Chapter 7: Bring Out the Contract of Servitude

Wang San immediately grew alert:

“What are you scheming?
I’m telling you, the county office has it on record. Even if you take the contract of servitude, it’s useless.
As long as I don’t personally agree to void it, losing the contract won’t change anything.”

Wang Man tapped her fingers:
“So complicated?”

“Exactly. Do you think a contract of servitude is just talk?
If it weren’t so, how many people would back out later?”

Wang San lifted his chin proudly, like a peacock fanning its tail.

Wang Man’s eyes flickered:
“I’ve never actually seen a contract of servitude. Dare you show it to me?”

Wang San snorted coldly:
“Cut the act. I’m not falling for that.”

“Oh? You won’t fall for it, or are you hoping to get beaten to a pulp instead?” Wang Man asked slyly.

Wang San was confused:
“What do you mean by ‘beaten to a pulp’?”

“That’s exactly what just happened. So, how was the taste? Not bad, right?”

Wang Man smirked as she looked at Wang San, a teasing expression on her face.

Wang San immediately flew into a rage:
“Wang Man, just you wait. Tomorrow I’ll have someone come and sell you off.”

Wang Man’s face darkened:
“You’ve got some nerve, daring to sell me off.”

With that, she sprang up and swung a stick hard against Wang San’s leg.

Wang San let out a sharp cry and collapsed to the ground, clutching his leg as his hands trembled slightly.

Aunt Ma Liu, hearing her son’s cries of pain, instinctively reached out to stop her:
“Man, you can’t hit him.”

She felt as if her heart was being pricked by needles—painful and unbearable.

Wang Man glanced at her lightly:
“What? Are you going to protect him?”

Aunt Ma Liu was at a loss for words.

She wanted to protect him, but she also knew it was useless.

Besides, this son really needed someone to keep him in check; otherwise, who knew if he’d even survive in the future?

With that thought, she gritted her teeth, withdrew her hand, and stepped aside without looking at Wang San anymore.

The meaning was clear—she was giving up.

Seeing his Mother protect him, Wang San was overjoyed.

But when he saw her step aside after Wang Man’s question, a chill ran through him.

He looked at Aunt Ma Liu pleadingly and shouted:
“Mother, I’m your son, your own flesh and blood!”

Wang Man smirked slightly:
“If it were possible, she’d rather not have a son like you, right? Mother.”

Aunt Ma Liu’s mind was a mess; she hadn’t even clearly heard what Wang Man had said.
She just nodded vaguely and replied:
“Mm.”

Wang San…
God, what a blow. Was his Mother completely disappointed in him?

Wang Man propped herself up with the wooden stick she had, using it like a cane as she walked over to Wang San.

She kicked his leg with her foot:
“How is it? Now can you finally shut up?”

Wang San’s leg was already throbbing badly, and her kick made it worse. He couldn’t help but let out another yelp.

“Shut up. A grown man who can’t even take this little pain—try yelling again and see what happens,” Wang Man said sternly, her face cold.

Wang San felt wronged. As a grown man, he had just been beaten badly by his young wife, and now he wasn’t even allowed to cry out.
It was like he had no place to argue.

“Wife, it hurts,” he said plaintively.

Wang Man’s eyes narrowed slightly:
“What did you just call me?”

Wang San hadn’t quite registered it yet:
“Wife… I called you wife.”

“Who gave you permission to call me wife?
Have you already forgotten what I said?”

Wang Man flicked her eyes sharply, startling Wang San into a shiver.

“Mother, no, no, Man,” he stammered.

“Hm?”

Wang Man let out a questioning snort through her nose.

Wang San quickly corrected himself:
“No, no, all wrong. Man Niang, Man Niang—that’s right, isn’t it?”

Wang Man was about to say no again, but then thought—he certainly shouldn’t call her Wang Manman; that would sound even worse.

Besides, in ancient times, many women’s names ended with “Niang” (Madam), so she reluctantly decided to let him call her Man Niang.

Seeing that Wang Man didn’t respond, Wang San finally breathed a sigh of relief:
“Man Niang, you’ve definitely broken my leg. Please help me get a physician to take a look, will you?”

He looked pitiful in a way that begged for sympathy, and Aunt Ma Liu’s eyes filled with tears as she kept wiping them away.

Wang Man snorted coldly:
“How would I not know if your leg is hurt? No need to see a physician.”

Hmph. When she had a huge hole knocked in her head, no one even called a physician for her.
And now he thought a single blow to the leg was enough to warrant one? Dream on.

Wang Man wasn’t that generous—she was stingy.

That scoundrel—she planned to give him a proper beating tomorrow to vent the anger she’d been holding back these past two days.

As the old saying goes, anger harms the body.

For the sake of her health, no matter what, she had to get rid of this anger.
As the saying goes, “Only the one who tied the bell can untie it.”

Wang San blinked in confusion:
What does that mean? That his leg wasn’t broken, or that she just didn’t want to get a physician for him?

“Wang San, bring out the contract of servitude so I can see it.”

Wang Man felt this contract had to be dealt with. She didn’t want to be sold around by others.

Wang San didn’t want to show the contract, but fearing another beating from Wang Man, his eyes darted around as he said:
“The contract of servitude isn’t on me.”

He wasn’t lying—it really wasn’t on him.
Who would carry that piece of paper around for no reason? What if it got lost?

Wang Man poked his leg with the stick, her tone threatening:
“If you dare lie to me, do you not want these legs anymore?”

Wang San pulled his leg back from the painful poke:
“I’m not lying. The contract really isn’t on me.”

“Then where is it? Tell me! If you don’t, I’ll really hit you.”

Wang Man raised the stick high as if about to strike, and Wang San shouted:
“It’s under the bed!”

Wang Man narrowed her eyes, signaling him to continue.

Wang San broke out in a cold sweat from fear:
“I’m not lying. It really isn’t on me. It’s under the bed. I hid it under the bed.”

Wang Man stood her ground, her tone unwavering:
“Go get it for me.”

“Man Niang, I gave them five taels of silver. If you want to take that contract of servitude, you have to return the five taels to me,” Wang San mustered his courage and said.

No one wanted to lose everything—both money and opportunity—over nothing.

Wang Man raised an eyebrow:
“I’m not taking the contract to sell. I just want to see it. Don’t worry, your five taels will be returned.”

Wang San…

Why did he find it so hard to believe her?

With that fierce look on her face, she was obviously here for the contract.

Saying she only wanted to look at it? Yeah, right.

With no other choice, Wang San dragged his leg over to the bed and pulled the contract of servitude out from underneath.

Wang Man examined it carefully, then looked back at Wang San.

Wang San shrank his neck, afraid to meet her gaze, feeling like Wang Man might harm him.

“You mean even if I tear up this contract of servitude, but without you going to the county office to officially void it, it won’t be invalid, right?”

Wang Man asked again, seeking confirmation.

Wang San nodded his head rapidly, like a chick pecking rice:
“Yes, yes, yes, I’m not lying to you.”

“Really?”
Wang Man asked again, locking eyes with Wang San, reading his expression clearly.

At that moment, Aunt Ma Liu, who had been pretending to stay quiet, spoke up:
“Manya, Ah San isn’t lying to you. It’s true.”

Hearing Aunt Ma Liu say this, Wang Man believed him ninety percent.
She raised an eyebrow and asked,
“Oh? By the way, do you have paper and brush?”