Volume One, Chapter 20: Chu Yuning Causes a Stir at the Four Seasons Teahouse.

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The Four Seasons Teahouse was filled with guests. In Jian’an City, the curfew began at the first quarter of the midnight hour, so this was the time when people, having finished their dinners, came out for a stroll. The teahouse was bustling with patrons, and waiters weaved through the crowd carrying teapots, refilling cups for those who came to listen to the storyteller.

On stage, the storyteller was recounting the most popular tale of recent days—“A Son Burns His Mother.”

He was at the most gripping part: “As we left off last time, the scholar returned home to find his own mother sharing a bed with his uncle. Enraged, he flew into a fury, pointing at the two lying there and cursing them shamelessly!”

“The scholar’s mother, filled with regret, knelt before her son to confess her wrongs. But how could her own son forgive her? He had sworn to pass the imperial exams to earn an official title for his birth mother. Yet, how could a woman who had disgraced herself be granted such a title? Has any mother of a prime minister or grand tutor ever sullied herself like this?”

“Unable to forgive his mother’s betrayal, the scholar dragged her to the ancestral hall, forcing her to kneel before his father’s memorial tablet. His mother wept bitterly, but the scholar fetched wood... Flames roared high and swallowed her whole. And just at that moment...”

The story abruptly stopped. The storyteller struck the wooden clapper sharply. “To find out what happens next, stay tuned for the next chapter!”

The crowd below was left hanging, clamoring for the story to continue.

“Did the scholar really burn his mother alive? Is he truly so heartless? What happens afterward? Please tell us!”

The storyteller raised a hand to quiet them, but suddenly a young man dressed as a scholar rushed up, grabbed a nearby stool, and swung it toward the storyteller’s head.

With a loud crash, the wooden stool shattered into pieces on the floor. The startled audience screamed and fled the teahouse.

The storyteller trembled, shaken to his core. “Who... who are you? What do you want? You know it’s illegal to hit people!”

The young man, Chu Yuning, threw down the broken stool leg with a stern face.

If he hadn’t known the law forbade assault, the stool would have struck the storyteller’s head instead of veering off to smash the table in front of him.

He had just heard the storyteller’s words and wished he could smash the man’s head open to silence him forever. But thinking of the consequences of killing, he had no choice but to restrain himself.

Grabbing the storyteller’s collar, Chu Yuning threatened, “Where did you hear this story? On what grounds do you fabricate lies to slander me?”

“You... you’re the scholar in the tale! So the story is true?” the storyteller exclaimed in disbelief.

Chu Yuning denied it vehemently: “I am not! I did not burn my mother! That person is not me! This is slander. I will report you to the authorities!”

“You want to report? Ha! The one who should be reported is me!”

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The teahouse owner hurried over, his heart aching at the sight of shattered stools and the table dented from the blow. Clutching his chest, he cried, “Oh no! My table! Made of Huanghuali wood! This table cost me fifty taels! You must compensate me!”

Fifty taels?

Chu Yuning was stunned. He hadn’t realized a single table could be so expensive. If he had known, he would have smashed the stool on the storyteller’s head right away—paying for medicine would be far cheaper than this!

“You slander me baselessly and demand compensation? On what grounds?”

“Where’s your proof of slander? If you say the story’s character isn’t you, then how can you accuse us of slander? Storytellers often mix fact and fiction; half true, half false. Is that a crime?”

The owner, hands on his hips, saw that Chu Yuning clearly couldn’t afford fifty taels, and immediately called the waiters to summon the authorities.

City patrol officers, who regularly roamed the streets, had already arrived upon hearing the commotion. Spotting Chu Yuning, they shouted, “Ah! Isn’t this Scholar Chu? Just a few days ago, you were reciting poetry at the county magistrate’s residence with Elder Sun. How come you’ve gotten yourself into this mess now?”

Chu Yuning was manhandled by the teahouse’s enforcers, his hair disheveled, and he bowed his head in shame.

“Young sir, they’re the ones at fault; please see justice done for me!”

“Who’s right or wrong will be decided at the magistrate’s office!” the officer said, dragging Chu Yuning away.

As they reached the teahouse’s entrance, Chu Yuning suddenly noticed a familiar figure in the corner—a woman dressed in a pale blue crossed-collar skirt, expressionless, her clear eyes void of emotion.

It was Shen Yuan!

What was she doing here?

Could it be that the storyteller’s tale was spread by her?

Chu Yuning wanted to confront Shen Yuan, but the officers gave him no chance, dragging him out of the teahouse.

Shen Yuan lifted the covered bowl before her, sipped the sweet tea, and then approached the storyteller with a gentle voice: “Sir, I’m sorry for the fright caused.”

The owner followed the officers to the magistrate’s office, leaving the storyteller in charge of the teahouse. He smiled at Shen Yuan, saying, “No harm done, no harm done. Storytellers often get shoes thrown at them; we’re used to it!”

“By the way, have you finished writing the latter chapters? When you do, give them to me. I’ll pay you.”

Hearing this, Shen Yuan handed the freshly written manuscript to the storyteller.

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The storyteller readily paid her.

The young lady’s manuscript was indeed excellent, though riddled with typos, which made editing laborious. But for a girl who could read and write, it was already remarkable, so he was willing to overlook the errors.

Shen Yuan pocketed the copper coins and left the teahouse. Initially, she had only intended to use the teahouse to spread word of Chu Yuning’s hypocrisy, thereby ruining his reputation.

Unexpectedly, her adapted story became quite popular, and the teahouse was even willing to pay for it.

Since Shen Yuan was about to open her own shop and needed funds, this windfall was too good to refuse. Her only condition was that the teahouse not reveal her identity.

She returned with a lantern to the apothecary, where the medicine cabinets custom-made by the carpenter had all been installed—rows upon rows lined against the wall, filled with countless drawers capable of holding over two hundred types of herbs.

Madam Liu was wiping away wood shavings from the cabinets with a cloth.

Shen Yuan’s apothecary was simply furnished: a row of cabinets, a counter, a dispensing table, and a few wooden chairs with backs for customers to sit while waiting.

She had no consultation room, partly because the shop was too small to accommodate extra furnishings and patients, and partly because her medical knowledge was self-taught from books. Even with talent, lacking a renowned teacher and being so young, it was difficult to gain the trust of city residents.

She was well aware of this limitation.

Therefore, she never intended to open a clinic for diagnosis and treatment but chose a different path by establishing a medicine shop.

Before renting the shop, she had surveyed the city and found six clinics but no dedicated apothecaries. Most shopkeepers believed that clinics were more profitable because they charged for consultations as well as medicines.

Indeed, running an apothecary wouldn’t be as lucrative as a clinic, but small profits accumulated over time could still amount to a fortune.

Coming from a humble background, Shen Yuan understood the struggles of common folk. Many could not afford clinic visits. For ailments like colds or blood tonics, people could purchase herbs directly from an apothecary, saving money.

Her prices would be about thirty percent lower than clinics, allowing customers to seek diagnoses elsewhere and then buy herbs from her.

She was confident her apothecary would thrive!