Chapter 8  

He Knew She Was Up to No Good Again  

Before the Lantern Festival, A Chou returned.  

He was travel-worn and slightly weary, yet his eyes sparkled with joy.  

Seeing this, Xijin could hardly contain her eagerness, itching to grab him and demand answers immediately.  

But she held back.  

Her mother had once said that when a man first arrives home, there’s no need to hound him like a creditor—let him catch his breath first.  

So she instructed the maids to prepare hot water for him to bathe, then served dinner for the family.  

In high spirits, A Chou was more talkative than usual, sharing with Xijin all the details of his trip to Hangzhou.  

“We went to the Zhejiang Shipping Office, where several ships were docked. Without clearance documents, they couldn’t set sail, and the merchants were frantic, looking to sell at a discount. All the major shops rushed to grab their share. I managed to get some samples—this batch is truly top-tier, with plenty of Six-layered Brocade!”  

Xijin: “Six-layered Brocade?”  

Six-layered Brocade was a dense, thick fabric woven with overlapping weft and warp threads, resulting in vivid, full-bodied patterns. Of course, it was labor-intensive and costly, far beyond the means of ordinary households.  

A Chou nodded. “Yes, I examined it. Truly worthy of the Imperial Weaving Academy’s craftsmanship—Octagonal Halo Patterns, made with refined dyed silk and gilded thread, with weft motifs raised on a three-warp twill ground. The stitching is fine, and the colors are vibrant. At the usual market price, this would easily fetch six hundred coins.”  

Xijin: “And now?”  

A Chou’s eyes gleamed. “They’re slashing prices—just five hundred coins for the Six-layered Brocade. The uncles and cousins traveling with me all agreed it was a steal. After some discussion, we decided to pool our orders to negotiate a better deal. We haggled it down to four hundred eighty coins—an absolute bargain. We’ve already paid the deposit. I put down two hundred taels myself, aiming to secure a thousand bolts. The whole family is joining in, shipping the goods together. Factoring in taxes and freight, I estimate the cost per bolt will stay under five hundred fifty coins.”  

Xijin was overjoyed. “This is perfect! Six-layered Brocade at that price—we could sell it blindfolded and still turn a profit!”  

Quality goods always found buyers. In the past, such premium Six-layered Brocade would’ve been reserved as imperial tribute—far beyond their reach!  

She couldn’t contain her excitement. “If the whole family pitches in, we can share manpower and transport costs, supporting each other. A large ship fears no storm, and with everyone backing each other, profits will be even sweeter.”  

After all, doing business in these times was no easy feat. Purchasing goods carried the risk of fraud, and shipping them meant navigating layers of checkpoints. Every prefecture had its Field Affairs Office, each demanding taxes along the way.  

There were countless tricks to the trade. The Field Affairs Offices inspected shipments at random, hauling selected goods onto large platform scales. Whether the scales tipped high or low—or whether they weighed the same cargo twice—depended entirely on the officials’ whims. Once assessed, they’d casually name a duty, and whatever figure landed on paper would cost real silver.

Moreover, the grading of silk and brocade fabrics isn’t strictly fixed. With proper arrangements, Six-layered Brocade worth six hundred coins could be taxed at four hundred fifty coins. Without proper connections, they might directly charge you the official procurement price of eight hundred coins. Then with one bold stroke of the pen, it’s recorded in the documents, stamped heavily with a big red seal—pay up! You wouldn’t even know where to cry about it!

The Ning family was a prominent household in Ru City, engaged in trade with Hangzhou for many years. By shipping goods collectively with others, they neither gained excessive advantages nor suffered significant losses—certainly much easier than going it alone.

At this point, A Chou brought out the account books and purchase documents, explaining everything in detail to Xijin. She carefully reviewed them and calculated with an abacus. Based on current market prices, if they earned two hundred coins per bolt for this thousand-bolt shipment, that would amount to two hundred taels of silver.

Investing six hundred taels to earn two hundred in return was already a substantial profit. Of course, if prices rose as Xijin anticipated, they might even earn more.

Seeing Xijin’s beaming expression, A Chou said, “During this trip to Hangzhou, I also found something special.”

Xijin: “What is it?”

