Jade spent two days going over the exam results with her students, pointing out their mistakes and having them correct their work. After that, she asked whether their parents would be available for a short meeting, so she could explain the results before the semester break officially began.

  The student exchanged glances. Finally, the class representative - the one who usually helped distribute materials and notices - raised his hand. “Miss Jade, our parents are busy with work. They won’t have time to come.”

  “Not even after work?” Jade asked, pausing to think. “I can meet them in the evening…” She trailed off, then shook her head dismissively. “Actually, never mind. I keep forgetting it’s harvesting season. They’re probably exhausted.”

  She straightened. “Alright. Keep your test papers and show them to your parents. Your semester break starts tomorrow. We’ll meet again next semester, starting on the first Monday of November. Any questions?”

  A girl raised her hand, “Will class still be from eight to ten?”

  Jade looked at her. “It should be, unless you want to suggest a change. I’m fine with adjusting the schedule. Do you guys want to?”

  “Um…” The girl hesitated, shrinking back slightly. “It’s winter, and it’ll still be dark at eight…”

  Jade froze for a moment. “Ah… right. Hold on. Let me think.”

  Winter days would be short. That simple fact had somehow never crossed her mind. In her previous life, she had lived in a tropical, near-equatorial country - aside from one brief year in Australia.

  Thus, early night meant less natural light. More lamp oil… No wonder she felt she had been burning through it so quickly. She had blamed herself for still clinging to her old habit of staying up late, a carryover from a life defined by electricity and indoor lighting.

  Dang. I need better lighting, she thought. I can’t afford to ruin my eyesight…

  Jade made a mental note before looking back at the students. “So, how about we hold classes from nine to eleven? Certainly not in the evening - it would be too dangerous for you to head home in the dark. Does nine in the morning work for everyone?”

  The students murmured among themselves, then nodded together. “Yes,” the representative replied. “There’s enough daylight at nine.”

  “Good. Then I’ll write letters to your parents and employers, informing them of the schedule change and the first day of next semester.” Jade gestured for them to come forward one by one. “Write down your name, your parents’ name, and your mailing address. I’ll deliver the notices by tomorrow.”

  As they wrote, she added, “Once you’ve done that, you may pack up and go home. And remember - walk in groups. I do not want any of you heading off alone and putting themselves in unnecessary danger. Understood?”

  “Understood,” the students replied in unison.

  They left in small groups. Only those who worked at Jade’s bakehouse remained behind, chatting and comparing exam papers. Soft laughter and giggles escaped from their smiling faces.

  Truthfully, their results weren't impressive - but they weren’t terrible either, considering most had never stepped foot in a classroom before entering the ragged school. After a single semester, every student had gained at least a basic grasp of reading, writing, and arithmetic. Many still mixed up numbers, misspelling words, or even confused their letters, but they could make sense of parts of the newspapers now.

  And that alone made a world of difference, between them and the countless children who never had the chance to attend school at all.

  For the next semester, Jade planned to increase the difficulty of what she was teaching. I should adapt some content from scientific journals for their lessons, she mused, and perhaps introduce some classic literature alongside the Lumen Codex’s scripts… She jotted down her ideas, already visualising the framework for the next semester’s textbook.

  Even now, she still hadn’t found a suitable textbook to use for teaching. That meant she would have to continue compiling her own materials next semester as well, using domus’s traditional printing tools, her not-so-polished writing, and her barely acceptable handwriting - which, thankfully, passed muster in a ragged school.

  She would certainly have been dismissed if she tried this at any proper school… not that she particularly wanted to teach at one.

  In any case, she could now report to Father Rochester with confidence: her students had achieved exactly what he had asked of her when she first became their teacher. He would have little reason to complain about her methods.

  “Miss Jade.” Josh approached and began helping her clear the desk now that the others had cleared out. He glanced at her, eyes earnest, “Are we starting the new lessons tomorrow?”

  “...” Jade stared at him, her brain momentarily short-circuiting as she searched for a way to turn down the stubborn boy.

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  Josh was one of the top scorers in the exam. He was old enough to make his own decisions, and there were no family obstacles preventing him from quitting his job to become her apprentice

  He was an orphan.

  He had no fixed place to stay. Most nights, he slept at the gatehouse of the textile factory, keeping the old watchman company through long lonely hours. Legally speaking - though there were no formal documents as the registration fees and time required to navigate tedious bureaucracies were beyond what most poor families could afford - Josh had been taken in by his uncle after his parents died of illness.

  The uncle was a jobless alcoholic who cared little for him. His aunt viewed him as a burden on an already struggling household, forced to support four children on a laundrymaid’s wages.

  Josh had often gone hungry before he was old enough to work. Once he secured his job at the textile factory, he left that house and never returned. His cousins, sharing their mother’s attitude, had neither befriended him nor treated him kindly.

