Font Size:
“Did I hear that right?” Xianjin asked again, just to be sure. “Third Madam said who’s marrying whom?”
“Fourth Brother is to marry you,” Chen Fu repeated, braving the pressure of He Yasha’s glare.
“Who’s marrying me again?”
“Fourth Brother.”
“Fourth Brother’s marrying who again?”
“…You.”
After enduring Xianjin’s soul-level interrogation—like the classic “Ma Dongmei? Ma what Mei? Ma what Dong? What Dongmei?”—Chen Fu began doubting his own memory. The more he thought, the more confused he became. Finally, he gave up, flopped onto a stool, and said,
“Ugh! I’ve already refused. If Third Madam brings it up again, don’t worry about saving my face. Reject it, return it, curse it—do whatever you need.”
Though it wasn’t proper to speak ill of his wife in front of his stepdaughter, Chen Fu couldn’t hold back. He shook his head. “She’s really got something wrong up there. You and Fourth Brother are practically siblings—marriage? What kind of nonsense is that? When you marry, it’ll be from the Chen household. Your brothers will carry your bridal sedan!”
Chen Fu had three sons and one daughter, but his eldest son and youngest daughter died young, both before age ten. His second son was raised by his maternal uncle until age twenty to avoid a predicted calamity. Since her transmigration, Xianjin had never met this Second Brother. The only one she knew was Chen Silang, the one with a phlegmy throat and raspy voice.
After that, Chen Fu and Third Madam Sun had no more children—because the Chen family’s strongest concubine, He Ainiang, entered the picture. Their marriage line was cut off.
According to Nanny Zhang’s insider gossip, before taking He Ainiang as a concubine, Chen Fu had a frank conversation with Madam Sun about divorce. The terms he offered were generous and tempting:
One mu of prime land was worth about three taels of silver. So 100 mu plus 1,000 taels came to roughly 1,300 taels—plus 2,000 more over 20 years. That totaled around 3,300 taels, or approximately 300,000 yuan in modern terms.
And not 2020s money—more like early 2000s money. That was no small sum. In the early 2000s, even a courtyard house in the capital cost about that much.
As someone from a modestly wealthy background, Xianjin understood Chen Fu’s position. A family earning 300–400 taels in net profit annually didn’t mean the younger generation had that much to spend. Wasn’t it true that even the sons of Hong Kong tycoons lived off monthly trust funds? This was likely Chen Fu’s entire fortune.
A clean break from the marriage, despite being the one emotionally unfaithful?
In some ways, Chen Fu’s thinking was quite progressive. For example, during his marriage to Madam Sun, he had no concubines or bed servants. And when he met his true love, He Ainiang, he offered everything to divorce honorably.
Setting aside the emotional betrayal, even by modern standards, Chen Fu wasn’t a bad man.
Well, maybe not from Madam Sun’s perspective. She’d rather suffer in the household under a “scumbag” and “mistress” than take the silver and start a rich single life.
Xianjin felt sorry for her. After all, in this era, that damned Zhu Xi hadn’t been born yet, and the harsh doctrines of female virtue hadn’t spread widely. As a woman who had fulfilled her marital and maternal duties, Madam Sun could’ve embraced a vast new life as a wealthy divorcée.
Though she couldn’t watch Magic Mike live, raising a few fair-skinned, red-lipped college boys wouldn’t be hard.
Ah—Just like that, Madam Sun had let go of the life Xianjin dreamed of.
Xianjin shook her head, brushed aside the sigh, and got back on track. She asked, puzzled, “Why is Madam so obsessed with marrying me off?”
First the balding rat-faced suitor, then the acne-ridden high schooler. Why was Madam Sun so invested in her marriage prospects?
Xianjin couldn’t understand Madam Sun’s thinking. She was the daughter of her lifelong nemesis, yet she was willing to make her a daughter-in-law?
Wait a minute!
Was Madam Sun planning to starve her into submission? Make her wake before dawn to pay respects? Use her status as mother-in-law to grind her down?
Xianjin clenched her teeth in fury.
