Chapter 361 Shijian Cotton Mill

Chapter 361: Shijian Cotton Mill

When Huang Ye entered carrying the scroll, Gu Zhiru immediately climbed down from the kang to greet him.

Meng Wan took the painting and beckoned to her, "Why are you standing down there? Come up and admire the paintings!"

Against the wall on the kang stood a plain white gauze screen, devoid of any decoration or embroidery, specially used for viewing paintings.

Meng Wan hung the paintings on the screen—three in total, masterpieces that clearly revealed their distinct styles at a glance.

Gu Zhiru gazed at the exquisite artwork, slowly drawing closer, her hand reaching out but not daring to touch even once.

"Don't worry, I've had them professionally mounted; they won't be easily damaged." Meng Wan sat on a cushion, chin propped on her hand, leaning against the kang table to admire them.

His tone was calm, treating such precious and rare masterpieces with an ordinary attitude, even though one of them was his master's work.

Gu Zhiru was easily swayed by others' moods, and Meng Wan's calm demeanor gradually settled her fluttering nerves.

The two sat there for the better part of the day. During that time, Qing Luo couldn't help but peek in, seeing that her young lady was only looking at the paintings, occasionally exchanging a few words with Meng Fulang.

Neither Meng Wan nor Gu Zhiru spoke loudly, and Qing Luo couldn't hear what they were saying, but she felt that the way her young lady looked at Meng Fulang had changed.

As dusk approached, Qing Luo had to remind Gu Zhiru, "Young lady, it's time to return."

Gu Zhiru snapped out of her reverie. She knelt on the kang, head bowed in a respectful posture, "Thank you for your hospitality today, Meng Fulang. Ru Niang has troubled you."

Meng Wan got up to see her out, saying, "If you've got time, feel free to drop by. The storeroom has many more paintings—some I bought by chance, others gifted by friends. Fame—it doesn't mean much. Every painting is created to be seen. It won't fill your belly or curb your hunger; it's just a painting. All the value a painting has is what people give it."

Gu Zhiru stood on the floor of the heated room, letting her maid Qing Luo straighten her clothes, her eyes thoughtful, but mostly lost.

She couldn't quite grasp what Meng Wan meant. She had seen many paintings by great masters, and they were indeed better than those by ordinary painters! There was a certain spirit in them that ordinary folks could hardly match.

Meng Wan smiled as he passed through the main hall, took down a painting titled "Chasing Fortune" from the wall, then pulled a book from the shelf and handed both to Gu Zhiru. "The painting's a gift, and the book's a loan. Come on, I'll walk you out."

Having visited the Song residence, Gu Zhiru could be said to have come back loaded with treasures. Not to mention the painting and book—Meng Wan, thinking of the young girl who had spent half a day at his home without even a sip of tea, happened to have a batch of canned fruit from Lingnan that had just arrived. He packed a bamboo basket for Gu Zhiru with eight jars of canned fruit—lychee, orange, and pineapple.

Canned fruit wasn't as outrageously priced as in previous years, but they were still rare enough that ordinary households rarely saw them.

Gu Zhiru followed Meng Wan out of the courtyard. The sun hung low, casting long, thin shadows, and she suddenly felt she'd gained far more today than just a painting and a basket of fruit.

Gu Zhiru went home and first paid respects to her grandmother. Old Lady Gu could clearly tell her granddaughter's mood had changed—at least she wasn't as down as she'd been the past few days.

"This Meng Fulang lives up to his name—a real class act," Old Lady Gu praised.

Lady Gu had just seen her daughter out. The maid beside her carried a basket, and Gu Zhiru had kept only one jar of pineapple for herself, offering the rest to her mother and grandmother. "Mother, this is Ru Niang's gift to you—she said it was given by Meng Fulang."

"Ru Niang is thoughtful. This old woman's eaten everything under the sun. Keep one jar and hand the rest out to the kids."

Old Lady Gu was pleased by her granddaughter's filial devotion, yet couldn't help but feel sad for her. She took the sandalwood prayer beads from her wrist and rolled them in her hand, saying, "The child has been wronged, but the Empress has given us a way out—if we don't take it, the Gu family looks ungrateful."

Both the mother-in-law and daughter-in-law of the Gu family came from cultured scholarly families. Old Lady Gu in particular—her father had been a Grand Secretary of the Huagai Hall during his lifetime. At the height of the Grand Secretariat's power, Old Lady Gu had even been called to the palace several times to meet the emperor, with extraordinary insight. Whenever the Gu family faced big decisions they couldn't settle, they would come to her for counsel.

Lady Gu opened a jar of lychee preserves for her mother-in-law. "Luckily, Meng Fulang is careful in his actions, and Ru Niang was genuinely willing to go out with him."

They both knew well that the Qin family was the Empress's maternal clan, and Marquis Zhongyi and his son have immense power. The Gu family could not afford to offend them. But Grand Secretary Gu carried the weight of his scholarly reputation—a double-edged sword that sometimes trapped him and dictated his moves.

