Chapter Five: Metamorphosis

A mysterious fruit had fundamentally transformed Chen Jianchen’s frail constitution; even a scrap of its flesh revived the old hen, who, against all reason, laid three eggs in a single day. Such strangeness defied logic. This world, Chen Jianchen concluded, was by no means simple. Just how extraordinary, he had yet to uncover. Deep within, he sensed that the world that now stretched before him was far broader than he had ever imagined.

As the Spring Festival approached, the weather turned colder. At last, on an evening shrouded in dark, wintry clouds, snow fell thick and fast, blanketing the earth in shimmering white. The world was suddenly transformed, cloaked in dazzling silver.

In the study, the reading alcove’s brazier glowed with charcoal—not like the opulent homes, but simply a clay basin filled with burning coals, radiating a humble warmth. The charcoal was nothing special, just common wood, laden with the heavy scent of smoke.

Chen Jianchen was not reading but writing—crafting New Year’s couplets. For scholars, composing couplets before the festival was a small privilege: they could write for others and receive modest payment, whether in cash, a piece of meat, or a chicken—whatever helped supplement a poor household’s needs.

“Every door and household greets the new dawn, always replacing old charms with new ones.” Each New Year's Eve, families would tear down the faded couplets and hang fresh ones, hoping for new fortune in the coming year. Even the poorest would scrimp and save to afford this ritual, seeking out a scholar, for only those of that rank or higher were considered suitable for such an auspicious task.

Chen Jianchen was the only scholar in Jingyang Village; this year, nearly all the couplets for the festival fell to him. It was a cause for universal cheer—the villagers no longer needed to travel far to find a scholar, and for Chen Jianchen, it meant both aiding others and earning a little for his household. What reason had he to refuse?

In fact, many impoverished scholars would travel to Jiangzhou City, set up stalls, and write couplets on the street, making a modest business of it. In good times, one could earn dozens of copper coins a day.

In the Tiantong Dynasty, copper coins were the lowest denomination, one coin per wen, a thousand wen made a string, a string equaled a silver ingot, and ten silver ingots equaled a gold ingot. These silver and gold ingots were standardized state currency, exquisitely crafted and pleasing to the eye.

But to Chen Jianchen, such riches were distant dreams. He and his mother lived on no more than fifty wen a month.

Since earning his scholar’s degree, however, their fortunes had begun to improve. This year, the Chen family could truly call it a “fat year.” By writing couplets, Chen Jianchen had received a total of one hundred and thirty-six wen, three chickens, two ducks, and a full thirteen jin of meat.

Such supplies would see them through a bountiful New Year.

Chen Jianchen was genuinely happy; at last, he was no longer a burden to his mother. Giving Mo Sanniang a good life had always been one of his dearest wishes. There is honor in self-reliance.

Besides, writing couplets was no hardship; others brought the paper, and he needed only to provide his brush, ink, and a steady hand. The phrases were simple, timeworn blessings like “Heaven adds years and men longevity,” neat, auspicious, and pleasing. With practice, Chen Jianchen could complete dozens of couplets a day.

At first, he was unaccustomed to wielding the brush and ink, but after a few days, he grew proficient; drawing on his predecessor’s memories, he was able to produce elegant calligraphy. In this world, good handwriting was a key measure of a scholar’s ability. That Chen Jianchen had taken first place in three rounds of exams spoke volumes; his regular script was impeccable, balanced and flawless.

“Spring breezes bring joy and wealth to every household, the years renew and blessings fill the door.”

With the final couplet complete, Chen Jianchen set down his protective brush, blew on the ink, and once it dried, folded the paper neatly to await its owner. He stretched his back, satisfaction curving his lips. These were experiences he had never known before; with the title of scholar, avenues to earn a living had suddenly opened up. If only writing couplets were not just a once-yearly affair. As for the more lucrative commissions—inscriptions and plaques—those were the realm of renowned calligraphers or at least men of higher rank.

“Perhaps I should set up a stall in Jiangzhou and make a tidy profit?” Chen Jianchen mused, fingers once more picking up his favorite brush—using it was purely a personal preference.

“Liuxian, I don’t agree with you going to Jiangzhou to write couplets.” Mo Sanniang’s tone was firm. “You’ve already been admitted as a stipend scholar to Minghua Academy; you want for nothing. You should devote yourself to your studies and prepare for the provincial exams.”

Chen Jianchen understood her concerns and would not go against her wishes, especially since he had little heart for study at home anyway.

As the couplets were gradually collected by their new owners, life returned to its previous quiet rhythm. Yet beneath the surface of this seemingly stagnant life, Chen Jianchen grew ever stronger—not bulkier, not a muscle-bound brute, but full of energy, his spirit robust and tireless, as if he would never know fatigue.

With such vigor, his Jeet Kune Do grew more formidable, surpassing even his own expectations; once, with a casual punch, he snapped a tree as thick as a teacup. That was proof of his new power.

Without realizing it, Chen Jianchen had transformed from a frail scholar incapable of binding a chicken, to a man of heroic strength—a scholar’s face upon a warrior’s frame, almost unbelievable. All of this, in so short a time, was thanks to the mysterious fruit brought by the white fox.

Where once his delicate features radiated a gentle fragility, now they brimmed with a vibrant health and masculine energy.

The change was obvious. Not only Mo Sanniang but everyone in the village noticed. Yet they thought little of it; after all, Chen Jianchen had placed first in three examinations, become a scholar, and been admitted to Minghua Academy as a stipend scholar—his future was bright, his prospects dazzling.

As the saying goes, spring brings joy and fortune, and a happy heart leads to good health. When one’s mood lifts, appetite and sleep improve, and naturally, the body grows strong. Seen from this angle, his transformation was nothing out of the ordinary.

And so, many potential troubles were avoided.

But late at night, when the world was still, Chen Jianchen would find his thoughts drifting to that spiritual little white fox. Its actions seemed to echo the tales of his previous life—the kind-hearted scholar rescuing a fox in distress, who then repaid him, with only the transformation into a beautiful woman left unrealized…

So then, what sort of world was he truly in?