The woman’s name was Li Man, she asked her to call her Mother, while others called her Man Niang, Ma Lu didn’t really mind, after all, she was just there to complete a task, so she called her that.

What seemed like casual words to her, moved the woman to tears.

Perhaps because she felt she had some security in her old age, the woman told Ma Lu to stay home and recuperate, while she went out to look for work for her.

But if there was good work, she wouldn’t be washing clothes or picking up garbage for a living; still, she diligently searched for work for her, taking three full days, and finally found a job in a city restaurant that provided meals and lodging, but without wages.

"I’m sorry, Mother is useless, letting you live with a bunch of guys, but there’s really no other way, this was already given to us because they saw me as a fellow villager."

No wages meant no money, and without money, there was no way to save capital. To be honest, she was not keen on doing it.

"Mother, do you have money? I want to try other ways, like writing novels."

During the period of the Republic of China, some tragic love stories were quite popular. If worse came to worst, she could write ancient novels. Though it was an era of turmoil, with national and personal grievances, there were also circles beloved by aristocratic women. Besides drinking coffee, singing, drinking, and dancing, reading novels had become a part of their daily entertainment.

Where there was demand, there was a market; this would surely earn more and faster than going to wash dishes.

But Li Man shook her head awkwardly: "No money, what I earn from daily work is just enough for myself, I’m sorry Lu Lu."

"There’s nothing to be sorry about, how about this, don’t worry about my situation anymore, I’ll think of a way myself. If I really can’t find a job, I’ll go wash dishes, okay with you?"

"Okay, okay, arrange however you think best, I’m also really helpless."

As Ma Lu felt slightly better, she tidied up and went to a bookstore, where they sold paper, ink, and brushes. Without any pretense, she directly asked the boss how much for a stack of paper and a set of pen and ink. When she heard it was two silver coins, she wasn’t too surprised.

In this era, not many people were cultured, for the average person it wasn’t affordable, thus rarity dictated the price.

Throughout history, the literate path was paved with money, she was indeed someone with the most say in this.

So, she asked the shopkeeper for a stack of paper, a set of pen and ink. Fountain pens were still a rarity, few people used them, and ordinary scholars couldn’t afford them either.

The shopkeeper looked her up and down, "Young man, it’s not that I look down on you, but are you sure you can afford two silver coins?"

Even though her translation speed was a bit slow, it didn’t affect normal communication.

"I can’t afford it, but I can write novels here, and when I’m done, you can see how much it’s worth. If I can’t repay what I used, I’ll work for free here until it’s paid off, what do you think? There’s really no money in our family, but I want to prove myself, I—"

"Aiyo, you insolent brat, such big talk, a little twerp like you wants to write novels? I manage this bookstore by myself just fine, I don’t need a helper, stop scamming me, move along, go wherever it’s cooler!"

Knowing this would happen, she didn’t presume, nor did she give up because she was driven away.

"Shopkeeper, let me write just one character for you to see, I’m really not lying, I can write novels, I can even tell you my storyline, it’s definitely the type that noblewomen like, is ’Dream of the Red Chamber’ very popular? I can write a similar house fighting novel, I guarantee women will like it, also, some fantasy tales in the Republic’s big families, young talents and beauties—"

Afraid that the shopkeeper would interrupt her, she quickly improvised a summary of a house-fighting novel, and the shopkeeper became curious as he listened.

"Young man, though your idea is good, writing and doing are two different things. Are you sure you can write it?"

"That depends on whether you give me the opportunity. If you do, I’ll publish my first book right here in your bookstore, what do you think?"

Seeing the shopkeeper’s hesitation, she pushed a little harder, "Even if my writing is poor, I won’t leave my debt unpaid, I’ll stay to work for you, even cook, until you’re satisfied and not a drop of your ink or paper goes to waste. See, with just one or two sheets, you’ll grasp the idea, are you afraid I’d scam you?"