Qian Chunhua put down her rag and looked quietly at Zhao Daqing.

Zhao Daqing swallowed hard, adopting a solemn and heartfelt tone as he began to speak. “Chunhua, although we cut ties, that was said in a fit of anger—just words spoken in the heat of the moment.

In my heart, nothing has changed. You are still my descendants, the family of my second son, Zhao Yongcai. I have a duty to look after you.”

Qian Chunhua almost laughed out loud at this ridiculous claim.

With both the village chief and clan elder as witnesses, and documents signed and stamped, it was all just angry talk now?

She crossed her arms and asked curiously, “And then?”

Zhao Daqing was overjoyed—her tone sounded like she was willing to negotiate.

Even Li Cuihong, standing behind him, felt hopeful.

“Then,” Zhao Daqing continued, “we’ll live like before. As your father and grandfather, as long as I have food, you won’t go hungry. I’ll take care of your family, and you won’t need to worry about working the fields. I’ll handle your food, clothing, and expenses.”

Qian Chunhua: “And then?”

Zhao Daqing went on: “All the family’s money goes back into the communal pot. If you need anything, just come to me—I’ll manage it. Just like before. Nothing changes.”

Qian Chunhua smiled—ah, so this was what they were really after.

The two hundred taels of silver—how could they possibly let it go?

What a joke.

So Qingsong’s eight years of suffering were all for nothing?

When Qian Chunhua smiled, Zhao Daqing smiled too.

Li Cuihong’s laugh was even more exaggerated—cackling like a hen.

Zhao Daqing grinned, “We’re family, after all. Flesh and bone are tied with tendons. Let the past be the past. I won’t hold it against you.”

He thought the whole situation had stemmed from Li Cuihong swapping her daughter—and that Chunhua was just using it as leverage.

But deep down, he believed Qian Chunhua never truly wanted to leave the Zhao family.

After all, she was a widowed woman with three young children, living in the countryside.

How could she survive alone? In the end, she would have to rely on the Zhao family.

Sure enough, the moment he extended an olive branch, she smiled—surely a sign she would agree.

But this spendthrift woman had been throwing money around lately. Once they get the rest of her silver back, they’d teach her a lesson.

Also, those school fees for Qian Xingshan and Zhao Xiaoling had to be reclaimed—one was an outsider, the other a girl. What a waste!

In just a few moments, Zhao Daqing had already planned his next moves.

Unfortunately for him, Qian Chunhua was about to crush all his fantasies.

Her expression turned cold, smile vanishing.

She stared at him sternly. “Old Master Zhao—calling you ‘Father’ was me giving you face. If you don’t want it, then don’t blame me. You speak of letting bygones be bygones. Who gave you that confidence?

Do you even know what cutting ties means? Cutting ties means our second branch and your Zhao family are completely severed—no further contact. That includes weddings, funerals—no more involvement. Understand what no more involvement means?”

Her words made Zhao Daqing’s face alternate between red and white.

That creeping sense of humiliation returned, and Li Cuihong’s laughter abruptly stopped.

Zhao Daqing tried to salvage things. “Chunhua, you… you can’t be so heartless.”

Qian Chunhua was truly enraged by his shamelessness. “You think this is heartless? Kicking out a widow and three young children after they’ve lost husband and father—that’s heartless.

All I’ve done is cut ties with your family. And I’ve already given you two hundred taels of silver as your retirement money. You call that heartless?

Shall we go ask the village chief and clan elder if any other family elder has received two hundred taels in retirement silver? Does that sound unfilial to you?”

The moment she mentioned taking it to the village chief and clan elder, Zhao Daqing immediately backed down.

As someone who prided himself on his scholarly roots, he didn’t like airing dirty laundry, nor did he want to become a village laughingstock.

His back hunched, and he suddenly looked ten years older.

“Fine,” he muttered. “I meant well, but Chunhua, you just don’t appreciate it.”

Qian Chunhua replied without mercy, “Keep your ‘good intentions’ for your other two sons. Our second branch doesn’t need them. I won’t see you out.”

Then she added coldly, “This east courtyard doesn’t welcome you. Especially not you, Li Cuihong. If any of you dare step foot in here, I’ll break your legs.”

Li Cuihong stiffened, wanting to curse, but when she saw Chunhua’s hand reaching into her pouch, she instantly deflated.

“Tch. As if anyone wants to come to your lousy courtyard anyway.” And with that, she turned tail and ran, leaving Zhao Daqing behind.

Zhao Daqing hunched over, defeated.

In that moment, he finally understood—the second branch had slipped entirely out of his control.

So be it. Let the ungrateful woman go.

With his hopes dashed, Zhao Daqing turned and left.

As soon as his foot crossed the east courtyard threshold, Qian Chunhua slammed the wooden door shut behind him.

That traditional wooden door closed with a bang—severing his final hope.

Qian Chunhua locked the door and resumed tidying the house.

From her space, she took out iron pots, clay pots, and various utensils—all in styles appropriate for this era—and carefully arranged them in the cupboard.

Then came bags of rice, millet, and wheat flour, temporarily stored in burlap sacks until she could buy proper grain containers.

She also took out firewood, storing part of it in the woodshed.

She laid out the solar panels on the roof of the shed, threading the charging cables through the thatched roof and placing the lithium battery in a small outside corner to charge.

She was especially careful because of the risk of lithium batteries catching fire—something she’d seen in the news many times in her past life.

When the battery’s indicator light finally turned on, she let out a breath of relief.

At least now, she had access to electricity in this era.

Once everything was arranged, Qian Chunhua looked around, nodding in satisfaction.

Her first home in this era was finally, truly complete.

She looked at the sun in the sky but couldn’t quite tell the time—so she snuck a peek at the clock inside her space: it was exactly 11 o’clock.

The children would be home in an hour—just enough time to go buy a water jar and grain jars from Wang San’s family.

She locked both the bedroom and kitchen doors using copper locks from her space.

Still short one lock for the main gate, she dug around in the space and found a larger one, perfect for the east courtyard’s entrance.

She was locking things so tightly because she didn’t trust the Zhao family.

The house didn’t hold much of value, but Zhao Yongqiang’s family didn’t know that.

They were probably still coveting the silver.

When she arrived at Master Wang the stonemason’s home and explained her needs, he showed her his current stock.

She chose a waist-high water jar.

The grain jars were also great—besides storing rice, she figured they’d be perfect for storing cooked food in her space.

She only had ten stainless steel containers for cooked dishes in her space, and with the current cold weather, it made sense to cook larger batches and store them for easy access.

So she selected ten grain jars and three pickling crocks.

Master Wang was overjoyed.

This was a huge order by Huanghualing standards.

He promised to deliver everything to her house by ox cart after lunch, and she could pay upon delivery. The total came to 460 copper coins.