Most young women from poor families had some skills; when their households were a bit better off, they would buy a few yards of fabric from the cloth shop to sew clothes for themselves—men’s, women’s, and children’s—all with ease. As a result, the ready-made garments displayed on either side of the shop rarely attracted buyers. Even the slightly inferior fabrics were prohibitively expensive, let alone the fine silks and satins.
When Chunfu saw Jicheng asking the shop assistant about the price of mid-range clothing, she knew it was useless to stop him. She walked straight to the very back corner, where clothes hung covered in dust, likely forgotten for who knew how long. Logically, these should be cheaper than the others. After a moment’s thought, she ran over, tugged Jicheng toward the corner, and pointed excitedly, her voice light: “Better than what I’m wearing.”
The shop assistant spoke up: “These are last year’s styles, flawed and forgotten by our shopkeeper until a few months ago. Most young ladies think they’re not worth it—old and still pricey compared to buying fabric to make their own. But if you want them, I can give you a discount.”
Chunfu’s eyes lit up, her round, bright gaze fixed on Jicheng as she repeated the assistant’s words: “Cheaper.”
Jicheng felt a surge of tenderness for this woman. Suddenly, he realized she wasn’t foolish at all—she was thoughtful, just untainted by the world’s filth, walking through life at her own pace. Most people lacked the patience to wait for her, hence their disdain.
“Those over there are prettier. Wear them, and others will envy you,” Jicheng coaxed gently. This woman had endured enough mockery and scorn for him. Others might think the Zhang family had gotten a bargain, but he knew Chunfu had suffered greatly. A single dress couldn’t make up for it. If she’d been clear-minded, she’d have married into wealth and luxury. The one benefiting here was him.
Chunfu shook her head firmly, counting on her fingers: “Can wear many. Want that.”
Jicheng wasn’t sure if her math added up, but the shop assistant stifled a laugh: “Your wife wants to save you money, brother. Since you’re not rolling in coin, why not humor her? Our shopkeeper’s been struggling to sell these. You’d be doing us a favor.”
An ordinary ready-made garment cost fifty coins, and the “discount” was a mere seven coins less. The one Jicheng had initially eyed cost a hundred and fifty—enough to buy three of the flawed ones Chunfu wanted.
Jicheng relented. The assistant picked out three slightly larger garments, shook off the dust, and wrapped them up. Chunfu was still growing; buying something that fit perfectly now might mean it wouldn’t next year.
Leaving the cloth shop, Jicheng took her to a stall selling chicks and let her pick two. Chunfu adored their chirping, cradling them like treasures. He then bought pastries from their usual vendor. After strolling the entire street, they headed back as the day waned.
Chunfu’s wandering eyes finally settled. Jicheng pulled her closer, wary of the careless passersby.
The town had a gambling den, its owner rumored to have ties with the county magistrate, making him brazen. Those who lost and couldn’t pay were beaten and forced to repay thirty coins more than their debt. Peddlers often lured passersby inside, but Jicheng usually avoided the place. This time, no one accosted them—until the den’s curtain was flung open, and a man was thrown out. The enforcers beat him mercilessly, snarling: “If you can’t afford to play, don’t act rich. If your family doesn’t send silver soon, don’t blame us for finishing you off. Take him away.”
Jicheng froze. Chunfu looked up: “What’s wrong?”
That man… was his elder cousin Jikun, who’d joined the army years ago and vanished. Why was he here? Jicheng suddenly understood Jiliang’s sudden interest in the family’s jewelry—it wasn’t Jiliang’s idea. His uncle must have been desperate to pay Jikun’s gambling debts. No wonder their comfortable life had turned strained. With a cold snort, Jicheng led Chunfu away. Gambling ruined lives; he wouldn’t soften his heart.
Chunfu memorized everything she saw. Earlier, several burly men and women had tried selling fresh mountain mushrooms, their hopeful faces wilting as the sun rose and no buyers came. Farmers always brought their prized goods to market, only to be disappointed. Chunfu knew this path wouldn’t work for her yet.
Back at the shop, the cargo had just arrived. Shopkeeper Jin called his daughter, around Chunfu’s age, from the backyard. Jicheng handed Chunfu a paper bundle to share and went to work.
Through the wooden window, Chunfu watched the bustling workers. The disheveled scholar from earlier was gone; now, it was Jicheng, shirtless under the sun, his bronze skin glistening. She didn’t know how heavy the sacks were, but even the burliest men were panting. Jicheng, though lean, moved swiftly, outpacing the others with long strides.
Shopkeeper Jin’s daughter followed her gaze and giggled: “Jicheng’s the hardest worker here. My father adores him—he does the work of three men and gets paid well.”
Chunfu sat back, opening the pastry bundle and offering it: “Eat.”
The Jin family lived comfortably, if not lavishly, and had long grown tired of such treats. The girl fetched a small box, opening it proudly to reveal candied fruits dusted with sugar like fine snow. “A traveling merchant sold these. I was quick enough to get some. The wealthy families here love novelties like this—they’d pay anything. Try one.”
Chunfu obliged. The taste, though not modern, was decent. An idea formed, but she kept it to herself.
The girl watched intently until Chunfu smiled. “Good, right?”
Chunfu nodded but didn’t touch more. If these were rare luxuries, she wouldn’t impose. Remembering Jicheng’s meager lunch, she pointed outside: “I… want to buy noodles for Jicheng. Not this way.”
Jin Liuer led her through the back door. Chunfu had ten coins Jicheng had given her—enough for one bowl of noodles. The cook, recognizing Jin’s daughter, agreed to let Jicheng eat later.
Back inside, Jin Liuer studied her. “People say you’re simple, but you don’t seem it. How could a simpleton think so much?”
Chunfu smiled faintly but didn’t engage, pushing the pastries toward her. Outside, the sun blazed. Jicheng must be parched. He had only his strength to sell, and she couldn’t suddenly become clever—she’d have to wait for the right moment, whenever that might be.
The work ended as the sun dipped. Shopkeeper Jin brought tea, clapping Jicheng’s shoulder: “I wish I had someone like you full-time. Why not work for me?”
Jicheng declined politely—he had responsibilities at home, and tempers flared over time. “If you need me, send word through Third Uncle at the Lucky Inn.”
Shopkeeper Jin glanced at Chunfu and sighed. The man was tied to his simple wife, a beauty but vulnerable. “Here’s your pay.”
Jicheng pocketed it without counting—Jin always paid fairly.
Chunfu fretted, knowing lunchtime had passed. Jin Liuer laughed: “You’re odd—not quite simple. Visit me in town. I don’t mind you.”
Chunfu smiled, thinking she might need this girl’s help later: “Deal.”
Jicheng thanked Jin and gathered their things. Chunfu shook her head, pointing to the noodle shop. Assuming she was hungry, Jicheng nodded to Jin Liuer and led her out.
Later, Jin Liuer mused to her father: “That Chunfu may be simple, but she cares for Jicheng. She bought him noodles earlier. He’s lucky.”
Jin chuckled: “Mind the shop. I’m starving.”
Though summer hadn’t arrived, the heat was fierce. Jicheng was surprised—Jin had paid him a hundred and twenty coins. Their savings jar would be a little fuller tonight.
Tai Sui Yellow Amulet Paper FuLu Taoist Love Talisman Traditional Chinese Spiritual Charm Attracting Love Protecting Marriage