The mountain roads were rough, and Chen Fu’s backside was sore from the jolting ride. His old injuries hadn’t healed, and now he’d added new ones. He was in a state of pure agitation.

“Ow ow ow!”

“This place is the worst! Jing County has nothing!”

“Dumping me out here all alone—how heartless can they be!”

“But the pork knuckle at Tianxiang Restaurant in Langqiao Town is divine.”

“The dried qinyu fish is tender, sweet, and chewy; Maolin’s twelve-dish set has hot and cold, meat and veg, noodles and rice buns; Yunling’s crispy rice crust is salty, fragrant, and crunchy—one bite and it crackles…”

“Hey! Once I’m better, I’m going to eat my way through every shop!”

As he spoke, his mood completely shifted. Chen Fu lit up, eyes sparkling with joy.

He Xianjin: …

People with “romantic-brain syndrome” have incredible self-repair capabilities—ranting one moment, healing themselves the next—their resilience rivals that of a paramecium.

He Xianjin quietly turned her head away, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly. Being around someone like this was actually quite easy—so long as you weren’t his mother.

The carriage clattered along the upper reaches of the Wuxi River toward Jing County. As the sky darkened, the road conditions improved. It was like switching from a bumpy country road to a smooth highway.

Gradually, lights appeared. As they passed the city gate of Jing County, four large oil lamps swayed in the frost and snow, casting a dim yellow glow on the ancient brick walls. The characters “Youzhou” hung high above the gate.

Jing County was once known as Youzhou.

He Xianjin wasn’t skilled with brush calligraphy, but she could tell the writing was excellent—bold, elegant, and full of character.

Chen Fu leaned over and saw her staring at the gate plaque. He smirked, “That was written by the scholar of Qingcheng Mountain. He was the top scorer in the imperial exam during the first year of the Zhaode era and appointed to the Ministry of Rites. Sadly, he was frail and resigned three times before returning to Jing County to open an academy—he’s the most impressive figure we’ve had in decades.”

Then, as if remembering something, Chen Fu laughed with schadenfreude. “My eldest brother studied his whole life trying to catch up to him. Halfway there—he dropped dead.”

No one knew what kind of grudge existed between those brothers…

He Xianjin paused, then gently said, “When a person dies, the lamp goes out. Grudges vanish like clouds.”

Chen Fu lowered his eyes and said nothing. After a while, he mumbled, “Yeah… your mother used to say that too.”

He Xianjin: … Romantic-brain syndrome, confirmed.

As they passed the city gate, a pompous clerk stopped the carriage.

He Xianjin lifted the curtain to look outside. From the second carriage, Manager Dong quickly got down, respectfully presenting name cards and travel permits, along with three small pouches.

Once the clerk saw the name card, his face lit up with a sincere smile. “The master of the Chen family is back? Have you eaten? If not, I’ll treat you to drinks after my shift!”

“Wouldn’t dare!” Manager Dong bowed repeatedly. “Third Master injured his leg a few days ago and is back to recover. Once he’s better, our Chen family will host you at Tianxiang Restaurant for pork knuckle.”

The clerk cheerfully waved them through.

Chen Fu raised his brows proudly. “Studying is one path, business is another. Our family and the scholar of Qingcheng Mountain are the twin stars of Jing County.”

You might be fine being a “star,” but the scholar probably would disagree.

The city scene overturned He Xianjin’s expectations.

Oil-paper lanterns hung high over the Four Directions Street. Tea stalls were packed with people. Vendors sold flowers, tea, medicine, and fortune readings—it was like a living scroll of Along the River During the Qingming Festival, painted with the sky as canvas and the earth as silk.

He Xianjin had always assumed ancient people rose with the sun and slept at dusk, staying indoors after dark to “make babies.” Back at the Chen estate, she hadn’t even been allowed out during the day, let alone at night. Her understanding of this era was limited to the dry courtyard and scheming family members. Now she clung to the window lattice, ravenous for the view. In that moment, she felt a freedom she’d never known.

