Shen Zhihuan was sore all over and spent an entire day and night in bed, with Xiao Weidong bringing her meals to the bedside.

It was like getting a premature taste of retired life.

As night fell, Shen Zhihuan dragged her sore body to the cypress forest.

Once Qin Bin finished counting the money, Shen Zhihuan stretched out her hand to grab it and stuffed it directly into her pocket.

“Fifth Master…”

“If you have something to say, say it!” Qin Bin paused while moving a basket and simply stood up.

This girl only addressed him sweetly when she needed something. Usually, there wasn’t even a “hey,” and she’d just grab the money and leave. But when there was something she wanted, it was “Fifth Master” this and “Fifth Master” that. It was rare to see someone so blatantly self-serving, yet somehow it didn’t come off as irritating.

“Do you have any cotton? I’d like to buy some.” Shen Zhihuan grinned.

In these times, cotton production was not high, and pests made things worse. What was harvested barely met household needs, let alone provided surplus for sale.

Add to that the high number of mouths to feed in every family—more children meant more costs.

Feeding them was manageable, with a few extra wild greens and water to stretch meals, as long as no one starved.

But clothing? That was harder.

Summer was easier—the clothes could be washed at night and worn again the next day.

But winter was a different story. In the cold mountain regions, a lack of padded cotton clothing could genuinely be life-threatening.

Families barely had enough cotton for their own use; selling extra was nearly impossible.

“Autumn has barely started. Are you trying to buy cotton now to invite moths to nest in it?” Before Qin Bin could respond, Huang Xiao’er, carrying a basket of apples to the cart, laughed out loud.

Qin Bin aimed a kick at him. “If you don’t have anything useful to say, then shut up!”

Huang Xiao’er instantly quieted down.

“How much do you need?” Qin Bin looked at Shen Zhihuan, feeling that something about her seemed a little off tonight—awkward in a way he couldn’t quite place.

“I need eighty pounds,” Shen Zhihuan estimated.

Her calculations were simple: one quilt for her mother, one for Xiao Weidong, one for herself, one for her eldest sister, and one for her nieces—a total of five quilts, each weighing ten pounds, making fifty pounds.

She also planned to make three lighter quilts for spring and autumn use, leaving the remaining cotton for sewing padded jackets.

“Are you getting married?” Qin Bin suddenly blurted out.

“No! It’s for my household use. All the quilts at home are years old and need replacing,” Shen Zhihuan replied with a laugh.

At seventeen, getting married? No way she’d want that.

“How many quilts are you making? I know someone who’s good at processing cotton. I can have them make the quilts and deliver them to you. That’ll save you the trouble of finding someone,” Qin Bin offered, feeling inexplicably relieved and relaxed.

“I’d like five ten-pound quilts, three six-pound ones for spring and autumn, and I’ll take the rest of the cotton for jackets. Fifth Master, can you calculate how much this will cost?” Shen Zhihuan pulled out her cash without hesitation.

“We’ll settle the bill later,” Qin Bin said, waving his hand dismissively. Then he added abruptly, “By the way, I’m only twenty-four. Is it appropriate for you to call me Fifth Master?”

Shen Zhihuan paused for a moment.

Wasn’t it appropriate?

What wasn’t appropriate about it?

In any era, the capable ones were the “Masters.”

“Fifth Brother, then,” she quickly corrected herself when she realized he didn’t like being called Master.

“That’s better,” Qin Bin replied, satisfied, signaling for the team of five to set off.

As the group disappeared into the distance, Shen Zhihuan packed up the baskets and trudged home with her sore body, step by step.

“Fifth Brother, every time we return her baskets, she doesn’t even offer us a discount,” Huang Xiao’er’s younger brother, Huang Xiaosan, grumbled as he rode alongside Qin Bin.

Those baskets were worth thirty cents each at the supply and marketing cooperative. Returning forty or fifty of them every trip added up to several yuan.

“Care to repeat that?” Qin Bin’s voice dropped, sharp and cold.

“Fif…” Huang Xiaosan hesitated, sensing he’d overstepped.

“Fifth Master, he’s young and doesn’t understand. Don’t take it to heart,” Huang Xiao’er quickly interjected, smacking his brother on the head.

“I hope you teach him well. I don’t want to hear such senseless remarks again,” Qin Bin said sternly.

“I understand, Fifth Master,” Huang Xiao’er said, glaring at his younger brother.

At home, he had warned him repeatedly: do more, talk less.

But this idiot always dragged his feet at work and spouted nonsense.

Calling him “Fifth Brother”…

Huang Xiao’er glanced at Qin Bin and had an epiphany.

No wonder Qin Bin insisted on personally handling this delivery. Could it be…

Were they getting a… Fifth Madam soon?

“Is the road on my face?” Qin Bin asked coldly.

“No, no,” Huang Xiao’er hurriedly retracted his gaze.

Back at home, Shen Zhihuan fell asleep the moment she lay down.

Meanwhile, Wang Lianhua spent the entire night tossing and turning in her bed.

By dawn, after sending off Wang Baotian and Wang Chunxi, she pulled her son, Wang Chungen, into the house.

“Mom, can’t this wait until I get back? I have to go to town for my tractor class!” Wang Chungen said impatiently, anxious about the time.

“You…” Wang Lianhua hesitated, struggling to find the right words.

“Mom, what’s going on?” Sensing her unease, Wang Chungen felt a pang of foreboding.

“You and Zhihuan… are you two seeing each other?” she finally asked, worried.

“Mom, what are you talking about?” Wang Chungen’s face turned bright red.

“That’s good! That’s good!” Wang Lianhua sighed in relief, patting her chest.

“Mom, haven’t you always thought Zhihuan is great?” Wang Chungen asked, puzzled.

Wang Lianhua hesitated before replying, “Son, there are many great girls in this world. Do you have to marry every single one?”

Taking a deep breath, she added, “Zhihuan is wonderful, but she isn’t suitable to be our family’s daughter-in-law…”

“Why not, Mom?” Wang Chungen’s expression darkened.

“You’re our only son. Our family depends on you. Can you bear to let Zhihuan risk her life to give you children?” Wang Lianhua said earnestly.

“Mom, I understand,” Wang Chungen said, his eyes red as he nodded reluctantly, his spirit visibly deflating.

When Zhihuan and Su Zijie broke off their engagement, he had been heartbroken for her but also secretly overjoyed.

He thought he might have a chance…