Song Anhao arrived at the Liu family home by carriage and, stepping into the courtyard, found the main gate tightly shut.
"Could they be out?" he murmured to himself, about to turn and leave when he suddenly heard voices and the sound of crying coming from inside the house.
After a moment's thought, he called out loudly, "Young Master Liu, are you home?"
Instantly, the expressions on the two people inside the room froze.
Liu Ruoxi hastily wiped the tears from her face, pretending nothing had happened.
Liu Ziyuan took a deep breath, pushing the emotions in his mind down.
"Stay in your room and think about it some more. I'll go out and greet our guest."
The door was closed behind him, and Liu Ruoxi sat silently on the stool, biting her lip relentlessly.
When the gate swung open, Song Anhao immediately walked over.
Noticing that Liu Ziyuan's eyes were slightly red at the corners, he paused mid-step.
"I thought I heard someone crying in there earlier. Have you run into some trouble?"
Liu Ziyuan turned his head away and invited the man inside.
"No trouble at all, just a small family matter."
Unwilling to continue that topic, he quickly asked Song Anhao after sitting down.
"Second Young Master Song, what brings you here today? I haven't started writing The Cry for Justice III yet."
The second volume of The Cry for Justice had already been put on the shelves at the bookshop, and he assumed Song Anhao had come to press him for the next manuscript.
Glancing around and not spotting Liu Ruoxi, Song Anhao explained, "I'm not here to see you today. I'm here to see your sister."
In the room, upon hearing his words clearly, Liu Ruoxi flung the door open and rushed out.
"I'm right here." Those four words left Song Anhao completely baffled.
Her hair was slightly disheveled, her eyes rimmed with red, and tear streaks still half-dried on her face—it was plain to see she had just been crying.
Song Anhao's eyes darted uncertainly between the siblings' faces, and he spoke softly, "Did I pick a bad time to come today?"
Both siblings waved their hands frantically at once. "No, no, Second Young Master Song, you've come at just the right time."
They depended on this man for their living; no matter what, they couldn't afford to turn him away.
Song Anhao let out a sigh of relief, and the excitement surging inside him rose again.
His eyes lit up as he stepped up to Liu Ruoxi.
"The Tale of the Qin Maiden has been selling incredibly well. We're about to print another hundred thousand copies to sell down south to Jiangnan. I came today to ask if you still intend to write another book—and will it be on the same subject?"
At the mention of a hundred thousand copies and selling to Jiangnan, Liu Ruoxi was completely stunned.
Liu Ziyuan, standing in front of his stool, stared blankly. He walked over to Song Anhao in disbelief.
"You're really going to print a hundred thousand copies and sell them to Jiangnan?"
Song Anhao nodded with a smile. "After The Tale of the Qin Maiden sold nearly ten thousand copies in Songzhou City, someone took notice. Not only do they want to order a hundred thousand copies, they also want to order fifty thousand copies of your The Cry for Justice."
Liu Ziyuan swayed on his feet—fifty thousand versus a hundred thousand, half the amount, which meant his own storybook wasn't nearly as popular as The Tale of the Qin Maiden.
How could that be?
Snapping back to herself, Liu Ruoxi beamed, her eyes curving more than a crescent moon.
"Are there really that many people who like the stories I write?"
Song Anhao nodded vigorously.
"Of course there are. Just in Suining City alone, over three thousand copies have sold. It won't be long before it's sold all across the Eastern Zhao Kingdom."
"So that's why I rushed over to press you for the next book—when will the next one be done?"
Liu Ruoxi clenched her jaw. The moment she remembered her brother's scolding just now, tears poured out uncontrollably again, leaving Song Anhao at a loss.
He took a step back. Was this crying for joy?
Liu Ruoxi lifted her chin and choked the tears back.
With a tearful voice, she glanced at Liu Ziyuan and complained to Song Anhao, "I want to write, but my brother won't let me."
"Huh?" Song Anhao looked at Liu Ziyuan, confused.
"Why?"
Before Liu Ziyuan could speak, Liu Ruoxi cut in: "He says what I write is shameless and embarrassing."
Song Anhao's brows knitted further, his bewilderment deepening.
He asked Liu Ziyuan, "Why is it shameless? You write storybooks yourself—how is that embarrassing?"
Staring at Song Anhao, who was still just a child, Liu Ziyuan opened and closed his mouth, but he simply couldn't find the words to explain.
