Chapter Twenty-Three: Preparing to Make Money

Li Kong had his wish fulfilled.

After Kong Yingda shamelessly informed Li Shimin of his actions, Li Kong was kicked back home by Li Shimin himself and was punished with a two-week confinement.

“I have no freedom, I’ve lost my freedom…” In the secluded courtyard of the Duke of England’s residence, Li Kong sat on a makeshift swing, humming bitterly a catchy tune he remembered from a drama in his previous life.

In his former life, he was a king of soldiers, but due to his temperament, his honors and punishments were nearly equal—much like the protagonist of a certain television series. So despite years of military service and participation in hundreds of battles, he only managed to attain the rank of major, and in the end, was booted out of the army.

When he first arrived in the Tang dynasty, he was cautious, for he knew nothing about this place, even though he was familiar with the history of the era. But as he gradually became acquainted with those around him, his true nature began to emerge. Yet, just as he was about to make a splash, Li Shimin ruthlessly confined him, leaving him under a form of house arrest—a feeling that could only be described as sour and exhilarating.

Suddenly, his eyes lit up. He called out to a young maid passing by, “Emerald Bamboo, come here!”

The girl blinked at Li Kong. Though only thirteen, she was already quite charming. She couldn’t compare to Li Lizhi, but in his previous life, she would have easily qualified as a goddess—especially those big, expressive eyes that seemed able to see through anyone’s heart, so full of spirit that it was hard to look away once caught.

Emerald Bamboo used to be Lady England’s personal maid, but just a few days ago, Li Ji had transferred her from the main house. What Li Ji was thinking, no one knew.

“Young master, do you have any instructions?” Emerald Bamboo approached Li Kong, holding a basin filled with steaming water, presumably for Li Yue’e’s morning wash.

“After you’re done attending to my mother, go out and buy some snacks to go with wine. I’m feeling quite bored—planning to have a drink or two.”

Emerald Bamboo giggled, but then her face turned troubled. “Young master, there’s only three strings of cash left for the courtyard’s expenses this month. There are still twenty days until the next month, so we must be frugal. If you like, I can cook a couple of dishes for you instead?”

Three strings of cash? So little?

In the Tang dynasty, gold and silver were not yet widely circulated; people still used copper coins left from the previous dynasty. A string meant a thousand coins—though this was only true in the early years of the Zhenguan era. Later, a string was reduced to eight hundred coins, and Li Kong could guess without much effort whose pockets the remaining two hundred had gone into.

Although purchasing power remained strong, three strings of cash would only last an ordinary farming family about half a year. For someone of Li Kong’s status, it was truly meager.

As far as he knew, even Du He and Fang Jun, those young boys, spent no less than three strings a month—the minimum was ten. Yet, their courtyard housed more than ten people, servants included. Three strings—how were they supposed to survive?

Upon hearing this, Li Kong’s first thought was that Lady England, Wang, was up to something, and he felt compelled to stir up trouble—he’d done so half a year ago and didn’t mind doing it again.

But he quickly suppressed the urge. Times had changed, and now he needed to leave a good impression on Li Shimin, especially if he wanted to win Li Lizhi back from Changsun Chong. Causing trouble was absolutely out of the question.

If that was the case, he would have to find a way himself.

“If there’s nothing else, I’ll go attend to the lady’s morning routine,” Emerald Bamboo reminded him when Li Kong remained silent.

He waved her off, and she left. He sank into deep thought.

To earn money, he needed capital. He couldn’t possibly take the courtyard’s three strings and start a business. The social hierarchy was deeply entrenched—scholars, farmers, artisans, merchants. Unless he wanted to abandon a future in officialdom and give up on Li Lizhi, going into business would be suicidal.

But if he didn’t go himself, with the capital he had, he couldn’t even afford to hire workers. How was he supposed to do any business?

He’d read plenty of time-travel novels in his previous life, with endless money-making schemes—from brewing, glass-making, salt production—all long-term investments that required significant upfront capital. He clearly didn’t have the resources for any of them.

So… what else could he do?

Narrowing his eyes, he muttered, “If that’s so, I’ll just have to get some money out of you lot.”

With that, he jumped off the swing and shouted, “Laifu, where are you?”

From a corner toilet, a young servant hurried out, clutching his trousers. “Y-young master, I’m here. D-do you need anything?”

The smell wafting from behind made Li Kong pinch his nose. “Go finish your business, then fetch me a few carpenters. And be quick about it!”

“Yes, sir! Right away!” Laifu answered, then dashed back into the toilet.

Staring at the outhouse, Li Kong felt a pang of discomfort. He had suffered much lately thanks to the Tang dynasty’s bamboo strips used for wiping—those thin, fragile toilet chips. Every time he finished, he felt like crying.

The problem was, he knew nothing of papermaking—only the raw materials, not the process. So for now, he could only endure it, hoping that when he had money, he could set up a workshop and hire skilled craftsmen to research the matter. One way or another, he was determined to invent toilet paper.

After arranging things with Laifu, he made his way to the backyard, where some unused timber was piled up. Weathered by sun and rain, the wood had become even tougher, showing no signs of rot. He had no idea what kind of tree it was, but undeniably, it was the only material he could use for making money, and the quality was more than adequate.

With materials in hand, the next step was blueprints—not a challenge for Li Kong. As a king of soldiers, he’d often hand-drawn maps; though he wasn’t skilled in painting, sketching tables and chairs posed no difficulty. The only issue was the lack of goose quills, and he worried whether the carpenters would understand his drawings if he used a brush.

But he dismissed the thought—he had once impersonated a calligraphy master. His brushwork, while not up to the standards of grandmasters, was certainly better than most. With that level of control, his sketches shouldn’t be too hard to decipher. After all, weren’t calligraphy and painting two sides of the same coin?

Probably… yes?