Chen Jianfang smiled for the first time since his father passed away. His father’s death had cast a long shadow over him. To Chen Jianfang, his father was mentor, friend, and elder—a warm light in the long, monotonous years of study. Others described the Chen family’s eldest grandson as steady and composed, clear-headed, mature beyond his years, with the grace of an old-school gentleman. Only his father would hang a tiger-scent sachet on him during the Dragon Boat Festival, force him to drink a sip of realgar wine, and then sit back to watch his face scrunch up from the burn—calling it “My son is a scholar, solemn and unsmiling; let the sachet and silk ribbons adorn him. I treat him as a future scholar, but also as a child.”

Everyone assumed he was born to succeed, destined to be reserved and serious. Only his father treated him like a child.

“…He doesn’t seem like he’s from a merchant family—more like a noble heir from a titled household.”

He once overheard a Guozijian scholar say this about him. He scoffed inwardly, unimpressed. He had never felt ashamed of his merchant background, nor envied classmates from prestigious families, because of his father.

His father helped him reconcile with his origins—gracefully and without shame. He taught him to begin life with dignity and calm, to understand that even if the whole family placed its burdens on his shoulders, there would always be someone shielding a space where he could be reckless, indulgent, and true to himself.

When the Chen family sank into gloom after losing its political protection, when his mother mourned his father’s untimely death at sixth-rank officialdom, perhaps only Chen Jianfang was purely, utterly, and wholeheartedly grieving the man himself.

No one understood him.

He tilted his head slightly, throat tightening, and swallowed the grief that surged up again. His gaze shifted to the lively young girl who had just spoken—her tone exaggerated, her expressions animated. She was clearly tattling, yet she looked wistful and full of emotion.

Chen Jianfang couldn’t help but want to laugh.

“You… what do you mean!” Sixth Master Chen’s face flushed red, his mustache twitching as he pointed at Xianjin. Then he turned to Old Madam Qu, pleading, “Sister-in-law, you know this! Jing County has at least eighty paper workshops, if not a hundred! What business doesn’t have debts? If we settle every account, how will our workshop survive? How will we pay our workers?”

He slapped the table. “If you don’t trust me, just say so! You sent Third Brother here to promote your son—fine, that’s expected!”

His finger nearly jabbed Xianjin’s face. “But what’s this? You sent a random accountant? A little girl? She comes in, closes the books, clears all the debts, and even sets up a stall at Qingcheng Academy? Selling some ridiculous blind bags! You don’t know—my peers mocked me endlessly! I nearly lost all face!”

“Our Chen family has been in the paper business for two or three generations! Since my grandfather’s time, we’ve made xuan paper. Do you know what xuan paper is? It’s a scholar’s treasure! And she’s out there selling it at a street stall!”

By the end, Sixth Master Chen was gnashing his teeth, jabbing Xianjin’s left cheek. The force left red marks within moments.

Chen Jianfang frowned deeply. “Sixth Uncle, please restrain yourself.”

Before he finished speaking, Xianjin tilted her head to dodge, slapped Sixth Master Chen’s hand away with a crisp “smack,” and pushed herself up from the table. Her movements were fluid and powerful—her slender frame bursting with unexpected strength. Even Chen Silang flinched instinctively.

She used to be a heart patient, always slow and gentle. But now? She was no longer frail! She could carry a full batch of paper in one go. Every morning, she practiced qigong, drank goji and red date tea, had silver ear soup and egg custard for lunch, did three minutes of planks at night, and kept a sleep schedule like an Olympic diver.

Why? To stay strong and earn money she could actually spend!

As the saying goes: “Give in once—get breast nodules. Tolerate again—get uterine fibroids.” For someone who got a second chance at life, grudges must be settled on the spot. Injustice must be addressed immediately. If she held it in, she’d only get angrier. If she backed down, she’d keep backing down forever. Time to show them what a health-obsessed, special-forces-style girl could do!

Her slap on the table was louder than Sixth Master Chen’s. She raised her hand—

“Jin-jie’er—!”
“Jin-jie’er—!”

Two voices overlapped to stop her.

Old Madam Qu and Chen Fu, freshly returned from Tianxiang Restaurant, spoke in unison.

Old Madam Qu glanced at her youngest son, who had been away for half a month. He looked healthier, rounder, and more spirited since his beloved concubine’s passing. She nodded quietly, then turned her gaze to Sixth Master Chen with a frown. “Old Six, it’s the New Year. Why argue with a young girl? You’re past fifty—take it easy and rest.”

She turned to Second Madam Qu. “Send Uncle Six two boxes of ginseng. Make sure he eats it. We’ll send more from Xuancheng next time.”

Sixth Master Chen turned away, giving Old Madam Qu face. Then she turned to Xianjin, offering a veiled rebuke. “Business thrives on harmony. A young girl with such a temper—how will she manage a workshop in the future?”

Xianjin’s heart stirred. She looked at Old Madam Qu and pressed her lips together.

Chen Fu stormed in, ready to speak, but Xianjin gently shook her head.

Let it go? Chen Fu stood there, holding two jugs of wine, regretful that he’d missed his chance to go wild in front of his mother.

…

It’s the New Year. Every household has its arguments.

Xianjin and Sixth Master Chen had their fight early—after that, peace reigned.

The Chen family’s relatives gathered at the old residence: uncles, cousins, and elders—over twenty people. With wives and young men included, they filled six or seven tables in the courtyard.

Xianjin sat at the girls’ table, surrounded by ten-year-olds. After a round of chaotic introductions, she gained four older sisters and two younger ones, earning the nickname “Fifth Miss” of the Chen family.

She wanted to say, “I’m not even a Chen.” But her sisters didn’t give her a chance. They stuffed her with sachets and chattered away: “…You read, write, and do accounting—we envy you so much! And we heard you went to Qingcheng Academy to scam—oh no, earn money from scholars. We were thrilled! Imagine, a merchant making money off scholars!”

The eldest sister, Chen Zuoniang, chimed in: “My little sister wanted to buy two blind bags but was afraid they’d be all bamboo paper—waste of money…”

Xianjin was about to reply, but Zuoniang kept going: “So I made her one myself, stuffed it with ten coral sheets. She was overjoyed! Hehehehe—”

Alright then. Xianjin scratched her head. They didn’t need her to respond—just to listen.

Girls chattering away—what a lovely thing.

She took a bite of food, glanced at peach-blossom-faced Zuoniang, sipped tea, and admired cherry-blossom-faced Youniang. Her heart felt light.

The banquet entered round two.

Second Master Chen, still in mourning, initially refused wine. But with Old Madam Qu’s silent approval, he raised his cup. A sincere man, he never refused a drink. Soon, the party was in full swing.

Amid the chaos, Xianjin squinted and saw an old man with a handlebar mustache whispering urgently to Sixth Master Chen. Sixth Master Chen quickly rose and left.

Xianjin clinked teacups with Zuoniang, then hooked her arm around Peach Blossom Sister’s shoulder and smiled. “…Nature calls! You girls keep playing!” She tiptoed after Sixth Master Chen, hiding behind a pillar. From the corner of the wall, she heard sobbing.

“…Old Zhu is dead. What’s the family supposed to do? You promised silver, but it’s not coming. Five taels today, three taels the day after—he’s got a dozen concubines and seven or eight sons waiting to eat! What are we supposed to do?”