Chen Fu coughed lightly, straightened up, and sighed. “Because that’s as far as her reach goes.”
Xianjin blinked.
Chen Fu rubbed the back of his head, thoughtful. “She’s not like you or your mother. Her world is confined to the four walls of the inner courtyard. She can’t meddle in the shop’s affairs, nor does she have any say in the workshop. All she can do is throw herself into petty squabbles among the household women.”
So she’s trying to drag you into her battlefield—where she knows the terrain, where she can defeat you.
Chen Fu shook his head, a little wistful. “No matter how cruel she gets, the worst she can do is marry you off. Just like no matter how much she hated your mother, all she could do was forbid her from going out to admire the moon on Mid-Autumn Festival. That’s the extent of her power.”
Xianjin was stunned. She hadn’t expected Chen Fu to be so perceptive.
“Third Uncle…” she murmured.
Chen Fu looked at her with warmth and gentleness, but his gaze seemed to pass through her—toward someone else.
“Go ahead and do your thing.” He leaned back, hands behind his head, voice relaxed. “Any force trying to drag you into the abyss—I’ll handle it.”
“Just go for it. Sixth Master Chen is dead. The shop has money, people, and goods. No one can stand in your way. Whether it’s blind boxes or color card collections, no matter how outrageous or bizarre your ideas are, be bold and try them! If you lose money, I’ll cover it. If you make money, it’s your stepping stone.”
“Forget arranged marriages and inner courtyard drama. Your mother entrusted you to me so you wouldn’t follow in her footsteps.”
“Do you know what your mother dreamed of?” Chen Fu turned to her, smiling.
Xianjin’s throat tightened, her eyes stung. She shook her head.
“She wanted to travel all across the Nine Provinces—from Northern Zhili to Ryukyu, from Shanhai Pass to U-Tsang. She wanted to write travelogues, record the food and drink of Southern Zhili’s markets, see snow-capped mountains and endless grasslands.”
Xianjin’s eyes welled with tears.
Chen Fu leaned his head back. “Sadly, the farthest she ever got was from Qingzhou to Xuancheng—fleeing hardship and hunger. Yet that was the freest time of her life.”
Suddenly, Xianjin understood Chen Fu’s feelings for He Ainiang. Between the parasitic dodder flower and the rakish third son, perhaps there was more than dependence—something she didn’t yet understand, hadn’t experienced, had only heard of.
Chen Fu pinched the bridge of his nose, easing the emotion, then rubbed his head and smiled. “I don’t know why you work so hard. But since you’ve chosen this path, I’ll clear the way. Just remember—if you slack off, they’ll drag you back to get married!”
Xianjin sniffled and nodded. “I won’t marry. I’ll register as a female head of household.”
She’d looked into it. In this dynasty, women could own property and register independently. They didn’t have to marry, could buy homes, and join a clan. The only catch: they had to pay for ancestral land, and the clan would manage their estate after death. Basically, a protection fee? The clan provided shelter, and the woman handed over her assets. Perfect for a future rich woman with no interest in marriage.
Chen Fu’s face changed. “Pfft! Nonsense!” He demanded she knock on wood and chant superstitions: “Quick, knock and say ‘pfft’—repeat after me: Heaven and Earth, this girl is talking nonsense, may it never come true!”
Xianjin didn’t move, so Chen Fu grabbed her wrist and knocked it on the bench, shrieking in a fake girlish voice to “pfft” on her behalf.
That was a bit much. Even Heaven and Earth wouldn’t let you get away with that.
Xianjin had no choice but to join in and “pfft” the words away.
Only then did Chen Fu look satisfied. He grew serious. “To be without wings, yet share a heart—that’s the greatest happiness. Jinjie’er, remember that.”
Okay, that’s something only a hopeless romantic would say.
Xianjin pursed her lips. In the modern world, where people pass like raindrops in the wind, she met eighty men a day and still hadn’t found that one person with a shared heart.
Now she was holed up indoors, with Nanny Zhang pounding rice cakes on one side and Wang Sansuo snoring on the other. In such dire conditions, how many incense sticks would she have to burn to meet that person?