A Chou: “One morning, I went to Hangzhou’s Ghost Market. That place sells clothing, calligraphy, paintings, rare curios, and jade—all traded at midnight and packed up at dawn. While browsing, I stumbled upon a precious piece of jade—truly top quality.”

Xijin: “Jade?”

A Chou pulled it from his sleeve and presented it to Xijin like a treasure.

Upon closer inspection, Xijin saw the jade was lustrous, smooth, and finely textured—undoubtedly superior Mutton Fat Jade. However, it appeared aged, likely a discarded item from a pawnshop.

A Chou: “I searched for half the night before finding this. It was only three taels of silver, so I bought it.”

Xijin: “Three taels?”

A Chou nodded.

Initially unimpressed, Xijin now felt she’d struck gold upon hearing the price. She exclaimed, “What a steal! A piece of high-quality Mutton Fat Jade like this would easily fetch ten or twenty taels in the jewelry market. You practically picked up money!”

A Chou smiled. “Exactly. So I thought—why not split this jade into two pieces and carve them into a pair of pendants? A Mother-Child Jade Pendant set—one for you and one for Mang Er. What do you think?”

Xijin’s smile faltered as she suddenly understood A Chou’s intention. Clearly, he still harbored resentment over the slight his son had suffered and wanted to console the boy with a fine jade pendant. Yet, unwilling to splurge on rare jade while focusing on business, he’d scoured the Ghost Market at midnight for this piece.

She grudgingly acknowledged his effort.

Running her fingers over the jade, she said, “Such a large piece is rare. It’d be a shame to divide it into two pendants. Let’s make one large one for Mang Er.”

A Chou met her gaze. “Two would be nice too. Later, I’ll find something even better for Mang Er. It’s just a piece of jade—no big deal.”

Xijin turned away. “I don’t want it.” Her sharp chin lifted stubbornly, her tone petulant.

A Chou was puzzled. “Why? Don’t you like it?”

Xijin: “I do, but that doesn’t mean I want to wear it. No, no, just no!”

A Chou had no choice but to coax her: “Then I’ll carve a nice one for Mang Er. Tomorrow I’ll go to the Jade Tower and discuss with the jade craftsman to see what would be good to carve.”

Xijin: “Hmm.”

As they spoke, the wet nurse brought Mang Er over. A Chou stood up to take him, cradling the child in his arms and playing with him.

Seeing his father, Mang Er was overjoyed, his eyes sparkling as he stretched out his little hands, fluttering them eagerly for a hug.

Xijin couldn’t bear to watch: “How come your father is the dearest person in the world to you? Who’s the one carrying you every day? You ungrateful little thing!”

A Chou was equally delighted to see Mang Er. Taking his son from the wet nurse, he held him close and even lifted him up in the air.

Xijin shook her head at the sight, thinking to herself, He’s usually so reserved with his emotions, always keeping a distance from others. Yet with his son, he’s so affectionate…

Mang Er nestled softly in his father’s arms, clinging to his neck and babbling sweetly in his childish voice.

Xijin picked up the inventory ledger from their recent shipment and began reviewing it. She casually scribbled calculations with a charcoal pencil, erasing and recalculating as she went, completely absorbed.

She loved counting money—it always put her in a good mood.

While A Chou played with Mang Er, the child grabbed a nearby document. When A Chou tried to take it back, Mang Er stubbornly clenched his little fist around it. Seeing this, A Chou simply used the document to point out characters and teach Mang Er to recognize them.

Unexpectedly, Mang Er pointed at one part and said, “Tian… Shou…”

His speech was still unclear, the words mumbled and indistinct.

Hearing this, Xijin leaned over: “What ‘Tian’ and ‘Shou’?”

A Chou replied, “Mang Er misread it.”

Curious, Xijin looked closer: “Isn’t that your name, ‘Chou’?”

A Chou: “Yes.”

Xijin: “I thought it was something else. Turns out he split your name into two parts to read! But if you separate your name like that, it actually has a good meaning—’fields’ and ‘longevity.’ A person with both land and long life must be very fortunate.”

A Chou pursed his lips slightly: “Yes.”

But Xijin didn’t dwell on the name. Satisfied, she said, “Mang Er is really something! He actually recognizes these two characters. He can barely speak clearly, yet he already knows words!”

