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“Husband, are you saying the old house will keep causing trouble for us in the future?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Unless we’re so poor we don’t know where our next meal is coming from, they’ll steer clear of us. But the moment we have even a little something, just wait—they’ll come crawling back.”
Zhao Zhenyu looked at Zhao Dashu with approval. Her cheap father had a clear head. The old man had bet on the wrong horse. If he had been sent to study, he might have actually achieved something.
“What should we do?” Madam Song asked helplessly.
“Do nothing. If they say anything, talk back. Don’t act like some meek little wife. Just guard what’s ours and don’t give them a single thing.”
“Mm, Dashu is right. Sister-in-law, once your family’s situation improves, you really must stand firm. You can’t just bend to their every word. You need to remember—this little home of yours is what you must protect.”
Madam Song nodded meekly, taking the advice to heart. But Madam Zheng could tell just by looking at her—a person’s nature was already set by this point. Changing it would be difficult!
Zhao Zhenyu also knew that toughening her up wouldn’t happen overnight. No matter—there was still plenty of time. Since they lived together day in and day out, she could shape her gradually.
……………………
That evening.
“Husband, what should we do? We can’t control Third Brother anymore.”
“We’ll think of something else. Speaking of which, now that I’m going for the exams, what’s your family’s stance? How much are they willing to sponsor me?” Back then, he had married Madam Wang precisely because he had his eye on her family’s wealth.
“My parents haven’t been in good health these past two years, and seeing the physician has cost them a lot of silver. My younger brother’s child is also studying in the private school—right now, the family really has no spare silver to give.”
Eldest Zhao’s face darkened, his brows knitting together. “Oh? So they think I won’t pass this time and aren’t willing to bet on me, is that it?”
Madam Wang was horrified. “What nonsense are you spouting? You know exactly how my parents have treated you! It’s just that the family has had too many expenses lately, and the silver is gone. Most of what they saved before was already given to us!”
She truly regretted it now—why had she married such a worthless man back then? She had thought him an unpolished gem, but he turned out to be nothing more than a stinking rock in a latrine pit, utterly hopeless.
When she married him, he was the youngest scholar in the county town. Now, their daughter was old enough to marry, yet he remained just a scholar.
As a farmer’s son, he should have been hardworking and considerate. But this man? He wouldn’t lift a finger even if an oil jar toppled over. If she ever felt unwell, he’d immediately sleep in a separate room—expecting him to fetch her a cup of water? Might as well wait for the next lifetime!
His pettiness was worse than a needle’s eye, and he strutted around like he owned the place. If not for the children, she would never have endured his nonsense all these years. Useless at everything, he drove her up the wall!
This time, he’d better pass the damned exams—otherwise, she wouldn’t even know how to face her parents. And if he thought he could keep milking her family for money? He could keep dreaming!
Thinking of all the support her parents had given over the years, his expression softened slightly. “I know it hasn’t been easy for you. Don’t worry—once I become an official, you’ll be a true magistrate’s wife.”
“I’ll be waiting. I’m sure you’ll pass with honors this time, Husband.”
‘(Madam Wang’s inner monologue drips with sarcasm—she’s long since stopped believing in him, but societal expectations force her to play along.)’
Eldest Zhao felt a pang of guilt—he knew exactly how little effort he’d put in over the years. Studying had long since lost its appeal, but compared to returning home to farm? He’d still rather force himself to keep up the scholar’s facade.
“How much silver do we have left?”
“Just over one tael. You know how much we’ve been spending lately, and we had to use some for bribes not long ago. Buying the house already stretched us to the limit—we’re truly broke now.”
The only real achievement in all these years was owning the house they lived in.
Neither him or her dared mention this fact—it was an open secret best left unspoken.
Madam Wang glanced at him. “Didn’t we come back precisely to ask for travel funds? Have you spoken to Father yet?”
“I just went to his room. But he doesn’t have much either—just a little over two taels, some of which was earned this month from harvesting bamboo shoots. No matter how I calculate, it’s not enough.”
A month and a half in the prefectural city, round-trip carriage rentals, inn expenses—even if they skipped the inn and rented a place, it wouldn’t be cheap. Especially near the examination hall—nothing was affordable this close to the exams. If they stayed farther away, it’d be inconvenient for him to travel. Then there were meals and other incidentals. By his rough estimate, the whole trip would cost at least ten taels.
“Are Father and Mother really out of silver?” She found that hard to believe. The old man was shrewd—was he holding back on purpose?
“Father and Mother wouldn’t lie to me.”
‘(His tone carried a hint of defensive pride, but beneath it simmered quiet resentment—his parents’ frugality now felt like betrayal.)’
Madam Wang fell silent for a long moment before turning toward the shadowy figure beside her—not that she could see much in the pitch darkness. “What if… we sell a plot of land?”
Zhao Dawen bolted upright. “Absolutely not! Ancestral property can never be sold, no matter what!”
“But this is an emergency. I was thinking—maybe we could sell just one mu now, then buy it back next year when we’re better off. What do you think? You can’t possibly go to the prefectural city with only three taels of silver. And shouldn’t we keep some for me and the children to live on?”
Eldest Zhao seethed inwardly. To think mere taels of silver could reduce him to this.
“Even if I agreed, Father never would.”
(His voice carried the petulance of a man who’d spent years clinging to scholar’s pride while avoiding real work—now cornered by the consequences.)
“Then what should we do? Just not go?”
Deep down, Zhao Dawen wasn’t eager to go at all. He knew the trip would be a waste—another fruitless attempt, costing who knew how much silver. If he skipped it, he could spend that money on wine and pleasure instead. Why bother with the exams? A waste of time, a waste of money, and pure suffering.
Madam Wang shot him a glare sharp enough to pierce the darkness. ‘Pathetic.’ He hadn’t even left yet and was already looking for excuses to quit.
“Go ask Father.”
The old man would rather sell land than let him miss the exams—just wait and see.
‘(Her lips pressed into a thin line. She’d gambled her youth on this man’s potential, only to watch him wilt like unwatered cabbage. But societal chains held her tighter than any lock.)’
Meanwhile, in Second Zhao’s room…
Madam Li had been turning things over in her mind all evening. She was convinced Third Brother must have run into Eldest Zhao during his frequent trips to town. “Husband, judging by Third Brother’s tone today, it seems Eldest Brother is living quite comfortably in the city.”
“I think so too. But Eldest Brother refuses to talk about it, and Father never presses him. What can I do?” Second Zhao simmered with resentment. Why should they break their backs supporting Eldest Zhao while he lounged around enjoying life? Even among brothers, this was too much to swallow.
For years, Father had insisted, ‘”Once your eldest brother becomes an official, he’ll help lift you all up.”‘ But now that Second Zhao thought about it—hadn’t Father been repeating that same line for over a decade?
“Wife… do you think Eldest Brother actually has a chance of passing the exams?”
‘(His question hung in the air like a knife. The unspoken answer—’No’—was a truth too bitter to voice aloud.)’
Madam Li’s heart sank. If she recalled correctly, this was Eldest Brother’s ‘fourth’ attempt at the prefectural exams. “…He should be able to this time.”
“And if he fails again?”
A cold dread settled in her chest. Another failure would mean waiting ‘three more years’. Three years upon three years—just how many did Eldest Brother, or any of them, have left to waste?
Second Zhao’s voice turned sharp with resolve. “If he doesn’t pass this time, we’re splitting the household. No more support.” At this age, if he still couldn’t make it? There was no hope left. None.
‘(The unspoken truth thickened between them—this wasn’t just about exams anymore. It was about cutting loose a sinking stone before it dragged them all under.)’