Chapter 31: Cause of Death: Poisoning

This place was a jumble of all sorts of people.

All kinds, rich and poor—
but mostly poor.

“Huff, huff—”

“Young master, up ahead is the biggest coffin shop in town. Let me carry her in for you.” Zhang Jinlan was panting heavily.

The longer she carried the body on her back, the stiffer it became. The woman’s skin was already ice cold beneath her hands.

It made her skin crawl.

If it weren’t for the two taels of silver promised—
she would never have dared to carry a corpse.

But then she thought of the rice paddies that couldn’t grow rice, and her eldest grandson who still lacked marriage money.

So Zhang Jinlan gritted her teeth and pushed through.

At last she carried the corpse into the coffin shop.

“Phew! Nearly killed me. Young master, hand me the basket now. It’s getting late, I need to hurry back to the village with my granddaughter.”

She wasn’t really in a rush.

She just feared this brat might try to skip out on payment.

She couldn’t directly demand the silver—
after all, the boy’s mother had just died.

So she could only hint at it.

“Grandma, last year when the old wandering doctor came to the village, he said only people who were poisoned had mouths and fingertips that turned black. Why is this auntie also blackened? Was she poisoned?”

Jiang Fubao’s childish voice suddenly rang out in the coffin shop.

The boy froze.

He hurried to the corpse, bending to examine it carefully.

As if confirming what she’d said, his expression darkened.

When he finally looked up, his face was a mix of hatred, rage—
and suppressed pain.

Jiang Fubao knew then.

He must have understood her hint.

She hadn’t spoken in vain.

When her grandma first hoisted the woman onto her back, Fubao had quietly checked her pulse.

After all, no breath at the nose didn’t necessarily mean death.

She could have just been unconscious.

But when the pulse was truly gone, Fubao’s attention fell on those purple-black fingertips.

Only people with heart or lung disease would show cyanotic lips and fingers.

Yet this woman had no clubbing of the fingers.

So illness could be ruled out.

That left only one possibility.

Poisoning.

But then why had the town physician just declared the woman had “died from exhaustion during childbirth”?

Such a simple sign of poisoning—
how could he not see it?

And to run a large medical hall, he was no simple man.

Without checking the pulse herself, Fubao couldn’t fully confirm the body’s state.

But she did not believe that physician’s words.

And when she recalled how the boy had shouted “Auntie!” toward the house earlier—

a chilling suspicion began to take shape in her mind.

This woman’s death—
was likely murder.

Seeing how filial the boy was, she couldn’t hold her tongue in the end.

She was only three years old, after all.

No one would hold a child accountable.

Whether he believed it or not was up to him.

“Fubao, don’t talk nonsense! You must have misheard. That village quack’s medicine was all half-baked. How can it compare with a town physician? Young master, we’ll be leaving now.”

Terrified, Zhang Jinlan quickly clapped a hand over her granddaughter’s mouth.

She knew of that wandering doctor.

He was an itinerant quack.

Had stayed two days in Jiang Family Village last year.

But his skills were abysmal.

Not one villager he treated ever recovered.

No wonder he roamed about—probably fleeing angry patients.

Clearly, Fubao’s words just now were picked up from him.

No way could they be true.

She feared her granddaughter might say more and stir up trouble, so she hurried to change the subject and pressed the boy for payment.

“Here, take all of this. No need for change.”

The boy hesitated for a moment.

Then he shoved a pile of broken silver, which he’d earlier gathered from the floor, into Zhang Jinlan’s hands.

“Oh my, thank you, young master! You have my condolences. This old woman will take her leave. Please take care of yourself!”

Clutching the silver, Zhang Jinlan’s hands trembled with excitement.

Three taels and a half!

Her entire household couldn’t earn that much in a whole year of hard labor.

Yet carrying one corpse had brought it to her.

If she had known, she’d happily carry ten in a day!

With this money, her eldest grandson’s marriage could finally be arranged.

She carefully tucked the silver into her pouch, slung the empty basket over her back, and grabbed her granddaughter’s hand to leave quickly.

She didn’t care whether the boy still had money for a coffin.

Why mention it?

What if he regretted paying?

After they had gone ten paces, the boy suddenly ran out of the coffin shop.

He shouted loudly after their retreating backs:

“My name is Shen Hechi! Thank you for today—”

Jiang Fubao turned her head, met his gaze, and in the next moment, she gave him a pure, innocent smile.

Then she turned away and left.

“Grandma, he was thanking you,” she teased.

“I know. Such a sincere child—gave us so much silver, and still so polite. Only pity, oh… his fate is bitter. So young, and already lost his mother. And I heard him calling that woman in the house ‘Auntie.’ Tsk, tsk. His days ahead will be hard. What was his name again? I didn’t catch it. Eh, no matter—we’ll never meet him again anyway.”

Zhang Jinlan never suspected a thing.

She truly believed the boy’s thanks were for her.

The grandmother and granddaughter left the coffin shop and walked toward Wanlu Street.

Here, livestock were sold everywhere.

Cows, horses, sheep, pigs—
and also chickens, ducks, and geese.

Jiang Fubao stopped in front of a stall selling chicks.

“Grandma, look, they’re selling baby chicks! Let’s buy some and raise them. We can collect worms for them on the mountain. When they grow up, they’ll lay eggs, and then we’ll have endless eggs to eat!”

The little girl’s eyes sparkled as she made her pitch.

Anyway, they’d just earned three and a half taels.

Plus the money from selling eggs—almost four taels in all.

Buying a few chicks was nothing.

When they grew, she could secretly swap in the eggs from her fridge, pretending the hens had laid them.

“Alright. Grandma will ask. Young man, how do you sell these chicks? How much for one?”

Seeing her granddaughter’s eager face, Zhang Jinlan steeled herself.

She’d buy a few.

“Twenty coins each. No bargaining.”

The chicken seller barely lifted his eyelids as he scanned the ragged pair up and down.

Seeing their patched clothes, his eyes turned disdainful.

He reported the price with a lazy tone.

“What? Twenty coins?! That’s outrageous! A full-grown hen only costs sixty coins! Twenty for a chick? Are you serious about selling?”

Zhang Jinlan nearly jumped.

Their family had raised chickens before.

A chick cost six to twelve coins at most.

Older ones were pricier, since newborns were fragile and often died.

She had once bought ten chicks—
and if lucky, only two or three died.

If unlucky, half would die.

Now he wanted twenty coins for one?

Ten chicks would cost two full strings of cash!

Surely this man was spouting nonsense.