In the following days, Gu Zhiru stayed home admiring paintings and reading books. Meng Wan sent over invitations several more times, and through their back-and-forth, the two finally got a bit familiar.

"We're not looking at paintings today—let's go paint instead." Meng Wan draped on a cloak and instructed Zhifan to bring his painting supplies, not forgetting to prepare a set for Gu Zhiru as well.

Gu Zhiru was slightly taken aback. "Paint? Outside?"

"That's right—are you coming or not?" Meng Wan had kept up an elder's air in previous days, but now he couldn't be bothered to keep up the act.

Gu Zhiru saw that he had already put on his cloak and was about to head out, not looking like he'd take no for an answer. If she didn't go, Meng Wan would go by himself anyway.

"I'll go."

The carriage made its way to Lancui Street, not far from the Song residence, in the third ring of the city.

It was cold out, and the shops along the street were pretty dead, with few vendors around.

Gu Zhiru lifted the curtain's corner and saw a bustling alley at the end of the street. Many people were coming and going, hauling timber and stone out of the alley, while carts hauled in oddly shaped wooden furniture from outside.

"Chi Yu, go ask how much longer until the place is cleared out," Meng Wan instructed from inside the carriage.

Chi Yu, still the driver, jumped down from the carriage shaft and jogged into the alley. He returned shortly. "Fulang, about another quarter of an hour. There's just one cart of excess materials left, and a few pieces of furniture will be delivered tomorrow or the day after."

"Understood." Meng Wan received the news and turned to Gu Zhiru. "Sorry to make you wait a bit longer, Ru Niang."

Gu Zhiru rarely felt curious. "Meng Fulang, what is this place in the alley?"

Meng Wan teased, "I'm afraid if I tell you, you won't dare to come in with me."

His words only made Gu Zhiru more curious. "With Meng Fulang accompanying me, what does Ru Niang have to fear?"

That said, Meng Wan noticed her fingers tightly clutching her handkerchief—she was probably imagining something unpleasant—so he stopped teasing her. "The former Shuntian Prefect, the disgraced official Lord Bian's old residence, is in there."

"Ah? That haunted house?" Gu Zhiru suddenly covered her mouth, almost forgetting—it had been the talk of the capital when Lord Song, the current Shuntian Prefect, had his husband buy Lord Bian's old residence, and something happened on the very first day of moving in. The buyer of the house was none other than Meng Wan himself!

"Would Ru Niang be willing to come in with me?" By the time they finished talking, the craftsmen and transport workers inside had already withdrawn.

Gu Zhiru's family followed the teachings of Confucius and Mencius, naturally disbelieving in such superstitions. Though still a bit uneasy, her curiosity won out. She nodded and let Qing Luo help her down from the carriage. Fortunately, this time a low stool had been provided, saving her the embarrassment of last time.

The alley where the Bian family's old residence stood shared the same name as the street—Lancui Alley. At the entrance of the large residence now stood a stone stele, similar to the one at the Charity School, except in the capital, money could buy anything, and this stele was even larger.

Carved into it were four large characters—Shijian Cotton Mill. The strokes were vigorous, the calligraphy steady and restrained. Meng Wan knew at a glance whose handiwork it was.

"Did my husband write this?" Meng Wan asked the gatekeeper.

The servant was an old man in his sixties, with rough fingers and cracked skin on his face—a widower from Muquan Estate with no children or wife. Estate Head Yu Geer had taken pity on him, and hearing that the Cotton Mill needed a gatekeeper, recommended him to Gui Qian.

The old servant, dressed in brand-new cotton clothes and shoes, said nervously, "Y-yes... my lord came early this morning and w-wrote it... after writing, the stonemason... the stonemason carved it according to the impression."

He spoke haltingly, and Meng Wan listened patiently. As he invited Gu Zhiru inside, he muttered quietly to himself.

"He didn't even tell me."

Gu Zhiru knew the "my lord" they referred to was Song Tingzhou, Meng Wan's husband.

She turned to look and saw the corners of Meng Wan's mouth unconsciously lift, a soft smile rippling in his eyes.

It was the obvious joy of being remembered by a loved one.

Gu Zhiru sighed softly.

The five-courtyard compound was extremely spacious. It had once boasted flower gardens, rockeries, pavilions, and ponds, but now only bare ground remained. Except for the residential buildings in each courtyard, the entire residence had been stripped bare.

Gu Zhiru stepped onto the flat concrete ground in the courtyard and exclaimed in surprise, "What kind of stone is this? There isn't a single crack!"

Meng Wan, watching her look of wonder, said with some pride, "This is Lingnan soil."

"Lingnan soil? What does that mean?" Dealing with Meng Wan made the usually proud Gu Zhiru feel like a country bumpkin who had never seen the world.

"It's a paving method developed in Lingnan that binds bricks and stones into a single solid mass with no gaps."

