Upon realizing the figure beside him wasn’t a ghost, Gua Gua’s courage instantly surged. Furious, he started cursing:  

[Bleep bleep bleep! This old hag—how dare she talk like that! You’re the thief! Your whole family are thieves!] 

What could be said? In Jiang Le’s memory, Zhang Xiuhua had once been on good terms with the Jiang family. But after the series of misfortunes that befell them last year, she abruptly switched faces, constantly finding excuses to harass them.  

To make matters worse, Zhang Xiuhua was their neighbor. She never missed a chance to throw shade, and those beady rat-like eyes of hers were always fixed on their household—utterly disgusting.  

With a mother like Zhang Xiuhua, no wonder Sizhu and Sanya had spoken so viciously earlier.  

Jiang Le was usually quite tolerant of children, but the things those two had said were downright malicious toward the Jiang family. Naturally, he had no goodwill left for this entire household.  

When Zhang Xiuhua openly accused him of theft, Jiang Le didn’t bother defending himself. Explaining would only trap him in a cycle of self-justification—better to turn the tables.  

So she wants to sling mud? Two can play that game.

Jiang Le smirked. “Auntie Zhang, you just came back from outside too, didn’t you? Could it be… you were sneaking off with a man? Does Uncle Wang know?”  

Mimicking her tone, he added, “I should ask around tomorrow—see which husband wasn’t home tonight. Must’ve been out canoodling with Auntie Zhang.”  

Zhang Xiuhua’s face twisted in panic. She barely managed to keep her voice low, though her composure was crumbling. “Y-You little bastard! Spouting nonsense!”  

“I know I didn’t steal anything,” Jiang Le said coolly. “But whether you stole someone else’s man? Well… Maybe I should shout for everyone to check whose husband’s missing—”  

Before he could finish, Auntie Zhang recoiled as if she’d seen a ghost and bolted back home.  

Unlike Yu Hezhong’s house, the village homes had front yards enclosed by low fences, allowing neighbors to peek into each other’s compounds. Jiang Le watched, amused, as Zhang Xiuhua dashed across her yard and vanished inside.  

Gua Gua: [Hahaha! Host, you’re a genius!]  

Jiang Le scoffed: [Please. Making up wild accusations? Child’s play.]

Suddenly, Gua Gua perked up: [Host! Host! We’ve got a scandal!]

Jiang Le paused, then immediately lit up: [What scandal?!]

A scandal meant Melon Coins! And with his current balance at zero, Jiang Le’s eyes sparkled like festive lanterns at the news.  

Gua Gua was equally thrilled: [Host! Auntie Zhang’s husband is sterile!]  

Jiang Le: [!!!]  

His mind raced—Auntie Zhang had four sons and three daughters! 

Gua Gua: [Ding! New mission triggered: Make Auntie Zhang’s husband aware of the truth. Reward: 100 Melon Coins + two spins on the Grand Lottery Wheel!]  

Jiang Le quickly regained his composure and began negotiating: [Only 100? Can’t you throw in more?]

After all, when he first transmigrated, he had no idea what he’d done to earn those 50 Melon Coins. This new mission—making Auntie Zhang’s husband aware of the truth—wasn’t something he could just blurt out.  

“Hey Uncle, you’ve been cuckolded. None of those seven kids are yours.”  

Jiang Le was certain that if he said that outright, the man would bash his skull in with a hoe.  

So while the task seemed simple, it was anything but.  

Gua Gua: [This mission was issued by the Main System. Even I can’t alter it. But if you’re unhappy with the reward, you can file a complaint! If the Main System deems your request reasonable, they might adjust the reward!]

This feature surprised Jiang Le. Might as well try—what if it works?  

Gua Gua: [Complaint submitted! Please wait patiently for the result, Host.]  

Jiang Le nodded. After the day’s chaos, exhaustion hit him hard. Within moments, he was fast asleep—unfazed even by Jiang Junqing’s thunderous snoring.  

…

Meanwhile, Yu Hezhong was still awake. 

He held the small bottle in his hand, its frosted glass revealing a dark brown liquid inside.  

Just from the bottle, it was clear this medicine wasn’t cheap.

But then again—it might not even be medicine. That ever-present lackey trailing Gou Dan wouldn’t suddenly grow a conscience.  

Yu Hezhong’s instincts screamed that this was another one of Gou Dan’s schemes to torment him.  

His eyes darkened, a feral glint flashing within—unnatural for a boy his age.  

Jiang Le’s analogy had been spot-on. 

He was more like a wolf cub, coiled and ready to tear into his enemies.  

Just as he was about to toss the bottle away, a sharp pain lanced through his leg. Cold sweat broke out instantly, his already bloodless lips paling further.  

Trembling fingers clamped over his thigh, teeth gritted so hard they threatened to crack.  

But not a single sound escaped him.  

Minutes—or maybe hours—later, the agony finally ebbed. Panting, he opened his eyes.  

Ever since Gou Dan had deliberately shattered his leg with a wooden pole, the pain had lingered—sometimes flaring into unbearable spasms.  