As the voices faded, the carriage turned into a quiet courtyard marked “Chen Residence.” Two carriages, one donkey cart, five people—Chen Fu, He Xianjin, Aunt Zhang, Manager Dong, and Chen Fu’s attendant Bai Le—plus twelve trunks. Nine belonged to Chen Fu. The other four people shared two and a half trunks. The last half held jars of water and soil from Xuancheng.

Ancient people rarely traveled far. Even a few dozen kilometers was considered a long journey. To avoid water and soil incompatibility, they drank water from home for several days before adjusting. Some even added soil to the water.

No one knew the science behind it, but He Xianjin decided to follow the crowd. If others drank this “solution,” so would she.

Survival required following every rule, every ritual, every principle.

The Chen family’s old residence had been tidied in advance. Under dim light, He Xianjin saw a hunched old man leading seven or eight attendants of varying ages and genders, waiting at the gate.

The old man’s eyes reddened at the sight of limping Chen Fu. “Third Master!”

Chen Fu leaned on Bai Le and cupped his hands, his face pale. “Sixth Uncle, I hope you’re well.”

He Xianjin followed behind, lifting her gaze slightly.

At Madam He’s funeral, Old Madam Qu had assigned someone named “Fifth Uncle” to handle affairs. This must be “Sixth Uncle.” So Fifth Uncle managed things in Xuancheng, and Sixth Uncle stayed at the old residence? No escaping the family-run business model.

Sixth Master Chen wiped his eyes. “What happened to you? You were fine last year. Now you can barely walk. Is it serious?”

Chen Fu waved it off. “Just a fall. I’ll be fine in a few days.” He led the way toward the inner courtyard. “It’s late. We’ve been traveling all day. Sixth Uncle, why don’t you rest for now? We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Talk? About what?

Sixth Master Chen paused, exchanged a glance with his steward, then smiled. “Yes, yes. Tomorrow I’ll make arrangements. We’ll go to Shuixi Market for soup dumplings, then book a table at Tianxiang Restaurant—eight cold dishes, sixteen hot ones. In the afternoon, we’ll visit Peach Blossom Pool…”

“Let’s go to the shop and workshop first,” He Xianjin interrupted.

Her voice was cool and delicate.

Sixth Master Chen turned to look—a pale, slender young girl. He hadn’t seen her before. But he’d heard that Third Master’s beloved concubine had recently passed.

Could this be the new flame? Ah, wealth is wonderful. Endless women, endless romance.

Sixth Master Chen smiled, his mustache brushing his nose. “And this is…?”

“I’m the new bookkeeper.” He Xianjin’s voice remained calm. “My name is He Xianjin. Sixth Uncle may call me Xianjin, or simply Bookkeeper He.”

Sixth Master Chen restrained his raised brow. He had received word that Third Master was coming to take over the Jing County workshop, accompanied by a skilled bookkeeper. He’d assumed it was the young man helping Chen Fu walk. But it was her?

“You’re a woman?” He couldn’t help asking.

He Xianjin smiled. “I assumed you didn’t need me to answer that.”

It was obvious!

Sixth Master Chen’s gaze darkened, eyes scanning her up and down. He was about to speak when Chen Fu cut in.

“Alright, alright! We’ll talk tomorrow!” Chen Fu yawned. “No sightseeing—let’s follow Xianjin’s lead and sort out the shop and workshop first.”

His backside was in no shape for fun anyway. He limped off toward the main house.

He Xianjin glanced at Sixth Master Chen, nodded slightly, and followed the attendants into the inner courtyard.

Suddenly, the crowd dispersed.

Behind him, the steward nervously clutched his sleeve. “…Is Third Master really here to take over the shop and workshop?”

“Take over my ass!” Sixth Master Chen spat on the ground. “He’s not worthy!”