The Cannon Fodder Top is Still Raising His Husband Today [Transmigration] - Chapter 4

The medicine Song Bo brought back was truly bitter. After drinking it, Jiang Jinxi’s face crumpled in a wince. He suddenly felt a pang of homesickness; whenever he was sick in the past, his mother would always prepare preserved fruits for him.

His eyes grew slightly stinging. Using the motion of setting down the bowl as a cover, Jiang Jinxi wiped his face. His current situation did not allow for weakness.

Song Bo washed the empty bowl. By the time he returned, Jiang Jinxi had crawled back into bed on his own, though the quilt was messy, leaving his hands and feet exposed.

Song Bo kept a cold expression, walking over to pull the quilt tight. “Do not even think about making me spend another cent of silver on you.”

Having finished his performance as a scumbag, Song Bo headed back to Song Chazai’s house to return the bowl. A woman was currently there seeking treatment. Seeing Song Bo, whom she had never seen act like this before, she furrowed her brows and whispered to Song Chazai, “Why is he here?”

“He is returning my bowl.” Song Chazai kept one hand on the woman’s wrist while calling out, “Song Bo, come over here and greet the Village Head’s wife, Madame Yang.”

Song Bo obediently walked behind Song Chazai, bowed, and said, “Greetings, Madame.”

Yang Hui blinked, wondering if she had misheard. As the Village Head’s wife, she naturally heard her husband discuss village affairs. Song Bo of the Song family was the biggest troublemaker of them all. He did nothing productive, his gambling addiction grew by the day, and despite being an adult, his annual taxes still had to be handled by Song Chazai. No village would welcome such a person.

Yang Hui gave a light “hmpf” as a response.

Song Chazai said, “Put the bowl down and you may go.” There were several patients at the house, and she had no time to manage Song Bo.

Song Bo wanted to ask about earning a living, and for that, he needed Song Chazai. However, seeing how busy she was, he did not force the issue right then.

Liu Nanmin did not assist Song Chazai full-time. Because medicinal herbs were expensive, he used their family fields to grow them. Herbs were more delicate than grain; fertilizing and watering required great precision. Today, Liu Nanmin had carried water to the fields to tend to them.

Song Chazai wrote a prescription and turned to prepare the herbs. Song Bo stood aside, watching her wrap the medicine. After seeing it done once, he was able to step in and help.

Initially, Song Chazai intended to stop him, but after seeing him successfully wrap a package, she changed her mind. She lowered her head, observing his hands without a trace. Song Bo’s fingers were nimble; the wrapping paper was incredibly obedient in his hands. In a few quick motions, the medicine was packed and stacked neatly to the side.

“Since you are so good at wrapping medicine, finish the rest over there,” Song Chazai said.

Song Bo glanced at the other side of the table where at least ten unwrapped piles of herbs lay. He replied, “Yes.”

Although he had stepped in without permission at first, Song Chazai’s request meant she had softened her stance. Mending a rift between people starts with these small tasks, progressing step by step through subtle influence.

“You are that trusting?” Yang Hui took her wrapped medicine, holding it in her hand. “Aren’t you afraid he will steal your herbs to sell them?”

“I doubt it.” Though she said this, Song Chazai had been secretly watching Song Bo’s movements. His hands were honest; he had not grabbed even a single extra leaf.

“You are just too kind-hearted. You will only know to cry once he has hollowed out your family savings,” Yang Hui said, feeling for her friend. However, since it was a family matter, she could not interfere too much and only offered a few words of advice.

“I know,” Song Chazai said.

After Yang Hui left, Song Chazai finally had a free moment. She inspected the medicine packages Song Bo had wrapped, and after confirming they were all intact, she pulled out a chair and sat down. “Speak then. What is it this time?”

Song Bo pulled over a stool for himself as well. “I wanted to ask Auntie if there is any work to be found in Chuanfu Town.”

Chuanfu Town was the nearest town to Jinli Village. It was also where the original host used to go gambling.

Song Chazai paused mid-sip of her tea. It seemed her feeling from last night and this morning was not a mistake; Song Bo really did seem to have changed somewhat.

She did not want to discourage him at this moment, though she remained skeptical about whether he actually intended to work. After all, from childhood until now, Song Bo had never worked a day in his life, living entirely off his family’s inheritance.

Song Chazai slowly took a sip of hot tea, letting it slide down her throat. She thought carefully. It was the autumn harvest, and she recalled seeing notices for short-term laborers, though they were all thankless, grueling manual labor jobs with very little pay. Ordinary people would only take them if they were truly desperate; others looked down on such work. Yet, this kind of work, which required absolutely no specialized skills, was perfect for someone like Song Bo who had never done anything.

“When you enter the town, look for the recruitment notices. Just tear one off and go find the foreman,” Song Chazai said.

