Madame Cheng managed household affairs with meticulous care and spared no expense for her son. Unfortunately, Cheng Jinzhou's ring was a bottomless pit—no amount of resources could ever satisfy it. The extra 50 dan of grain each month was but a drop in the bucket.
Fifty dan translated to an additional 10 taels of silver in monthly allowance, enough to read just over ten thousand words—merely a few pages worth of books.
Yet for farmers of this era, 50 dan represented at least a year's labor on 15 mu of sloping fields, equivalent to the yield from 8 mu of flat land. Even for an ordinary wealthy household, this was a considerable sum.
Numbers could be cruel. Calculating this in mere seconds, Cheng Jinzhou could only offer a bitter smile.
In the following days, Cheng Jinzhou returned to his routine of attending classes and studying. The gold his mother had bestowed could still be exchanged for 400 taels of silver—a substantial amount if spent frugally. Yet after purchasing two more books, he still hadn't found anything truly valuable.
Though the content was utterly devoid of substance, Cheng Jinzhou still visited the annex to have the accountants transcribe the texts, storing them in his room in case they might prove useful later.
The most troublesome matter remained his father's academic examinations. The prefect wasn't a pedantic man; recognizing his son's aptitude for mathematics, he focused on foundational knowledge. But Cheng Jinzhou's learning was foundational even among basics—the unavoidable toil included relearning characters and mastering the brush, consuming all his time.
Like many new technologies that failed to gain traction, the initial rejection of hard-tipped pens in China was partly due to the extraordinary skill of elder calligraphers. A decent calligrapher could write faster and better with a brush than with a fountain pen—though the former required greater effort, there simply wasn't sufficient reason to abandon tradition. Even into the 1970s, China still mass-produced soft-tipped pens resembling brushes. New technologies rightly face such conservative trials; indeed, far more innovations fail than succeed, though failure doesn't necessarily indicate lack of merit.
After about a week of this, Cheng Jinzhou began to wear down. Rising at dawn each day to endure the tutors' torment at the private school, then spending afternoons in obligatory pleasantries with curious relatives, followed by evening self-study—merciful heavens, even preparing for his doctoral exams hadn't been this grueling.
For the indolent Cheng Jinzhou, one couldn't expect steadfast courage or unwavering ambition. Of course he desired advancement, was motivated—but he detested hardship more. As a youth of the new generation, his attitude was perfectly reasonable.
By mid-month when the grain arrived, Cheng Jinzhou had accumulated profound resentment. Upon receiving yet another useless tome—"Advanced Ancient Portuguese Grammar"—the customer service representative finally announced in mechanized tones: "Congratulations, your Star Alliance rank has increased to 10 points, current level: 2."
Cheng Jinzhou's frustration erupted. Gnashing his teeth at the ring, he demanded, "Does this mean you'll stop giving me such trash? And how many books can the terminal store now?"
Unfazed, Customer Service 010's holographic head emerged from the ring's surface: "The terminal can store 2 books. Regarding categories, you may purchase the 'Star Alliance Library Exchange Catalog' to select preferred titles."
Cheng Jinzhou scoffed, adopting the cunning determination of an exam cheat. "That catalog's beyond my means. But consider—at equal cost, without burdening you, why give me unusable materials?"
"We have protocol restrictions."
"But with my rank increased, shouldn't I gain selection rights?" Knowing it wasn't that simple, he pressed on: "If there's anything you desire, you could request it from me—after all, I'm your sole supplier here, aren't I? For this planet or whatever scope this is?"
The representative hummed noncommittally. "Regarding resource pricing—"
"Yes yes, you've got a price list," Cheng Jinzhou chuckled. "But spending there doesn't serve your best interests. Name what you want, and I'll procure it—I have some influence here. Just trading grain exhausts us both."
After a pause: "Assessing local resources requires expenditure. Without payment capacity, it's meaningless."
Clenching his jaw but maintaining civility, Cheng Jinzhou argued: "Developing new territories always requires investment! How long did your civilization take through self-accumulation? If I progress faster, your returns multiply—speaking of which, is the Star Alliance a civilization itself?"
He hoped to glean intelligence.
In their private dialogue, Customer Service 010 responded briskly: "The Star Alliance is a trade coalition of multiple civilizations. At your current rank, book category selection is the maximum privilege."
"Then either translate them, or give me only Chinese editions—English would suffice," Cheng Jinzhou conceded. Truly practical books before the 6th century were mostly Greek, then Arabic, later Latin. Twentieth-century industrial research peaked in Germany, twenty-first century naturally favored English. Latin texts might be most immediately useful, with English/German passable. Chinese coverage remained too limited academically—even eminent Chinese scholars needed English-fluent research assistants to thrive.
"Your rank is insufficient," came the robotic reply.
Internally cursing, Cheng Jinzhou turned on the charm: "This benefits us all! With Alliance support, I'll advance rapidly—more assistance yields greater returns. I'm willing to contribute, but seek more options at lower cost that profit you more. You'd provide better technology at equal expense, no?"
After silence: "Book category adjustments require authorization."
"Ah! Your wording suggests you have this power—'powerful,' yes?"
The flattery seemed effective. After consideration, the representative conceded: "As developmental aid for lower-tier star realms, you may pay for translations at 50% of book value."
"Other concessions?"
"None," the voice flattened again.
Cheng Jinzhou exhaled heavily—at least this was manageable.
...