Practicing is easy when one has infinite skill points.

"Here you go, little brother—this is the place."

The innkeeper unlocked the copper lock and pushed open the gate, a faint creak echoing as it swung wide.

"This used to be my wife's younger brother's home. He moved to the prefectural city a while back, so it's been empty. It's small, but the location's good. There's a sweet-water well in this lane—clear and tasty, hence the name Sweet Water Lane. Folks from other lanes come here to fetch water. Plus, it's not far from Central Street."

The innkeeper explained as he walked, with Zhong Lin leading Little Shi inside.

It was indeed small—just a single-courtyard house. To the left was a side room, to the right a kitchen, and in the corner a tiny latrine. Against the right wall stood a jujube tree, stripped of most of its fruit, though a few remained high up at the top.

Zhong Lin took Little Shi through every room, feeling quite satisfied. Still, he bent down and asked, "What do you think? Like it here?"

"Yeah, I like it," Little Shi nodded eagerly, then quickly added, "As long as I'm with Second Brother, I'd live anywhere."

Zhong Lin knew this stemmed from the trauma of his predecessor's disappearance in Heishan. He ruffled Little Shi's hair gently.

"Boss, I'm happy with it. I'll rent this place. Name your price—a fair one."

He emphasized "fair," his intent clear.

The innkeeper didn't hesitate. "If you're serious about renting, three taels of silver for a year. How's that?"

Zhong Lin mentally calculated Heishan County's prices. One tael officially equaled a thousand coppers, though local rates fluctuated—around eight hundred coppers, give or take. Five coppers bought a bowl of noodles, so three taels wasn't steep.

"Deal. Three taels it is."

"I've got one condition," the innkeeper added. "Three taels upfront for the full year. If you move out mid-term, no refunds."

"Fine by me."

Seeing Zhong Lin agree, the innkeeper smiled, stepped out to draft a contract, and soon returned. They pressed their handprints, and Zhong Lin paid the rent.

"Let's go shopping—we'll live here from now on," Zhong Lin said with a grin.

"Mm-hmm!"

Little Shi nodded excitedly, tugging Zhong Lin toward the street.

Half a day later, they'd bought the essentials: bedding, pots and pans, firewood, rice, oil, and salt.

These were life's necessities—non-negotiable.

Nine taels of silver was a fortune in Xiahe Village, but in Heishan County, after just one day, only four taels remained. Zhong Lin couldn't help but sigh—money didn't stretch far here!

"Living ain't easy!"

Though he sighed, he knew where to save and where to spend. Food was non-negotiable.

Both were severely malnourished—Zhong Lin was stick-thin, and Little Shi had a big head on a tiny, frail body with dry, yellowed hair.

They couldn't skimp on eating. In fact, they needed better than average to make up for past deficits.

In the kitchen, Little Shi poked the fire beneath the stove with a stick, coaxing it to burn brighter. His eyes kept darting to Zhong Lin's hands, his nose twitching at the wafting aroma of meat.

"Second Brother, is it ready?"

"Done. Let's eat."

A simple dish of stir-fried greens and pork, with its perfect balance of fat and lean. Fried over high heat, the fat melted into the greens, giving the dish a rich, greasy sheen. That richness made their mouths water. Paired with rice, it was a meal even immortals wouldn't trade.

In ancient times, fatty meat was pricier than lean—without fat, lean cuts wouldn't sell.

Offal was also prime protein, but Zhong Lin didn't know how to remove the stench. What a pity—no fried intestines!

After eating, Little Shi dutifully washed the dishes. Zhong Lin grabbed a few stones and lobbed them at the remaining jujubes high on the tree.

*Pop, pop, pop!*

Dozens of green jujubes rained down.

"Not bad—pretty sweet. Perfect to cut the grease. Stone, come eat some!"

"Coming!"

…

Heishan County, East Market, Inkstone Studio.

Inkstone Studio specialized in brushes, ink, paper, and stationery, also selling printed books. Zhong Lin tracked it down after some inquiries.

His eyes locked onto the three characters "Inkstone Studio," studying their strokes and structure, comparing them mentally to Chinese characters.

There was no connection, but he could tell this world's script was pictographic.

"No good. I need systematic study of this world's writing. Guesswork could lead to semantic errors."

Zhong Lin shook his head, abandoning his scrutiny of the sign.

The street outside Inkstone Studio hosted several stalls—tables laden with brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones. Scholars sat there, ghostwriting letters, sketching portraits, or copying books for sale.

Business wasn't booming. Productivity was low in this era, and with limited education, poor families relied on oral messages over letters. These scholars mostly earned their keep copying books for Inkstone Studio.

Zhong Lin had been lingering here for two days, his attention fixed on the sketching scholars.

Compared to letter-writers, artists fared better. Letter-writers might sit all day and pen just three notes—unlike calligraphy sold by the character, letters fetched a flat rate. From Zhong Lin's observations, it was three coppers each.

Artists, though, had brisker trade and charged more. Their clients were mostly elders and kids.

Elders commissioned posthumous portraits, kids got sketches akin to hundred-day photos—death and birth, the two easiest groups to profit from.

After circling, Zhong Lin stopped at the busiest artist's stall.

The scholar was tall and lean, clad in a cyan robe, his hair tied up with a wooden pin. He wielded his brush with focus, ink flowing across the page.

Soon, the portrait was done—a stern, white-haired elder seated in a chair.

"All set."

"Thank you, Master Xu! I'm very pleased."

The scholar handed over the artwork, pocketing the payment with a deft hand.

Zhong Lin's sharp eyes caught it: three qian of silver—two or three hundred coppers—in a fleeting moment.

From start to finish, it took two incense sticks' time—half an hour—for two or three hundred coppers. Zhong Lin couldn't help but feel a pang of envy.