Xue Gouzi’s sudden collapse threw the whole household into chaos.

His third uncle, Xue Qingbai, even borrowed an ox cart from the eldest branch and rode into town to fetch a physician. After examining him, the physician found no serious illness—his earlier condition had mostly healed, and although he remained a bit weak, he simply needed time and rest to fully recover.

As for the headaches, even the physician couldn’t pinpoint a cause.

Once the physician was seen off, Grandmother Zhao’s face immediately darkened.

She was in her early fifties, with neatly combed graying hair tied into a bun at the back of her head. Her long face and drooping eyelids gave her a naturally stern look, and when she scowled, her eyes turned sharp and triangular, making her seem particularly unapproachable.

She didn’t even need to speak before Mrs. Sun chimed in with a complaint:
“Zhao’er, don’t take offense, but your fourth aunt has to say—you really make a fuss over nothing. It’s like you’re deliberately stirring up trouble for the rest of us. Even if you’re unhappy about something, this isn’t the way to—”

Before she could finish, her husband, Xue Qinghuai, gave her sleeve a firm tug, cutting her off.

“Enough now, don’t say another word,” Xue Qinghuai cut in. “Zhao’er’s not the kind of girl to be unreasonable. Besides, Gouzi was ill—calling a physician just puts everyone’s mind at ease.”

“What do you mean ‘don’t say’? I didn’t even say anything…”

“You’re still talking—”

The couple bickered their way out of the room, tugging at each other as they went.

Eldest aunt Mrs. Yang gave Zhao’er a small, polite smile before turning to the old matriarch. “Mother, let’s go too. Let the boy rest properly.”

Old Mrs. Zhao glanced once at Gouzi lying on the heated brick bed, snorted coldly, and turned on her heel without another word. Judging by the stiffness of her posture, she was thoroughly upset.

And rightly so. The Xue family was hardly wealthy. Just hiring a physician from town cost a good hundred copper coins at the very least—how many more times could they afford such an expense with their current means?

What made matters worse was that the physician’s vague diagnosis seemed to confirm Old Mrs. Zhao’s suspicion: that Xue Gouzi might be faking his illness. Of course she wasn’t pleased.

In her eyes, the second branch’s boy was nothing but trouble, always stirring things up for the family. But now that the eldest daughter-in-law had spoken up on the girl’s behalf, Old Mrs. Zhao decided not to make a scene.

Among the three daughters-in-law in the family, Mrs. Yang was by far Old Mrs. Zhao’s favorite. As the wife of the eldest son, she held a special status, and Old Mrs. Zhao was more than willing to give her some face.

Once Old Mrs. Zhao and Mrs. Yang had left, only Third Uncle Xue Qingbai and Third Aunt Old Mrs. Zhou remained in the room. They weren’t ones to speak much, and didn’t linger long either. Knowing how busy Third Uncle had been running around earlier, Zhao’er forced a smile and walked the couple to the door.

When she returned, she found Xue Gouzi lying on the bed, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling, as if possessed.

She didn’t think too much of it. Stepping to his side, she reached out and gently touched his forehead.

“Gou’er, don’t overthink it. They might not believe you’re really sick or in pain, but I do. Just focus on getting better, alright? Don’t let your thoughts run wild.”

Xue Gouzi looked at her, his lips dry and throat tight.

“Zhao’er…” he murmured.

“What’s wrong? Are you still feeling unwell somewhere?”

As her rough yet warm hands gently moved over his forehead and face, Xue Gouzi felt a strange sense of reality—grounded, vivid—and, unexpectedly, a surge of relief.

She was alive. He was alive.

Even though he’d never liked some of her behavior in daily life, and even resented the fact that she was his child bride, he had never wished her dead. How could he possibly be someone who would murder his wife or harm his child?

Still, a deep unease gnawed at him. That dream had felt too real. Seventy long years had passed within it, and it was as if he had lived that life himself. Waking now, it felt like time itself had collapsed—everything had changed. He couldn’t even bear to look back.

“Zhao’er…” he called softly.

“I’m here,” she replied right away.

“Zhao’er…”

“Yes?”

“Zhao’er…”

Warm tears suddenly spilled from his dry eyes without warning.

Zhao’er was so startled she forgot to think about how strange it was—how he never usually called her that, how he’d always kept her at a distance. Now, without hesitation, she pulled his head into her arms, holding him tightly.

“What’s wrong? Tell me—what is it?”

Seeing that he said nothing and simply buried his face in her arms, crying, Zhao’er couldn’t help but assume it was the others’ words earlier that had upset him again. In her eyes, this little man was always carrying the weight of too many thoughts—yet he never spoke them aloud. If he had, maybe he wouldn’t have fallen so seriously ill.

She gently patted his back, just like when she used to comfort him as a child, holding him close and soothing him. “Don’t be scared, Gou’er. Even if they won’t send you to study, I will. I’ll sell everything I have if I have to—but I’ll make sure you go.”

