The news that He Xianjin would accompany Third Master Chen to Jing County spread through the entire Chen household before noon.

Madam Sun was so furious she ground her molars to dust, shrieking as she hurled several objects around the room with loud crashes. After venting, she stretched out her legs, sat stiff-backed against the chair, head tilted upward, panting heavily. It took her a long while to calm down.

What was she so angry about? Her annoying husband was gone, the detestable concubine was dead, and even the concubine’s burdensome daughter was no longer loitering in front of her—now the rear courtyard was hers alone!

The eldest sister-in-law from the main branch always had her nose in the air, thanks to her scholar father, and never competed for anything. The second sister-in-law came from a fallen family, just the daughter of a paper-maker in Jing County. Even if the second master was the head of the household, she had no say, especially since she hadn’t borne a son. As for the old crone in Castor Hall—how many years did she have left?

Once the old woman died, and with no son in the second branch, they would basically be her son’s servant! In the end, the Chen family would belong to her son!

Madam Sun kicked out her legs and gleefully squirmed upward in her seat. She called in Zhu Zhu, the maid in red. “Send some silver to Dalang, Erlang, and Silang! Tell Dalang to manage the shop well, Erlang to study the papermaking craft, and Silang to focus on his studies!”

Zhu Zhu asked, “Should we send something to Third Miss?”

Madam Sun scoffed, “Send what? She’s just a little girl—not worth a few coins!”

Then she remembered that same little girl, He Xianjin, was going to Jing County as a bookkeeper—and finally realized what was bothering her.

That little wretch was supposed to marry that bald-headed, hollow-cheeked old widower—worrying over money until she couldn’t sleep, growing thick-waisted and losing hair from childbirth, covered in stretch marks, raising a child with poop, pee, and milk. Then, past thirty, she’d watch her husband squander their meager savings in brothels and gambling dens, coming home drunk and violent. Why did she get to stride out like a man, free and unburdened?

Madam Sun, seething, swept the teacup off the table.

While Madam Sun’s mood swung from stormy to sunny and back again, He Xianjin returned to Yi Courtyard to pack. Before long, Second Madam Qu arrived with two sturdy maids. “The Old Madam has assigned you two attendants—Ersi and Wuniu. Use them as you see fit.”

He Xianjin didn’t even look up. She shook her head. “Second Aunt, that’s not appropriate.” She reached for the ink block on the chest of drawers. “I just signed a contract with the Old Madam. The Chen family is hiring me as a bookkeeper for two strings of cash per month. If I perform well, they may raise my pay or offer profit-sharing. When that happens, I’ll use my own salary to hire attendants.”

Not as a recipient of the Chen family’s charity. The Old Madam could reward a concubine’s daughter—but not a contracted bookkeeper.

Second Madam Qu looked at He Xianjin with admiration. “…You’re really not like your mother.”

Well, if being a concubine were a profession, He Ainiang had done quite well—except for failing the KPI of producing heirs, she’d overachieved in every other area.

He Xianjin smiled but said nothing.

By noon, three horse-drawn carriages and two donkey carts finally departed from the Chen estate. The Old Madam was still furious with Chen Fu and didn’t come to see him off. The Eldest Madam, newly widowed, stayed indoors. Third Madam would’ve loved to set off firecrackers to celebrate the plague’s departure—if she came to see them off, she might not be able to stop herself from laughing. So the only ones at the farewell pavilion were the honest-faced Second Uncle and the tall, broad-faced Second Aunt.

Chen Fu, suffering from a sore backside, lay slumped over. Nanny Chen gently placed his head on a soft, luxurious cloud-patterned cushion.

“You’re not happy I came?” He Xianjin asked softly, thinking of last night’s warm meal, her voice tinged with amusement. “The East City bookkeeper was pretty skilled—I had to work hard to beat him and get this job! Don’t send me back.”

“Your mother asked me to look after you—not to let you become a bookkeeper!” Chen Fu mumbled into the cushion. “Jing County is far! A whole day’s ride—my bones are falling apart! I got exiled for going crazy, and now you’re joining me in the madness? Is the family really going to starve you?”

Hmm. Your wife only fed me boiled greens. But that wasn’t the main reason.

He Xianjin didn’t know how to explain concepts like value, ideals, or ambition to someone from this era. She’d died once and come back—she wanted to live with purpose. She didn’t dare lie flat.

In this era, lying flat meant drifting aimlessly, letting her thousand-year-future mind slowly decay into numbness and indifference. If she didn’t want to be assimilated, she had to fight. Faced with this purebred slacker, she didn’t know how to express her refusal to accept fate.

Luckily, the slacker rolled over and figured it out himself. “Fine, fine. Do what you want. Your mother used to tell me she wanted to open a teahouse—serve tea and sell tea, earn two or three strings a year, be her own boss and her own worker…”

Chen Fu clicked his tongue. “What’s so great about two or three strings? Doesn’t she know how exhausting that is?”

He Xianjin pressed her lips together. This spoiled rich kid really deserved a beating.

Chen Fu craned his neck to look at the fading Chen estate, muttered a few words, then turned to lean against the carriage wall.

Technically, merchants weren’t allowed to ride horses or sit in carriages—this was the famous “burden of transport.” Since the Han dynasty, merchants faced heavy restrictions: high taxes, no government positions, no land ownership, no silk clothing, no carriages or horses. It wasn’t until the Northern and Southern Song dynasties that the stigma began to ease. Land was still off-limits, but shops and homes could be bought, and descendants could study for the imperial exams.

So while riding and carriage travel were forbidden, in small towns, officials needed merchant taxes and merchants needed official protection. Over time, both sides turned a blind eye—as long as you didn’t gallop through the market or travel after curfew, it was tolerated.

If He Xianjin had to walk to Jing County, it would’ve been a mountain trail ultramarathon plus a Xuancheng city run—a true test of cardiac endurance.

They ate a few dry flatbreads in the carriage and bought some water at a roadside teahouse—barely enough for two meals. The spoiled rich kid had never suffered like this. His face turned pale with exhaustion. By nightfall, they rounded the city’s protective forest. Just before Chen Fu’s face turned completely purple, they finally arrived in Jing County. The driver headed east, and outside the carriage, the sound of flowing water grew louder.

He Xianjin curiously pulled back the curtain.

Two rivers ran side by side.

Chen Fu weakly explained, “These are tributaries of Jing County’s Wuxi River. One tastes alkaline—good for soaking bark and bamboo. The other tastes acidic—better for papermaking.” He leaned against the carriage wall and pointed vaguely. “See over there?”

She couldn’t. It was pitch dark. Too far. No streetlights in ancient times—just a black void.

At the same time, He Xianjin discovered something her current body shared with her past one—night blindness. After dark, she was practically blind. She mumbled an acknowledgment.

Chen Fu continued, “The rocky terrain by Wuxi has jagged stones. That’s where they sun-dry sandalwood bark and straw. Only then does the paper turn out bright and glossy.”

Ah—sun-bleaching via karst topography.

He Xianjin, a science major, understood instantly.

But… How did this slacker know all that?

She looked at Chen Fu with suspicion.

Chen Fu suddenly grew indignant. “I may be a useless playboy now, but I had a diligent childhood once!”