Chapter 8: ‘Koi Fish’ Miaomiao

From that day on, Song Miaomiao took over all the household chores: mixing rice bran to feed the chickens and ducks, learning how to cook, foraging for wild produce in the mountains to help support the family, and washing clothes by the lake.

In just a few days, she had lost a noticeable amount of weight.

Wang Guifang was heartbroken seeing this. Several times she tried to get out of bed to help, but Song Miaomiao firmly stopped her each time.

That day, Aunt Wang—the mother of Wang Erniu—came to visit and even brought three jin of tofu and ten copper coins.

She held Song Miaomiao’s hand affectionately. Though it was their first time meeting, her face was full of sympathy.

“You poor child. Something this big happened at home—why didn’t you come tell us?”

“That heartless bastard Song Eryong, bullying you just because you’re a helpless widow and orphan.”

“If anything happens in the future, come to your Auntie. I’ll get your Uncle Wang and Erniu to beat the crap out of those bullies for you!”

This was the first time anyone had come to visit since Wang Guifang fell ill. Song Miaomiao was touched and nodded.

“Thank you, Auntie Li.”

After some polite conversation, Li Caixia looked Song Miaomiao up and down.

“Just like the rumors in the village say—you really are a pretty girl.”

Song Miaomiao was a little caught off guard by the compliment, her cheeks reddening with embarrassment.

After Li Caixia left, Song Miaomiao made tofu soup with what she brought.
Though the taste was average, they weren’t picky at home.

Once all the housework was done, she slung on her bamboo basket and headed back to the mountains.

A dose of medicine for her mother cost fifteen copper coins and had to be taken daily for a whole month. She couldn’t let her mother stop treatment.

She spent the whole day foraging for mushrooms and only returned after her basket was full, wiping sweat from her brow.

Suddenly, she stopped in her tracks, her eyes wide with surprise.

“What’s that??”

She hurried over and saw a white rabbit lying on its back on top of a tree stump.

“??”

Looking around, she didn’t see any traps or signs of people.

She quickly picked up the plump rabbit, stuffed it into her basket, and camouflaged it by covering it with wild vegetables and fruits.

“This will be great to nourish Mom’s body.”

So the story of “waiting by a tree stump for a rabbit” was true. There really were dumb rabbits that ran into stumps and died.

She skipped down the mountain, as if she had found a mountain of gold and silver.

Three days later, after they’d eaten most of the rabbit, Song Miaomiao found a wild pheasant with a broken leg in a bush.

Song Miaomiao: “…”

Was she one of those “lucky koi” heroines from farming romance novels?

As she walked away, happily carrying the pheasant, Lu Zheng peeked out from the top of the mountain, with a few pheasant feathers still stuck to him.

…

Half a month passed safely.

Thanks to Song Miaomiao’s so-called “lucky koi” aura and her daily foraging and selling of mushrooms, their household managed to stay afloat. Her cheeks had even filled out again.

When Doctor Qin came to check on Wang Guifang, he said her recovery was going well.

Meanwhile, at the Lu household, Lu’s mother asked at the dinner table:

“Zheng’er, have you not been feeling well lately? You’ve brought back fewer game animals than usual.”

Lu Zheng lowered his head. “Yeah, caught a bit of a cold.”

Lu’s mother immediately grew worried. “Should I ask Doctor Qin to take a look at you?”

Lu Zheng kept it short: “No need.”

Lu’s mother suggested, “Then take a hot bath tonight.”

Lu Zheng: “Mm.”

Seeing him return to his usual quiet, reserved self, Lu’s mother hesitated, then tried probing.

“Son, about that marriage matter I mentioned before…”

“Not happening.”

Lu’s mother nearly exploded with frustration. “Not happening, not happening! Everyone your age in the village already has toddlers running around—what are you going to do, become immortal and never marry?”

Lu Zheng lifted his head and looked at his mother, deadpan. “Mom, I’m seventeen. Whose kid in the village is already running around at seventeen?”

In the Daqian dynasty, men typically got engaged around sixteen, but even then, the fastest marriages wouldn’t produce a toddler by seventeen. At most, there’d be a baby in swaddling clothes—no way it could run around.

Lu’s mother coughed strategically. “That’s just something people say to push you into marriage…”

Lu Zheng stood up, ending the conversation. “I’m going to heat water for a bath.”

Lu’s mother clutched her chest in frustration. “You brat! If you can’t get yourself a wife in the future, don’t come crying to me!”

…

Thanks to Song Miaomiao’s “lucky koi” aura and the money she earned from selling mushrooms, the cost of medicine and daily expenses were mostly balanced.

But as the weather grew hotter and rain became scarce, the mushrooms in the mountains dwindled.

Song Miaomiao’s income plummeted—
And of course, misfortune never came alone.

That day, just as Song Miaomiao returned from Auntie Li’s house after collecting the money from selling mushrooms, she saw from afar a strange man walking out of her home.

Back inside, she asked Wang Guifang who that man was.

Wang Guifang said it was Song Eryong—Song Miaomiao’s second uncle.

Song Miaomiao frowned. “What did he come for?”

Wang Guifang replied, “He told me to go back and work.”

For the past few years, heavy labor at Song Eryong’s household had routinely been dumped on Wang Guifang. Now that she had suddenly stopped helping, no one in his family was willing to pick up the slack. It had only been half a month, and they were already here to pressure her to return.

Song Miaomiao was furious. “How shameless! We haven’t even asked him to compensate us, and he has the nerve to come and ask you to work?”

Wang Guifang’s face was full of sorrow. “We still owe him money—reason is on his side.”

Song Miaomiao felt that things couldn’t go on like this.

They had to repay the money owed to her uncles as soon as possible. Otherwise, even if her mother recovered this time, there might be a next time.

That night, she tossed and turned in bed, her mind racing with ideas on how to make money.

She knew embroidery—but in a poor village like theirs, there was no demand for it. She could embroider handkerchiefs and try to sell them in town.

But the white cloth, embroidery thread, and bamboo hoop would all need to be bought first.

And embroidery took a long time—it was labor-intensive and time-consuming. She wouldn’t be able to forage in the mountains at the same time.

Plus, she had never sold any of her embroidery before. What if no one bought it in the end? Or if it sold for less than the mushrooms she gathered? That would be a huge waste of effort.

Racking her brain and recalling all the books she had read, Song Miaomiao suddenly sat bolt upright in bed.

She had thought of a brilliant idea.

Design illustrated menus for restaurants.

She had once visited a fancy restaurant in Lin’an County.

When customers wanted to order, they either followed a regular patron’s lead or listened to the waiter recite the dishes by name, choosing from the verbal list.

So before the dishes arrived, customers had no idea what the food would actually look like.

Sometimes, a dish might sound grand—something like “Dancing Dragon and Soaring Phoenix”—but when it arrived, it was made from ingredients the customer didn’t even like.

But in some of the modern CEO romance novels she had read, when the male lead took the female lead to a high-end restaurant, the menu always came with pictures.

Each dish was clearly depicted, along with its ingredients and even the method of cooking.

As for how Song Miaomiao, who only read books, knew so much about illustrated menus—

Well, some of the books she read came with illustrations.

She had been amazed by how lifelike and detailed the images were.

She considered herself quite good at drawing.

And maybe because she’d seen so many book illustrations, her drawing style wasn’t exactly like the traditional ink paintings of Daqian. Instead, her lines were unique—minimalist yet able to capture the essential features of objects with just a few strokes.

According to the novels she’d read—

This style was called… “chibi-style drawing”?