Xue Gouzi, still recovering from his illness and now emotionally drained by everything that had happened, only managed to eat a little porridge that evening before going to sleep.

After making sure he was tucked in and warm, Zhao’er finally turned her attention to unpacking the basket she’d brought back.

Inside were scraps of fabric and sewing supplies—bits and pieces she had picked up from a town embroidery shop. She had gotten into this line of work after helping village women sell embroidered pouches to the shop; that was when the idea first struck her.

There were no adults in the second household. While the family still provided meals, the cost of Gouzi’s study materials—brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones—as well as their clothing, bedding, and other daily necessities still needed to be covered.

Getting money from Grandmother Zhao was harder than reaching the sky, and although Eldest Uncle Xue Qingshan claimed he treated his nephew like a son, Zhao’er saw the truth with her own eyes. The eldest children always had greasy lips from eating well, and Xue Juncai never lacked for books or writing supplies. In contrast, her little man was thin as a bamboo stalk and used a worn-down brush that had been discarded by Xue Qingshan years ago.

Zhao’er had always been proud and couldn’t bear to see him suffer, so she racked her brains trying to find money on her own. There weren’t many ways to earn in the countryside, so she went to town to search for anything she could do that required no capital and was within her ability. She tried everything.

Over the years, she had gathered vegetables from the village to sell in town, taken embroidery work from the shops and distributed it to the more skilled village women, and even ventured into the mountains to forage goods to sell.

This particular business, however, had become her regular source of income. With a sweet tongue and thick skin, Zhao’er managed to persuade the embroidery shop owner to sell her bundles of scrap fabric they no longer needed. She would bring them home, trim and sort them, and then have village women help turn them into sachets and other small goods. Reselling them to the embroidery shop earned her a fair bit—far more than the old method, where she could barely make a single coin off several finished sachets.

If not for the money she’d earned from this side business, who knows how long Gouzi’s illness would have dragged on? Grandmother Zhao had already refused to pay for any more medicine. The rest of his treatment had come from Zhao’er’s own pocket—money she had to spend in secret for fear of the family finding out.

The thought made her lips press into a tight line.

She worked fast, as always. After picking out the usable scraps, she didn’t bother fussing further. She spread a clean cloth over the square table, then used scissors to trim the oddly shaped fabric into uniform pieces.

She had calculated precisely how much fabric was needed to make one sachet—no more, no less. She never let anyone see the scraps she brought back. In the countryside, every copper coin was hard-earned. If word got out, someone would surely steal her business before long.

Zhao’er still planned to use this income to send her little man to school in town. If Xue Juncai could go, then her little man should be able to as well. She always prepared for both outcomes and had no illusions—there was no way the main household would ever let something so good fall to Gouzi.

Better to rely on herself than beg others. Mountains and rivers could shift, but only self-reliance stayed true.

Ever since she was seven years old—when her own grandmother and father had nearly traded her for money—Zhao’er had understood a crucial truth: if you wanted to survive, you could only rely on yourself.

Once she finished sorting the fabric, she checked on the little man and saw he was sound asleep. The sky outside had already darkened, so she wrapped up the neatly arranged cloth and hurried out the door.

Under the night sky, Yuqing Village was unusually quiet. Soft silver moonlight spilled across the village paths—though not bright enough to see the road clearly, it kept the surroundings from being pitch black.

Zhao’er walked the entire way without disturbing even a single dog.

That was no small feat. In rural villages like this, nearly every household kept dogs, and those animals were especially alert at night. Anyone walking past their gates would be met with a flurry of barking. Even the sneakiest thief wouldn’t last long with so many watchdogs around.

Zhao’er had walked night roads too many times not to learn how to move quietly.

Of course, part of it was thanks to the dog walking beside her—Heizi.

Heizi was a rural mutt, but he was bigger and stronger than most. Few dogs in Yuqing Village could best him in a fight. Zhao’er only dared walk these dark roads alone because Heizi was with her.

She made her way with practiced ease to one household. Strangely enough, the family seemed to know she’d be coming and had left their door open for her. As soon as she stepped in, the family dog charged her—only to be met mid-run by a blur of black. Heizi leapt forward, pinning the other dog to the ground. The poor thing was so terrified it immediately went quiet and lay still.

Zhao’er laughed from the side, clearly enjoying the moment. “Still haven’t learned your lesson, huh?”

Just then, someone came out of the house, chuckling as they walked up. “There goes Heizi bullying our Wangcai again. Come on in, Zhao’er, have a seat.”

“No need, Auntie Guihua. I’ve still got to get back home,” Zhao’er said, handing over the bundle she’d brought and accepting another in return, wrapping it up carefully before heading to the next house.

She visited five houses that night.