A Chou explained, “Around New Year’s, when I was writing couplets and checking the ledgers, Mang Er was always by my side. Sometimes I’d point out characters for him to recognize. Over time, he picked up a few simple ones.”

Xijin gazed at her son’s adorable expression, her heart swelling with pride. She couldn’t resist patting his head: “My son is so clever! So young and already recognizing characters, already reading!”

After a moment, she mused, “Maybe he takes after me?”

A Chou, rarely smiling, chuckled: “Probably.”

Xijin snorted and shot him a sidelong glance: “You’re making fun of me!”

A Chou straightened his expression: “No, I’m not.”

Xijin: “Yes, you are! Just because you’re quick-witted, you think others are slow.”

A Chou was indeed sharp. When he first came to work at the Ning family’s shop, he was barely ten years old, yet he already knew many characters, could use an abacus, and keep accounts—basically capable of anything. No wonder Xijin’s father had valued him so highly.

Remembering this, Xijin asked curiously, “Wasn’t your father a fisherman? How did you learn so many characters?”

A Chou averted his gaze, flipping through the documents on the table as he replied offhandedly, “I started working in shops as a child. There was an old master there who took pity on me and taught me to read. My memory isn’t bad, so over time, I learned more and more.”

Xijin suddenly understood: “So that’s how it was, no wonder… You really had a pitiful childhood, no wonder the old master took pity on you.”

When she first met A Chou, he looked terribly thin, as if he never had enough to eat, and kept his head bowed, never daring to look up at her.

Resting her chin in her hand, she mused: “When you first came to our house, I asked why you were called A Chou. You said your father was illiterate and had a schoolteacher help choose the name. Now it seems that teacher was quite learned.”

Hearing this, A Chou looked over at her.

Xijin’s dark eyes were like deep mountain pools—clear, translucent pools dappled with fragments of sunlight.

He thought of the past, of how she had looked when he first saw her.

Back then, his vision had been clouded by a red mist, making everything appear dim and blood-tinged.

He was a lonely spirit who had escaped the ghostly chains of the underworld, separated from this world by a veil of blood.

Until that day, when he saw her in the snow.

A Chou still remembered how she had been skipping about like a little sparrow, her laughter pure and bright.

Sunlight streamed down through the flawless sky, illuminating her—she was the warmest light in this world.

As he was lost in thought, Xijin noticed his silence: “What’s wrong? What are you thinking about?”

A Chou snapped out of it: “Just remembering when I first came here.”

Xijin’s eyes sparkled as she looked at him: “You still remember that?”

A Chou: “I remember. You gave me the chestnut cake you were holding.”

Xijin: “Really? I don’t recall that.”

A Chou: “You were wearing a pale green jacket that day, with your hair in a simple bun, but you had a freshly picked wintersweet flower in it.”

Xijin: “I don’t remember what you were wearing at all.”

Her only impression of him had been his thin, frail frame and how he kept his head bowed, too timid to look up—so pitiful.

A Chou: “I still remember the taste of that chestnut cake—sweet, fragrant, and soft. I’d never had anything so delicious in my life.”

Xijin listened, looking at him with sympathy: “So you’d never had chestnut cake before then!”

A Chou didn’t refute this.

Born into nobility, he had once enjoyed the most extravagant luxuries the world could offer. As a child, he would have scoffed at something as simple as chestnut cake.

But fate had turned abruptly, and the fragile bonds of royal kinship had sent him tumbling from the clouds into the dust. Forced to hide and flee, he endured hardships he had never imagined.

So when he finally tasted that chestnut cake again, it became the most exquisite flavor in the world to him.

Xijin sighed wistfully: “So it’s true—if you have money, you can eat chestnut cake; if you don’t, you can’t. That’s why we need to earn more money!”

A Chou’s eyes crinkled with amusement. She always found a way to steer the conversation back to making money.

Gazing at her warmly, he said, “Yes, we’ll work hard to earn money.”

But Xijin was already daydreaming about their prosperous future: “When we have money, I’ll have some more jewelry made. That Filigree Silver Hairpin my aunt wore during the New Year—just the craftsmanship alone must have cost a fortune!”

