ceasing contact.

Song Zhi should have had a boundless future, but after he stopped writing poetry, his status as “Poetry Immortal” plummeted. The common people of Yiwu no longer bought his old poems either. The name Song Zhi itself had gradually been forgotten over those five years.

To this day, no one knew why Song Zhi stopped writing poetry.

Even less did anyone know why, after stopping poetry, Song Zhi turned to writing scripts for theater troupes, willingly becoming a story writer! In the first two years, he could still earn some silver with the good scripts he wrote to supplement his household, but later this profession gradually flourished. Many “talent-exhausted” scholars also started turning to become story writers. What they wrote became increasingly vulgar and increasingly preposterous. Yet those vulgar things attracted countless mindless followers among the common people, to the point of stirring the entire theatrical profession into chaos. The common people no longer even cared whether the scripts were good or bad—they went entirely for the popular leading actresses.

Thus, it also nurtured a group of dan role actors who couldn’t act but had handsome appearances! The troupe masters who previously had dealings with Song Zhi also told him to change his style and write some vulgar scripts. But though Song Zhi was poor, he was unwilling to follow trends and chase after fashion. He persisted in writing good scripts, writing meaningful scripts. In the beginning, those troupe masters would still buy his scripts and stage them out of consideration for past relationships, but the sales were extremely poor. Gradually, those troupe masters no longer did him such favors.

The last time Song Zhi “made a sale” was half a year ago!

Though his basket and gourd were repeatedly empty, he still refused to write vulgar scripts.

These past days, he had shut himself in to create, determined that this would be the last time. If he didn’t succeed again, he would have to abandon literature and then go into business with his neighbor Er Goudan from the next village.

He arrived at the Zhao Family Troupe, where Troupe Master Lao Tao poured him a cup of hot tea and also brought him several sweet potatoes.

This Lao Tao was the sworn brother of the Zhao Family Troupe’s former master. After Troupe Master Zhao passed away, he gave the theater troupe to him. At first, he changed the Zhao Family Troupe to Tao Family Troupe, but because business greatly declined after the name change, Lao Tao changed the name back, continuing to call it the Zhao Family Troupe!

Song Zhi sat there, gentle as jade and perfectly proper, his gaze looking at the sweet potatoes beside him as he swallowed his saliva. His stomach also began calling out unproductively.

He had only eaten one steamed bun this morning!

Of course he was hungry!

Lao Tao saw his expression: “You eat first. We’ll talk after you’ve eaten your fill.”

“That’s not necessary!”

“Why should you and I stand on ceremony? Eat.”

A sweet potato shouldn’t defeat a heroic man. Song Zhi couldn’t care about etiquette and face anymore. He picked up the sweet potato and began peeling it to eat.

He had only gnawed halfway through when—

Lao Tao said: “Little Song, it’s not that I won’t help you. You also know that no one watches the plays you write. I know you’re in difficulty, but don’t make things difficult for me!”

“Cough, cough, cough…”

Song Zhi choked badly.

He had no appetite anymore!

He silently placed the half-eaten sweet potato to the side.

He said: “Troupe Master Tao, Song did not come today to make things difficult for you. I’ve written a new script for you to look at.”

Lao Tao held no hope whatsoever. He didn’t even have the desire to look at it. His face full of wrinkles, he said: “You’re a talented scholar with plenty of learning. I also know what you write is good, but you’ve also seen that I have an entire theater troupe to support. I can’t make everyone go hungry with you just for that bit of talent of yours, can I?”

“I know.”

“You don’t know!” Lao Tao stood up and sighed, saying: “Right now the competition among theater troupes is fierce. No one likes watching those traditional plays anymore. If you want to earn silver, you have to cater to everyone’s tastes. Otherwise where will the money come from? I really want to buy those good scripts you write, but what you write is too literary—it’s really not suitable.”

Song Zhi also politely stood up.

Lao Tao grimaced, walked over and grasped his hand, gently shaking it a few times, speaking like a Buddha with a charitable heart: “Little Song! Why don’t you listen to my suggestion? If you still want to continue selling theater scripts, then we need to change our thinking, change the scripts. Throw away all your previous stuff, then write according to what others like—write toward vulgarity!”

That word “vulgarity” was bitten very hard by Lao Tao!