She was eager to earn money, no doubt about that—but there were few women in the village who were good with needlework, and she had to be careful about whom she approached. The people she worked with had to be tight-lipped and reliable. If word got out before she even made a coin, what was the point? There’d be no money to make at all.

She’d learned this the hard way. Back when she first collected vegetables from the village to sell in town, someone with a loose tongue spread the news everywhere. As a result, she became the talk of the village. She didn’t care much about being gossiped about—but the trouble started when the rumors reached the little man’s ears. Some villagers teased him about it, and that sparked several arguments between the two of them. After that, no one in the village was willing to sell her vegetables anymore. And if anyone did, it was at a steep price.

In the end, she had to go to other villages to buy produce, which was a lot more work. Since then, Zhao’er learned her lesson: if you want to make money, do it quietly. If you want to strike it rich, you keep it under wraps.

When Zhao’er got home, Xue Gouzi was still fast asleep on the kang.

She fetched some water to wash her face and hands before climbing onto the bed. The second branch of the family only had one kang, and ever since they were young, she had always shared it with Gouzi—they were used to it by now.

Heizi lay on the floor beside the bed. As soon as Zhao’er had come in, the dog had followed at her heels and casually found a spot to lie down. Though its eyes were closed, its ears remained perked up, twitching now and then—alert as ever.

Before lying down, Zhao’er leaned over to check on the little man. She gently touched his forehead, and only when she was sure he was okay did she settle in for the night.

Compared to the second branch, which only had two rooms and one kang due to their small household, the first branch was far better off. They had the entire east wing—three full rooms to themselves. At that moment, in the east room, Mrs. Yang was speaking with Xue Qingshan.

She told him everything that had happened during the day, and after hearing it all, Xue Qingshan immediately frowned.

He hadn’t been home earlier and naturally didn’t know what had gone on. Nowadays, some well-off rural families would hire a scholar to preside over weddings and funerals. But poor families couldn’t afford that, so they’d invite a student scholar instead.

Still, a scholar was a scholar—different from common folk.

Earlier that day, Xue Qingshan had been invited to help at a wedding in a nearby village. He didn’t have to bring a gift and got to eat and drink, and even walked away with a small red envelope as thanks.

Of course, in a poor rural village, such gifts weren’t much—just a few dozen copper coins at best.

Xue Qingshan especially enjoyed this kind of task. Whenever the opportunity came up, he’d casually assign the students at the private school something to memorize, then disappear for the entire day—and no one would question it. What he enjoyed wasn’t just the small payment he’d receive; more than that, these occasions were when he felt most proud of himself.

At weddings, he would sit in the honored guest’s seat, and the men attending the banquet would be proud just to chat with him.

After all, he was a tongsheng laoye—a certified scholar!

Of course, it would be even better if he could upgrade that title from tongsheng to xiucai. Xue Qingshan dreamed of that day. But after all these years, he’d gained a bit of self-awareness and knew his limits. So, he placed his hopes on his son instead.

Unfortunately, now someone was getting in the way.

Flushed from drinking, his round, pale face glowing red, and his heart simmering with resentment, Xue Qingshan spat angrily, “That little brat’s acting up again—give him an inch, and he thinks he runs the place!”

Mrs. Yang sighed softly. “You’re the one who agreed so readily to your second brother back then. And now look—stuck between a rock and a hard place, and it’s our Juncai who’s paying the price.”

“At the time, what choice did I have?” Xue Qingshan snapped. “Old Second may have looked honest, but he set me up with that last move before he died. If I’d known what he was scheming, I would’ve found a way to shut him up. But there were so many people watching, and he died because of me—how could I refuse that one request and still show my face in public?”

Mrs. Yang understood the reasoning, but the resentment still simmered in her chest. All because of that ridiculous promise, the first branch had been bound hand and foot. Their son couldn’t even attend the academy openly; they had to beg the others to quietly let it happen.

She had always been proud and ambitious. The more she thought about it, the angrier she became. Her eyes burned with suppressed fury, though her face wore a mocking sneer.

“Now that he’s suddenly fallen ill, Father was just about to side with us—but we have to keep holding back. And now today’s scene only made things worse. Mother’s already fed up. I’d already asked Fourth Sister-in-law to suggest to her that Gouzi might be faking his illness. I’m sure Mother’s convinced now.”

Xue Qingshan’s eyes lit up. “Well, in that case, even better. I’ll talk to Father and Mother tomorrow and have them settle the matter.” He grinned as he wrapped his arm around Mrs. Yang’s shoulder. “My wife is the clever one, always planning ahead.”

Mrs. Yang rolled her eyes at him in playful reproach, and the two of them settled in for the night. The rest of the night passed without incident.

=^_^=

Author has something to say: Zhao’er: Gou’er, my dear Gou’er.
Little Xue Gouzi: QAQ Damn it! With the size of the psychological trauma I’ve got, you think the younger me liked her in my past life?!