Meng Wan led her further inside. Gui Qian oversaw the work at this end of Lancui Lane, though he'd only visited a few times. Now all the courtyards were paved with cement, with a narrow drainage ditch dug around each one—narrow, but enough.

The first courtyard served as the cotton mill's loading and carriage parking area. The row of rooms in the inverted house, originally with windows and doors facing north, had been modified so the doors now faced north and the windows south, which could serve as a retail area in the future.

The second courtyard was the reception hall, also called the front courtyard, used mainly for temporary cotton storage, receiving guests, and holding meetings.

The third courtyard, the main one, was the largest in the entire residence. Even the fish pond had been filled in to make way for a drying area. Rows of wooden drying racks stood in the yard, with baskets of pressing stones off to the side.

The fourth courtyard in the back served as a warehouse, while the fifth housed employee dormitories and the kitchen. In the Shijian Cotton Mill, only the fifth courtyard and the gatehouse were permitted to have fires.

Meng Wan toured the entire Shijian Cotton Mill, stopping and starting, and it took more than two hours.

By now, Gu Zhiru had no other thoughts—only one feeling: exhaustion.

When Meng Wan finally led her back to the reception hall, Gu Zhiru could no longer keep up the decorum of a proper lady. She plopped down into a chair and couldn't get back up.

"Are you planning to start a cotton mill?" Gu Zhiru asked after taking a sip of hot water that Huang Ye had fetched from the gatehouse.

Meng Wan: "Yes, I'm starting one."

Next to the reception hall was the meeting room, which had a table thirteen feet long. Meng Wan went in with his painting supplies, laying out the brush, ink, paper, and inkstone, and reminded Gu Zhiru, "I'm going to start painting now. Whether you want to play or paint, do as you please."

Gu Zhiru hadn't recovered her energy yet, so she sat quietly to the side, staring blankly at Meng Wan's white jade rabbit paperweight.

Meng Fulang was truly impressive. Other officials' wives just managed estates and shops, but he said he wanted to start a workshop and actually began preparing for it?

And it seemed he'd been preparing for a long time.

He was handsome, clever, and had found a wonderful husband—how could all the good fortune in the world land on him?

And I'm so unlucky...

As she thought this, Gu Zhiru suddenly blushed, even feeling shocked.

I... how could I think that way? Am I not jealous of him? Jealousy breeds hardship, and hoarding private grudges only torments oneself—I must never entertain such thoughts in secret.

Her face remained composed, but her fingers twisted together nervously. Glancing sideways, she saw that Meng Wan had already ground his own ink and was about to start painting.

Gu Zhiru had never seen Meng Wan paint before. She unconsciously raised her head and watched closely.

Meng Wan was indeed painting the newly built Shijian Cotton Mill. It was the first time Gu Zhiru had witnessed a master painter at work right before her eyes. She felt something different—unlike with ordinary painters, unlike with her own painting. She couldn't articulate the feeling, but it was as if Meng Wan wasn't just depicting the cotton mill with brush and ink, but truly building it brick by brick with his own hands.

When Meng Wan set down his brush, four or five candles were burning on the table. Outside, the sky was pitch black, and a cold wind rattled the window frames.

"Oh no—did I have Ru Niang sent back to the Gu residence?"

Huang Ye's voice came from the reception hall, "Don't worry, Fulang. Chi Yu sent her back a while ago."

"Are you cold?" A figure suddenly pressed against Meng Wan from behind, and a warm hand warmer was tucked into his arms.

Meng Wan's palms were icy. He turned to see Song Tingzhou standing behind him and asked, "Did you go home and then come back?"

Song Tingzhou blew out the candles on the table and lit his own lantern. "No, after finishing my duties I heard you were at Lancui Lane, so I came to pick you up. Come on, let's head home."

Meng Wan stood up, and the next moment nearly collapsed back into the chair.

Song Tingzhou quickly steadied him. "What's wrong? Legs asleep?"

Meng Wan smiled wryly and rubbed his calves. "Not just my legs—my feet are numb too."

The cotton mill had no underfloor heating, just a brazier of charcoal in the room. Meng Wan had sat still for a long time, and now his legs and feet were both numb and cold—truly miserable.

Song Tingzhou handed him the lantern. "Hold this."

Meng Wan took it. "What for?"

"I'll carry you out." Song Tingzhou crouched down with his back to him, his broad shoulders looking especially reliable in the dim glow of the lantern.

Meng Wan's eyes curved into a smile. "Alright."

He lay against that warm back, arms wrapped around Song Tingzhou's neck, his nose filled with the faint scent of soap from Song Tingzhou's clothes, mingled with a hint of ink.

Song Tingzhou's arms steadily supported his knees as he rose gently and walked with steady steps.

Meng Wan buried his face in Song Tingzhou's shoulder, feeling his steady heartbeat and even breathing. In the night, their shadows stretched long, and the lantern's glow moved slowly across the bluestone path, gradually leaving the "Shijian Cotton Mill" stone tablet behind.