“Riiip—riiip—” The pillowcase was violently torn open. From inside, Xianjin pulled out a thick booklet bound with coarse hemp thread and brought it close to the firestarter to read.

“Year Six of Zhaode…” That was seven years ago. It recorded, in meticulous detail, the monthly kickbacks skimmed from procurement, sales, and resales—starting at thirty taels a month, sometimes reaching fifty. Still considered small money.

From Year Eight of Zhaode onward, two new entries appeared each month, both labeled simply “Anyang Prefecture.” One was a hundred-tael transaction, plus several expenditures totaling around five hundred taels annually. This must be the record Sixth Master Chen mentioned—selling eight- and six-zhang xuan paper to Anyang and bribing the bandits at Baochan Temple.

Xianjin asked softly, “How much do we usually charge for one sheet of eight-zhang xuan?”

Chen Jianfang hesitated, then replied in a low voice, “I… household affairs never passed through the eldest branch. I don’t know.”

Oh. Xianjin nodded and didn’t press further.

The gloom and agitation that had briefly lifted from Chen Jianfang returned. He hadn’t meant to explain, but still opened his mouth: “My late father passed the Imperial Academy exam eight years ago, then took a post in Chengdu, Sichuan. I studied first at Qingcheng Mountain, then at the Imperial Academy. I’ve spent little time at home…”

He didn’t know why, but he feared this girl might think he was one of those bookish types who ignored the world and only read Confucian texts. After a pause, he added, “Household matters are handled by my grandmother and second uncle. Our seasonal letters never go into such detail as the price of a single sheet of paper.”

But eight-zhang and six-zhang xuan weren’t just sheets of paper. If Master Li Sanshun heard that, he’d scream, “Eight-zhang xuan is a legacy! Even if I die and rot, this paper will outlast my bones!”

Xianjin pictured the wiry old man waving a timber beam and shouting, and couldn’t help but laugh. “Not knowing is fine. You’re back for mourning—give it a few days and you’ll find out.”

She tucked the ledger into her chest. Just then, footsteps rustled outside. Xianjin quickly blew out the firestarter, crouched behind the doorframe, and waited until the sounds faded. She didn’t relight the firestarter, relying on memory to feel her way out of the Zhu residence in the dark.

Only when her feet touched the snowy street did her heart settle back into place.

Xianjin was visibly excited, walking briskly. Chen Jianfang wanted to speak but didn’t know what to ask. Should he ask what she planned to do with the ledger? It didn’t seem necessary. That ledger would naturally be handed to Grandmother. Those who needed punishing would be punished. Those who needed bone-deep cleansing would get it.

Now that Steward Zhu was dead, if Sixth Master Chen was toppled, the only remaining power in the Jing County workshop would be Third Uncle. But what did Third Uncle know? Once Grandmother passed, the girl standing behind Third Uncle—Miss He—would undoubtedly become the rightful head of Jing County. She seemed very eager to take charge.

Chen Jianfang glanced at her. The young woman was radiant, her brows dancing with excitement. He couldn’t help but lower his head and smile.

Some women just couldn’t sit still. Like his mother, after his father died, she picked up her fine brush painting again. Her parrots and sparrows looked so lifelike, their red beaks seemed ready to speak.

As they reached the Chen residence gate, Chen Jianfang called out, “Miss He—”

Xianjin turned, responding with a soft “Mm?”

“My name is Jianfang, second in the family. The eldest branch follows a unified ranking. I have an older sister who is married in the capital. You…”

You don’t need to call me Dalang. It always sounded a little ominous.

Xianjin thought for a moment, then nodded. “Alright, Erlang.” She had to work hard to swallow the word “Shen.”

All thanks to Investiture of the Gods being wildly popular in childhood.

Chen Jianfang wanted to ask more, but couldn’t get the words out. He’d heard others call her Jin-jie’er—but which “Jin” was it? Was she He Jinniang? Or He Jiner?

But that was her private name. He only needed to know her as “Miss He.” Anything closer would be overstepping.

This snowy night was already a transgression. Eavesdropping for no reason. Inviting a stranger to break into a house. And now, wanting to know a woman’s private name. He could blame these lapses on the emotional chaos from his father’s sudden death. But that chaos must never bring shame to others.

Chen Jianfang turned and walked inside.

Meanwhile, Second Master Chen’s drunken performance of Romance of Yingying had reached the eighth act. Playing Yingying, he tugged coyly at his brother Chen Fu’s sleeve: “Hongniang, Hongniang, the young lady isn’t drunk—just has a bone stuck in her throat. She must spit it out to feel better—”

Whether Chen Fu was Hongniang or not, his face was certainly red with anger. Damn it. Even drunk and singing opera, he was just a supporting female role! Pah!

Chen Fu expressionlessly pulled his sleeve back.

The crowd burst into laughter. Xianjin slipped back into the lively scene, nestled between Chen Zuoniang and Chen Youniang.

The welcome banquet lasted deep into the night. After two days of rest, it would be New Year’s Eve and the start of the new year. Under Second Madam Qu’s command, Nanny Zhang rose earlier than the chickens and slept later than the dogs, spending days sweeping and cleaning. Her leisurely days of only cooking two meals for the workshop staff were gone for good.

“Why haven’t they left yet!” Nanny Zhang gritted her teeth and shoved an almond candy into Xianjin’s hand. “Good thing you brought back a capable girl—she’s been a huge help. Second Madam Qu is my curse!”

“She sends me upstairs, then sends me to the fields. For the little money I make each month! If I had her monthly stipend, I’d sleep with one eye open—one eye on guard, one eye on lookout. If the master steals chickens to the east, I won’t be sneaking dogs to the west!”

When leadership visits, even farts must be released with restraint.

Xianjin chuckled, chewing the almond candy. “Is Suo’er doing better?”

Nanny Zhang peeled a plate of melon seeds and pushed them toward Xianjin. “She’s all healed. That country girl’s got a tough body. Two rounds of medicine, and her face and leg are fine. I even killed a chicken for her these past few days—gotta fatten her up before she sees people again.”

Just then, someone called from the corridor, “Nanny Zhang, bring the rice cakes to the God of Wealth!”

“Coming, coming!” Nanny Zhang replied, angrily tossing the melon seed shells to the ground. “…Welcoming the God of Wealth on the fifth day of the New Year, and in this whole big house, only I know how to make rice cakes, right? Only I have hands, right?”

Working overtime during the New Year, her resentment was heavier than a ghost’s.

Xianjin laughed uncontrollably, finished her candy, clapped her hands, and got up to leave.

Nanny Zhang seemed to remember something and turned to ask, “You heading out?”

Xianjin nodded. “Yes, I’m planning to take a walk.”

“Where to?” To visit my God of Wealth.

Xianjin scratched her head. “Just strolling around Shuixi Street…”

Nanny Zhang didn’t care about the rest. She waved her hand dismissively, her tone firm. “Then take Suo’er with you. Have her buy three jin of brown sugar, five jin of pumpkin seeds, and maybe some goji berries and red dates. So many people come here just to eat and drink for free! Ugh, I’m sick of it!”

As soon as she finished ranting, Nanny Zhang shouted toward the kitchen, “Suo’er! Suo’er! Come out! Accountant He is taking you out for a walk!”

Xianjin was about to refuse, but before she could speak, she was met with the sparkling, expectant gaze of Wang Sansuo, who came running out of the kitchen. Her eyes seemed to say: If you don’t take me, you’re not human.

–