For two consecutive days, Cheng Jinzhou selected three books, read 45,000 characters, and exhausted over a hundred dan of grain. This needle-in-a-haystack search yielded no refreshing books on chemical applications—not even basic applied sciences. The most outrageous was one book written in some indecipherable script from who-knows-where.
"If this continues, I'll be bankrupt," Cheng Jinzhou muttered after finishing each book, yet he'd always return to purchase more after copying them.
Not using a transmigrator's greatest advantage would be foolish—though his current approach wasn't particularly clever either.
The junior accountants had it easier than him, needing only to copy for three or four hours daily before enjoying extended leisure. Their workload was significantly lighter than usual, though the content they transcribed remained baffling and required absolute accuracy—but that was the extent of their concerns.
Were it not for interruptions, Cheng Jinzhou might have continued seeking funds, exchanging them for grain, and persisting in his reading until either his money ran out or he stumbled upon a book about steelmaking, ironworking, or glass production. As for leveraging his current resources—he truly hadn't had time to consider that.
Transmigrators generally preferred industrial enterprises to save their nation or earn profits. Theoretical mathematics and English literature seemed far too removed from practical reality—at least, that was Cheng Jinzhou's perspective.
However, before genuine bankruptcy loomed, the ancestral worship ceremony arrived.
Ancestral rites were monumental events, especially for the women managing household affairs. The night before, Cheng's mother unearthed all preparations made days prior, meticulously inspecting each item to prevent any oversight. Naturally, Cheng Jinzhou found himself hauled out to try on three sets of ceremonial garments.
All three outfits were crafted from Nanhu silk. Two were formal, full-length ceremonial robes with embroidered tassels for the rites, while the third was a brand-new sapphire-blue short jacket for post-ceremony wear. Even the gold lockets tucked around his neck came in duplicate sets—for while gentlemen wore jade, the Cheng family tradition dictated that minors could only adorn themselves with gold and silver.
The ceremonial robe proved most cumbersome—three layers thick. Though the fabric felt luxuriously soft, after several wrappings, the constricting heat replaced any initial comfort, akin to applying too much toner or facial cleanser.
Wriggling uncomfortably while fending off two maidservants, Cheng Jinzhou complained, "Mother, the ceremony lasts only half a day. One robe would suffice—why make another set we can't even wear ordinarily?"
By now, he'd long overcome any psychological barriers regarding familial titles.
Mrs. Cheng appraised her son critically, occasionally tugging at the fabric as she remarked casually, "What if you tear or stain it? Precisely during such occasions can we afford no mistakes—the entire clan and visiting guests will be watching."
Adopting the tone and mannerisms inherited from his sickly predecessor, Cheng Jinzhou countered, "These robes cost a fortune, yet we can't wear them except for ancestral rites. By next year, they'll surely be too small."
"Oh, learning frugality now?" Mrs. Cheng first praised, then countered, "But necessary expenses cannot be spared. This year, you're our household's sole direct heir—we must ensure perfection."
Suddenly comprehending, Cheng Jinzhou shook his head with wry amusement. A single Nanhu robe, excluding tailoring, cost at least twenty taels of silver—forty taels for two sets worn merely one morning. Calculated against grain prices, this expenditure equaled roughly $1,200 USD. Factoring in modern land productivity values multiplied that three or fourfold—comparable to 21st-century celebrities' Oscars red carpet budgets.
Most astonishingly, this represented just one child's expenses. The sprawling Cheng clan comprised four branches with dozens of direct descendants across households. The clan's ceremonial attire alone could consume taxes from half a small town.
His thoughts soon brightened. "Does this mean I'll be first during the Blessing Selection?"
The Blessing Selection, resembling a fortune-telling ritual, occurred post-ceremony when selected guest gifts were displayed for children to choose one. Unlike similar traditions, participants were strictly aged eight to fifteen—old enough to discern value—and kept their selections permanently.
However, the Blessing Selection also served as children's first profound exposure to their rigidly hierarchical society. Participants entered different rooms in strict order determined by lineage legitimacy, age, and academic performance. Only legitimate daughters could join the clan's main selection—others organized separate household events.
Naturally, family status dictated gift quality.
Imagining selecting from countless offerings like a supermarket giveaway, Cheng Jinzhou nearly forgot his robe's discomfort. At minimum, his Blessing Selection prize might rescue him from financial ruin.
Mrs. Cheng smiled faintly. "We can't predict the matriarch's favor this year. Review your studies well lest you falter during questioning."
Like most aristocratic families, the Zhang ancestral rites would gather numerous guests alongside relatives. Cheng Jinzhou's five uncles—excepting those in distant provinces—were required attendees, as were all clansmen holding official positions.
Logically, as the sole direct heir of the Qing branch—the Cheng clan's primary lineage—with the secondary household absent, Cheng Jinzhou should enter first. Indeed, his predecessor's memories confirmed he and elder brother Cheng Jinye traditionally alternated this honor. Yet Mrs. Cheng couldn't state this outright—not with two maids present.
Cheng Jinzhou fell silent, lost in visions of discovering some priceless treasure that would forever solve his financial woes—though this remained pure fantasy. Blessing Selection gifts were carefully curated for value and symbolism, eliminating any chance of finding hidden bargains.
...
Evening brought customary reading.
Though Euclid's conclusions in "Elements" differed little from middle school geometry, the text's true value—at present—lay in its deductive processes. The longer one studied, the richer its intellectual flavors became.
More mathematicians likely achieved fame through "Elements" than through relativity theory.
Cheng Jinzhou didn't aspire to retread predecessors' paths. Instead, he sought traces of astrologers within his limited home library. As someone with nearly twenty years of education, he doubted his ability to alter thought patterns—thus, adaptation became essential.
With each passing day, his sense of reality intensified. Initial hopes of this being a fleeting dream vanished after one month, replaced by full acceptance of his new identity.
Transmigration reshaped psychology—like viewing the world anew. Fresh perspectives, identities, and environments invariably spurred motivation.
A profound sense of crisis took root.
This was no longer his familiar, peaceful world.
Birth into aristocracy brought privilege, but also relentless factional struggles. Never had Cheng Jinzhou missed China's one-child policy more acutely.
Recalling marginalized relatives' plights ignited his ambition. Previously directionless, the Astral Library now provided clear purpose.
Poring over "Elements," Cheng Jinzhou dredged up classroom memories—in this era, even fragmentary knowledge might spark monumental change.