No hope, no expectations, no plans.
She laughed it off, chatted a bit more with Chen Fu, then told him about the real story behind Sixth Master Chen’s death. Chen Fu gasped repeatedly—lamenting Sixth Master’s greed and cruelty, mourning Senior Master Li’s tragic end and the Li family’s misfortune. He babbled on like a Teletubby, asking question after question until Xianjin’s head hurt.
But at least the topic had shifted—no more starry-eyed lectures about “one lifetime, one partner.”
Xianjin let out a long sigh of relief. After that heart-to-heart, when she looked at Madam Sun again, her clenched jaw softened into a look of pity. This unnerved Madam Sun even more. She didn’t dare ask Chen Fu anything, afraid she’d get scolded and then be handed over to the fearsome He Yasha to join Sixth Master Chen in the afterlife.
That anxious dread lasted until the thirteenth day of the first lunar month.
Old Madam Qu planned to return to Xuancheng after celebrating the Lantern Festival in Jing County.
She was finally leaving!
Madam Sun had never wanted to go home so badly.
The Lantern Festival wasn’t a big deal in modern times, but here, it was a major holiday. Xianjin had Tuesday Dog and the Zheng brothers return from leave, reopened the workshop overnight, sorted out four or five batches of lower-grade bamboo paper, bought 3,000 bamboo strips at dirt-cheap prices from the newly opened market, and prepared brushes, colored ink, five or six small square tables, and a dozen stools. She laid them out in front of the shop on Shuixi Street and hung a festive lantern sign that read: “Beauty Lanterns”
Just kidding! This was the perfect chance to clear out inferior stock—why waste it?
Nanny Zhang sat expressionless on a stool, roasting bamboo strips with her rice-cake-honed biceps, while Xianjin, dressed in a pale cotton jacket with a square bun hairstyle, held a lantern shaped like the character “丰” and sweet-talked two girls in silk dresses:
“Yes, yes, thirty wen to make a lantern!”
“We’ve got bamboo strips, paper, brushes, and colored ink—all ready!”
“Even the lantern-making teacher is right here.”
She pointed to Nanny Zhang. The two rich girls looked over curiously.
Nanny Zhang forced a big fake smile.
Xianjin continued, “Think about it—Lantern Festival is coming. The night market will be full of dressed-up girls in red and green, each holding a beautiful lantern. Guess what?”
The girl in red giggled, “What?”
Xianjin grinned, “Everyone else has rabbits, Chang’e, or flower goddesses—so common. But yours? It could be bamboo, or a harvest scene, or even a fruit platter with peaches, plums, and grapes. Wouldn’t everyone envy you?”
The girl in green nudged the girl in red, eyes sparkling.
Xianjin added, “When people ask where you got it, guess what you say?”
“Guess what?” they chimed.
Xianjin beamed, “You tell them it’s not for sale anywhere else—it’s a custom-made Beauty Lantern!”
The girls burst into laughter.
Nanny Zhang turned away. Good thing she was old—no one could scam her out of her money anymore. Making a lantern only cost a sheet of paper, a few bamboo strips, and some rice paste. Thirty wen? Ridiculous.
Even a fancy, multi-layered lantern with paintings and calligraphy only cost ten wen at most.
While Nanny Zhang was lost in thought, the two girls had already sat down, happily folding paper and spreading paste, thrilled to be crafting their own lanterns.
After teaching them the steps, Nanny Zhang heard that familiar, money-summoning voice again: “Yes, yes, thirty wen to make a lantern!”
“We’ve got everything ready. However you want to design it, that’s how you can make it!”
Nanny Zhang closed her eyes in shame. Earlier that day, she’d complimented Xianjin for finally wearing a light-colored outfit suitable for a young girl. She’d felt genuinely pleased. But this wretched girl had replied with a dead-serious face: “… It’s battle armor.”
Yes. Battle armor.
Armor for waging war against the ruthless greed of merchants.
Armor for digging into the pockets of unsuspecting customers.
Catscats[Translator]
https://discord.gg/Ppy2Ack9