I have to say, Uncle has been quite good to the three of us, mother and son. At the very least, with such a meager salary, he’s never shorted our family or even the few servants on food, clothing, or daily needs. And he’s been especially kind to me, his nephew, providing me with a room full of books, and even some bamboo slips—uh, yes, I’m not mistaken, actual bamboo slips.

However, I really have no interest in appreciating or studying these national treasures right now. What I need to consider is what to bring when the time comes to visit Abraham Lincoln’s family.

The current situation at home is that we have no surplus wealth, truly nothing presentable to give. Although I know that in later generations, these bamboo slips wouldn’t just be suitable as gifts—even if I tried to sell them, countless collectors would be waving cash, crying and begging to cling to my leg. But the problem is, in this era, while these things are worth a bit more than daily necessities, they’re still not worth much.

Besides, would the grand Duke of Tang’s household really be lacking a few bundles of bamboo slips?

“So troublesome…” I couldn’t help scratching my head and sighing. I’m still not used to tying all my hair up on my head; for nearly thirty years, I’ve confidently used Rejoice shampoo. But now, if I tried to toss my long hair around in a dashing way, uh, I’d probably scare my little sister and mother, and then get another dose of that Chinese herbal essence.

“What’s so troublesome about this? As the saying goes, ‘A small gift carries deep affection.’ Brother, even if you just give your calligraphy, that would be fine, right?” Emily looked at my calligraphy with stars in her eyes, offering her suggestion.

“Give calligraphy?” Hearing my sister’s words, my eyes lit up, but I still felt uneasy inside. After all, in the modern world, I was at best a city-level calligraphy award winner. To actually give my own writing to people of the past—I really feel too embarrassed to do it.

“Little Sister doesn’t really know how to put it, just feels that since Brother woke up, your calligraphy has improved a lot. If Uncle were here, maybe he could say something insightful about it.” Emily smiled happily. “So, I think if Brother gives your calligraphy as a gift, it should be fine.”

“No, although my calligraphy is decent, it’s still not suitable.” While I admit I’m quite narcissistic—no, I mean confident—and thick-skinned, the problem is, I’m not thick-skinned enough to mount my own calligraphy and show it off to the world. Hmm, it seems that as a newcomer to time travel, my skin is still far from the nuclear-attack-resistant thickness of protagonists in those time-travel novels.

“So what should we do?” Emily also frowned in distress, her delicate fingers unconsciously tracing patterns on the table. “How about waiting a couple of days for Uncle to return home, and then ask him?”

“Well…” Asking Uncle isn’t impossible, but the problem is, Uncle isn’t wealthy either. If I ask him, wouldn’t that be indirectly making him pay? Having lived independently for nearly ten years in the modern world, I’m really not used to it, nor do I have the heart. “No, there’s no need to trouble Uncle with such a small matter. I’ll think of something myself.”

Emily pouted but still agreed, then turned over the paper I’d written on and began practicing her calligraphy. Her handwriting was delicate and elegant—truly, as the saying goes, the writing matches the person. At least, her brother (me) now looks much better than before.

I subconsciously touched my smooth face. Ever since I traveled here, I’ve found myself younger and more handsome—and not just ordinarily handsome. Of course, I’m not exactly the pretty-boy type, but if I were to walk down a city street in the twenty-first century now, I wonder how many fujoshi would look at me with stars in their eyes, clutching their hearts and screaming, “Wow, so handsome…”

Well, okay, I admit that’s all just imagination. But I really have become more handsome. That’s a fact—a correct conclusion I’ve reached after carefully examining myself in a bronze mirror these past few days.

Seems I’ve drifted off again. Right, about the gift—what should I give Abraham Lincoln in return? Just my calligraphy? That’s really too insubstantial, isn’t it? How could I present that?

I’m a time traveler, after all. As a transmigrator, should I really be like the ancients and give some unimaginative trinket? How could I show my uniqueness and stand out? After all, George Washington and his son are the future emperors of the great Tang Empire. I should at least leave a good impression, and work hard to secure myself a long-term meal ticket for the future.

But, to come up with something novel, with my current financial situation, there’s really no way to invent anything great. Forget about making glassware—even making a couple of glass beads would be extremely difficult. Not to mention any high-tech gifts.

Headache… I rubbed my tense brow and looked outside. Benjamin Lincoln was still loyally standing in the corridor. Hmm, his enviably strong, muscular physique was like a human iron tower. This guy would be perfect as a life model for those fujoshi art students at an art academy.