  Jade wasn’t sure how much of the story was true. It was what Josh had told her when he first expressed his wish to become her pupil. Still, when she discreetly checked with farmhands, clergy members, and Mr. Anderson’s students, many seemed to know fragments of his situation. Josh was known for taking every opportunity he could to earn extra coins beyond his factory work.

  An ambitious teenager.

  And Jade was wary of that particular trait. Ambition could be a lifeline for those on the lowest rungs of society, a necessary fuel for the climb upward, for getting a better life. However, it was a double-edged sword. Without the discipline to curb selfishness and greed, an ambitious mind could easily sour. Such people either succeed and become tyrants, or fail and become the scum that threatens the society. As a humble cake decorator who had never been anyone’s master, Jade wasn’t sure she was equipped to handle a pupil with such a dangerous trait.

  She glanced at him again while reviewing the mailing addresses and found Josh’s listed contact: Mr. Barry Widefield, Gatehouse, Wyrnfield Loom Works.

  Well, at least he still has someone he wants to share his results with, she thought.

  She gathered her materials into her basket and fixed her gaze on the boy in front of her.

  “I can’t guarantee you a bright future, even if you manage to learn everything I have to teach,” Jade said sternly and narrowed her eyes. “Bear that in mind, and tell me: do you still want to be my pupil?”

  “Yes, Miss Jade!” Josh replied immediately, his eyes shining.

  Jade had died at around thirty in her previous life. By the standard of this Victorian-ish world, she could very well have a son of Josh’s age if she had married young.

  And perhaps because she kept unconsciously comparing this world to the historical C-webnovels she had read - or more precisely, trying to map the unfamiliar concepts of a foreign culture onto the familiar parts of her own - she viewed the act of accepting an apprentice as a matter of immense gravity.

  In her eyes, taking Josh as her pupil was practically like taking in a “half-son”.

  It meant bearing responsibility not just for his skills, but for his moral compass. She would be his ethical guide, passing down everything she knew about surviving in this world. And if one day this pupil acted dishonourably - or worse, became a criminal - the blame would rest partly on her shoulders.

  She wouldn’t have just failed a student; she would have failed as a master. Society would judge her as someone who had failed to educate her charge properly, but the heavier weight would be her own. She knew she would carry that guilt for the rest of her life if the worst were ever to happen.

  Yes. That was how serious master-apprentice relationships had been in ancient Chinese tradition. And precisely for that reason, respectable masters choose their students carefully, never handing out the title lightly. Teaching someone did not automatically make them one’s disciple - just as Jade taught her students at the ragged school without claiming them as her own.

  My own pupil… Jade hesitated. She wasn’t sure how things were done here. Guess I’ll just follow what I remember, she decided.

  She looked at Josh again and said firmly, “There’s no turning back once you accept me as your master. If, in the future, you wish to study under another master, you must first ask for my permission.”

  She watched his expression closely. “You’ll lose part of your freedom. I’ll restrict you from doing certain things. And you must respect me as you would your parents. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Miss Jade, I understand,” Josh replied solemnly. “And I’m willing to bear any consequences that come from my decision.”

  “Very well.” Jade sighed and nodded. “Come to me tomorrow morning at a quarter to eight. Bring a few pieces of hardtack. We’ll have a simple tea ceremony to mark the bond.”

  Josh blinked. “A tea ceremony?”

  “I’m not sure how it’s done here, so I’ll do it the way I remember.” Jade said, meeting his gaze. “Tomorrow, we’ll vow before the Light. It will be a bond witnessed under the Light itself. Think carefully, Josh Brickville.”

  “Yes, Miss Jade,” Josh nodded eagerly. “A cup of tea with dessert. I’ll remember.”

  “...Just bring whatever you can,” Jade said dryly, rolling her eyes as she carried her basket back to her room and resumed her baking-and-selling routine.

  Tomorrow’s ceremony would look so wrong and ridiculous to any proper Chinese master. Jade grumbled inwardly, but there wasn’t much she could do. She was broke, and her future apprentice was likely worse off.

  In proper tradition, even the simplest apprenticeship ceremony required the student to present a gift, something like a registration offering - to acknowledge lifelong discipleship unless ties were formally severed under extreme circumstances, such as treason or execution, in which case disownment had to be publicly declared.

  At bare minimum, the gift was a bundle of air-dried meat. Wealthier families could offer more, but meat was the baseline.

  Jade doubted Josh had the coins for that. If he did, he wouldn’t be so painfully thin. That was why she had asked for hardtack instead. Both were food. Close enough.

  On her side, she would need Father Rochester as a witness, and something written - some sort of certificate - for the three of them to keep. And, of course, a cup of tea, for formality’s sake.

  As she watched Josh help sell biscuits with an almost glowing enthusiasm - clearly buoyed by her agreement to take him on - Jade felt a flicker of doubt.

  Did I make the right choice?

  She sighed inwardly. Well… we’ll see how it goes. This isn’t ancient China. No one’s going to blame me anyway.

  Though I definitely will, she thought grimly, and prayed, quietly, to the Light, and to whatever deities might be listening.