Yu Hezhong loathed Gou Dan.  

The boy was like a hyena, circling endlessly, waiting to rip flesh from bone.  

But Yu Hezhong knew better than to act rashly.  

Gou Dan had family.  

If anything happened, his own fragile peace would shatter.  

So even with his leg broken, he endured.  

Still…  

Gou Dan had delivered himself right to his doorstep today.  

He could have taken payment in blood—  

Pity. 

That fall hadn’t been hard enough. Just some scrapes and bruises.  

But this leg…  

Yu Hezhong’s grip tightened, his mask slipping for once—revealing the raw anguish of a teenage boy.  

This leg… would never heal properly.

His fingers tightened around the glass bottle. After a moment of hesitation, he uncorked it.  

A pungent, medicinal scent immediately hit his nose. Yu Hezhong’s expression flickered with surprise.  

This… actually smells like real medicine.

Pressing his lips together, he slowly got up and limped outside. In a corner of the kitchen lay a rabbit—its leg bloodied, breaths shallow.  

This was a rabbit he’d caught in one of his traps. The only reason he hadn’t starved to death yet was thanks to the trapping skills his father had taught him as a child.  

In these times, rabbits were the most plentiful creatures in the mountains. They fed on grass, bred quickly—yet even so, they weren’t easy to catch.  

At best, Yu Hezhong managed to snare one or two every couple of weeks.  

Jiang Le had worried about him living alone outside the village, but Yu Hezhong preferred it this way.  

At least here, no one could smell him cooking his meager meals.  

Still, one rabbit every ten to fifteen days wasn’t nearly enough for a growing boy. That’s why he remained so thin.  

Not that he minded.

If he ever gained weight, it would only draw unwanted attention.  

Eyeing the half-dead rabbit, Yu Hezhong carefully poured the medicine onto its bleeding leg. After a brief hesitation, he tied the rabbit down—just in case.  

Not that it mattered.

He didn’t hold much hope for this supposed “medicine” anyway.  

Once done, he stored the bottle away and returned to his room.  

…

Jiang Le planned to visit the town’s scrap collection station.  

He’d been itching to search for usable books there. The chances weren’t bad—with schools in chaos these days, many kids seized the opportunity to sell their textbooks as scrap paper.  

Kanzi Village was relatively close to town, but it still took nearly an hour on foot.  

In these times, everyone relied solely on their own two legs for travel. Even the wealthiest family in Kanzi Village, the Lis, only owned a single second-hand “28-inch bar” bicycle—a prized possession they’d never lend out casually.  

A bicycle was a luxury item. 

Jiang Le sighed. [Guess I’m walking.] 

Gua Gua cheered him on: [You got this, Host! Think of it as exercise. Look at you now—a stiff breeze could knock you over.]  

Jiang Le: […That’s a bit much, isn’t it?] 

Still, with Gua Gua’s chatter to keep him company, the journey to the scrap station passed quickly.  

The gatekeeper was an elderly man. When he heard Jiang Le was there for books, his expression softened. He even pointed Jiang Le toward the pile with the most books.

But most of it was just scrap paper—some so filthy the words were completely illegible.  

Under the scorching sun, Jiang Le rummaged through the piles until sweat dripped down his forehead. Finally, he managed to salvage a few usable books—and that was only with the system’s help. Without it, he’d probably still be digging.  

Luckily, among the finds were two workbooks—one for Chinese and one for math. Though they’d already been written in, he hadn’t expected to find brand-new ones at a scrap station anyway.  

The old man at the gate gave the books a cursory glance, took one look at Jiang Le’s grimy state, and only charged him ten fen.  

At this rate, his ten yuan would last quite a while.  

His stomach growled, so he wandered to the state-run restaurant—only to nearly choke when he saw the prices.  

A plate of braised pork belly? One yuan fifty.  

Jiang Le: Yeah… no. 

Steamed buns were more affordable—eight fen for a veggie bun, ten fen for a meat one. Not that you could be picky about the fillings; they were just whatever seasonal vegetables were available.  

He bought six veggie buns and six meat buns—enough for everyone at home to have one of each. Total damage: one yuan and eight fen.  

Add the ten fen for the books, and his spending so far came to one yuan eighteen fen.  

Since he’d made the trip to town, Jiang Le figured he might as well swing by the supply and marketing cooperative.  

Last night’s bath had revealed that the family’s bar of soap was down to a thumb-sized sliver. And shockingly, the original owner didn’t even own a single pencil!  

Did this guy secretly pocket the money meant for school supplies?  

Pencils were a must, so he grabbed two at five fen each. Ballpoint pens were pricier at twenty fen apiece, but he bought two of those too—even though they ran out of ink fast. No choice. Maybe buy more when he had extra cash.  

Notebooks? The original owner had a few blank ones lying around (since he never studied), so at least he could skip buying those.  

Soap cost one yuan per bar—he bought two.  

Total at the cooperative: two yuan fifty fen.  

Add that to the earlier one yuan eighteen fen, and his remaining funds now stood at six yuan thirty-two fen.