Song Bo immediately caught the keyword. “Foreman” did not sound like a boss of a leisurely job. However, as a newcomer, he would not be chosen for skilled work. “In your opinion, will I be in time if I go now?”

After the delays, the sun was nearly directly overhead; it was almost noon. In the modern era, no one would hire someone for half a day’s work; he did not know if ancient times were different.

“Any time is in time.” Song Chazai took his words as an excuse to back out, thinking he was just talking again. During a period when labor was in high demand, employers would be grateful for anyone willing to work; they would not mind if it was only for half a day.

Song Bo stood up and bowed to Song Chazai. “Then I must trouble Auntie to deliver food and medicine to Jinxi at noon and in the evening.”

“You,” Song Chazai was truly shocked this time.

Song Bo turned to leave but suddenly remembered his sleeves were empty. He turned back sheepishly, his tone a bit awkward. “Auntie, could you lend me some money? Just a few coins.” Song Bo, who had never borrowed money in the modern world, gave away his first time here.

“Take it.” Song Chazai gave Song Bo all the money Yang Hui had just paid. Since Yang Hui only had a minor ailment, it was not much, only thirty coins, but it was enough for an adult male to survive a few days in town.

“Thank you, Auntie. I will pay it back.” Leaving those words behind, Song Bo left her house.

Song Chazai used fine hemp rope to tie up the medicine Song Bo had wrapped. She had no expectation of getting the money back; she considered it the final time she would try to prop him up.

Leaving his aunt’s house, Song Bo relied on the original host’s memories to trek to Chuanfu Town. Donkeys and ox carts passed him by, but he chose to walk to save money and familiarize himself with the route.

Chuanfu Town was a large town with a bustling population. Song Bo followed the flow of people through the brick gates. The scenes from memory came to life vividly before him. At this moment, Song Bo felt like he had truly arrived in ancient times.

Vendors shouted their products and prices. Song Bo quietly familiarized himself with the market prices of the Heng Kingdom: one dou of rice was twenty coins, one apple was three coins, a bolt of poor-quality cloth was four hundred coins.

The fabric at home was too poor, and with winter approaching, the bedding would not withstand the cold. Realizing he only had thirty coins, Song Bo sighed. He needed to earn money quickly over the next few days, at least enough to buy a cotton quilt for Jiang Jinxi.

The aroma of food wafted from the street. Song Bo spent three coins on two meat buns to fill his stomach, then asked passersby where the recruitment notices were.

Following their directions, Song Bo found the docks. Chuanfu Town was a coastal town with well-developed water trade. Now was the harvest season, and goods destined for the north had to be shipped out before winter made it difficult.

The docks were filled with sturdy, shirtless men moving cargo. Song Bo saw a notice board covered in papers. Moving closer, he saw they were all posts for temporary laborers.

Since there were many notices, the pay varied. Song Bo noted the names of the ships on the posts and asked around. Finally, on his fifth attempt, he found a lead.

The boat owner was a pot-bellied man sitting on a small stool. He sized up Song Bo. “With that small frame of yours, you can move cargo?”

It was a fair assessment. Compared to the other workers, Song Bo’s build was indeed somewhat slight, a result of the original host’s drinking and lack of exercise.

“I can move it,” Song Bo said. Having just arrived in this world, selling physical labor was the only way to earn quick cash.

The owner pouted. “There, there is a sack of cargo. If you can shoulder it, I will let you work here.”

Song Bo looked over. The cargo was in a bulging hemp sack that looked heavy. He walked over, found two good grip points, and gripped the sack.

As expected, it was not light, about fifty pounds. Lifting it with just his hands was a struggle.

The owner could tell at a glance that Song Bo had never moved heavy loads; he had no technique. Lifting fifty pounds of cargo would not be easy. “If you cannot lift it, give up early and find some lighter work.”

The word “give up” was not in Song Bo’s dictionary. Gritting his teeth, he used his knee to give it a boost, using the momentum to throw the cargo onto his shoulder. For a second, the weight bent his waist significantly.

The owner was a man of his word. “Not bad. Move it straight onto the ship.”

After Song Bo delivered the first bag and returned, the owner spoke about the wages. “Ten coins for a day’s work, plus one coin for every bag delivered. Paid daily until the cargo is finished.” The owner adjusted his stool to stay in the shade. “Since you arrived in the afternoon, today you start with a base of five coins plus your bags.”

“Until what time?” Song Bo asked. He had a patient at home to care for and did not want to return too late.

“Until sunset,” the owner replied.

Lighting in ancient times was poor. Once night fell, the roads became difficult, and boarding the ship involved crossing a path made of several bamboo poles tied together. If someone fell, the loss would outweigh the gain, so loading only happened during the day.

Song Bo calculated the time. The sun set early in autumn. Combined with the travel time, he could make it home by the Hour of the Dog.

“What time do I start tomorrow?”

The owner laughed. “Survive this afternoon first before we talk about tomorrow.”