According to the laws of Great Zhao, only the imperial nobility and those of certain high ranks were permitted to wear ornaments made of precious materials. However, there were no restrictions on craftsmanship or design, so merchant families like theirs could indulge in elaborate styles. Thus, the cost of skilled labor often surpassed that of the materials themselves.

A Chou’s gaze never left her face. Hearing her words, he said, “If you like them, have them made now. It’s not much money.”

Xijin retorted, “No! I’ll have them made once we’ve earned more!”

A Chou nodded, his voice low and gentle. “Alright, we’ll do it after we’ve earned more.”

As they spoke, A Chou held Mang Er for a while before handing him over to the wet nurse to be put to sleep. Meanwhile, the maids had prepared the noodle soup, and the couple prepared to bathe.

A Chou said, “The water’s ready. You go first.”

She was frail and thin, prone to catching cold in the winter, so the first round of noodle soup was always reserved for her.

Xijin, recalling a storybook she’d recently read, suggested, “Why don’t you join me?”

A Chou raised an eyebrow, noticing the mischievous glint in her bright eyes.

A Chou replied, “I thought you might find it cramped.”

Xijin disliked public bathhouses and always bathed at home using a wooden tub, which wasn’t particularly spacious.

Xijin sniffed. “I don’t mind it being cramped!”

Seeing her insistence, A Chou obliged without further protest.

When Xijin entered with her clothes and toiletries, she found A Chou had already shed his outer robe and prepared a long bench, fragrant powder, facial cream, and lip rouge.

The bathing chamber had only one small, high window, allowing just a sliver of light inside. A Chou lit the oil lamp in the wall niche, casting a hazy glow over the room.

Through the misty air, Xijin observed A Chou’s tall, lean, and powerfully built frame.

She knew well that beneath his seemingly slender appearance in robes lay a youthful body brimming with startling strength—enough to frighten her when unleashed.

It was hard to imagine how a man could become so savage, so relentless in those moments!

He was less a man and more a ravenous wolf, a wild beast.

Her gaze trailed over his body before skimming fleetingly over a certain area.

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t glimpsed it before—those occasional sightings had left her legs weak, avoiding his touch for days.

That fleeting glance didn’t escape A Chou’s notice.

Every ounce of his attention was fixed on her. That soft, barely-there look of hers, feather-light yet deliberate, sent a ripple through him.

In an instant, a storm surged within him.

He glanced down, unable to hide his shameful reaction.

When he looked back at her, she had already wrapped herself in a bathing gown and settled into the water.

He approached the tub, unabashedly on display, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Xijin bit her lip, studying him through the steam before tilting her head. “I just remembered something—”

A Chou: “Hmm?”

He knew she was up to something but remained silent, waiting.

Xijin lifted a delicate finger to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I read a new storybook recently.”

A Chou: “What storybook?”

As he spoke, something rose boldly between them, unmistakable even through the tub’s barrier—taunting her, inch by inch.

Xijin’s cheeks flushed crimson as she averted her gaze to the misty waters nearby. “It’s about a pretty lady and a loafer,” she murmured.  

A Chou raised an eyebrow. “A loafer?”  

Her heart raced, her face burning, but she still managed to summarize the story she had read. Once she finished in one breath, she finally relaxed. “Anyway, that’s how it goes!”  

A Chou fixed his gaze intently on her eyes—those misty, shimmering pools already brimming with moisture.  

“So?” he asked quietly.  

Xijin grinned. “Alright, now I’m the pretty lady, and you’re the loafer. My dear husband is away on a long journey, and I’m lonely in my spring chambers—so you take advantage of the situation—”  

She paused, reconsidering. “No, no! You should peep at me while I bathe, then come join me!”  

A Chou frowned slightly, disapproving. “This story isn’t good.”  

Xijin pouted. “What’s wrong with it? I love it! Why are you just standing there? Hurry up, or my husband will return, and you’ll be left desperate, unable to have a taste!”  

She recalled the book’s words and added, “I must be one of the rarest in the world—wrap warm, moist, fragrant, and soft. How lucky you are to have such fortune!”  

A Chou clenched his fists, taking a deep breath as he watched her damp, alluring charm. Finally, he rasped, “Fine.”  

He didn’t want to be some peeping loafer.  

But he also really did.  

So for now, he’d humor her—lest she get upset.