As soon as Young Master Chen proposed taking care of the child, the two little girls began whispering to each other. The adults nearby found it amusing, and no one took Chen’s words seriously—after all, Chen himself was just a child barely over seven years old.
Amid the laughter, the child suddenly walked up to Chen, blinking his large eyes, and called out, “Sister.” The room fell silent instantly. Even Chen himself was momentarily at a loss for how to react.
The old monk burst into hearty laughter. “Hahaha, this is fate! This child rarely speaks and usually ignores people. Yet the moment you offered to care for him, he called you ‘sister.’ From now on, he shall be in your care. Haha, I truly don’t know how to handle children.” Internally, he sighed in relief—finally free from the exhausting task of managing such an energetic child. Even after putting him to sleep with acupressure daily, caring for him remained a challenge.
Chen stood up and bowed. “Thank you, Master.”
When he raised his head, the old monk’s piercing gaze made Chen tremble inwardly. Had the monk noticed something unusual about him?
“Don’t be nervous, young one,” the monk said with a chuckle. “This old monk observes that your body harbors something foreign—an intrusion that doesn’t belong. If not expelled soon, it may harm your health and leave lifelong consequences.”
Lin Fang, who had some medical knowledge, immediately grasped the implication. “Master, has Miss Sima been poisoned by lead powder? Aren’t you a healer? Please examine her.”
The old monk replied, “The poisoning isn’t severe yet, but she will need long-term medication and dietary adjustments. If she agrees, I can prescribe a remedy now.”
The monk, growing more mischievous with age, had actually discerned that Chen’s soul was from another world. But his words, as Lin Fang interpreted them, referred to the lead-based whitening powder Chen had used, which was now causing side effects. Instead of stating it plainly, he deliberately mystified the issue, making Chen fear he was hinting at her soul possessing another’s body.
Chen swayed on his feet, nearly collapsing. To Dalang and Li Cuimei, it seemed she was frightened by the monk’s diagnosis. The child, though restless, moved swiftly to steady her. Chen felt his inner robe drenched in cold sweat.
Dalang and his wife immediately stood and bowed to the monk. They understood the pain of standing out due to unusual appearances. Young Miss Sima, still a child, hadn’t yet faced the world’s judgment. But when she grew older and sought marriage, how would she endure the cruel gossip?
At the monk’s request, Dalang built a small meditation hall on the mountain and furnished it completely. Most herbs were gathered by the monk himself; the rest were purchased based on his list.
As usual, the monk grew vegetables and foraged wild greens, sustaining himself. When craving variety, he’d ask Lin Fang for recipes. Lin Fang found it odd—they’d just met. How did he know she had culinary skills? Her parents admitted they’d told the monk about their daughter’s clever ideas, knowing his fondness for good food.
In truth, ever since Lin Fang’s mysterious three-day slumber three years ago, Li Cuimei had suspected something amiss. She and Dalang had sought the monk’s counsel, but he was away. Now, introducing himself as “Zixing,” the monk had immediately bonded with Lin Fang—yet her unfamiliar gaze during their chat betrayed no recognition, confirming their suspicions.
When Lin Fang escorted Miss Sima back next door, the monk quietly warned Dalang and Li Cuimei never to mention “Huiyuan” again. He stressed that no matter what happened, their unwavering love would keep their daughter safe. The rest, he said, was fate’s secret.
Thus, when Lin Fang questioned them, her parents took the blame to avoid alarming their perceptive daughter.
Chen once asked the child’s name. “My family calls me ‘Shengxin’ (Worry-Free),” the boy said. Chen assumed it was ironic—the child was anything but worry-free. Disliking the name, Chen renamed him “Chen Shiyuan” (Worldly Fate), wrote it ceremoniously, and asked Monk Zixing to perform rites for the boy’s health.
Chen Shiyuan grew attached to Chen, following him everywhere. Though quiet, he obeyed Chen diligently. Freed from the monk’s sleep-inducing acupressure, the boy regained his lively spirit—but now orbited only Chen, afraid of abandonment, likely traumatized by past neglect.
Li Cuimei offered a servant to help Chen with the child, but Chen refused. Lin Fang wasn’t surprised—Chen was fiercely independent and stubborn about accepting help.
Days passed with Dalang and Li Cuimei busy working, Lin Fang studying, Chen tending to Shiyuan, and occasional mountain visits to discuss Buddhism with Zixing.
Steward Qi brought news: Qi Biao had excelled in martial exams, earning an official post. However, this year’s recruits were denied rest and sent straight to duty. Lin Wu remained in Qi Biao’s Shengcheng home, cared for by servants. Qi Biao ordered all Qi Manor staff to stay put, assisting the Lins if needed.
Steward Qi also relayed Wang Hongwen’s message: having failed the exams, he vowed to keep studying in Shengcheng. Once Lin Cui’e’s mourning ended in winter, his family would propose marriage.
As autumn deepened, Lin Cuili sent carts of wool, urging workers to wait and return with knitted woolens—her region was already winter-cold. Li Cuimei halted other workshops to prioritize wool-spinning. Apologizing for delays, she offered free gloves or socks and limited preorders for the next batch.
All Lin servants received three months’ extra pay. Even Qi Manor’s women, usually idle, joined the effort—paid per piece, they worked tirelessly, taking wool home to earn extra income.
By winter’s onset, Cuili’s order was done. With a second wool delivery, the Lins officially opened for business.
After negotiating with Steward Qi and Nanny Liang, Qi Manor’s women formed a dedicated woolens workshop under Liang’s management—simplifying oversight while retaining financial control. Lin Fang admired her mother’s wisdom: outsourcing labor while keeping profits, all workers being bound servants, easily managed.
“Ha! This isn’t clothing—it’s a spiderweb after a storm!” Lin Fang laughed, holding up Chen’s lumpy, hole-riddled knitting. “My stomach hurts from laughing!”
Snatching it back, Chen pretended anger. “Stop laughing, or I’ll ignore you!” She unraveled the mess, letting Shiyuan play with the yarn as she wound it into a ball.
Lin Fang gasped between giggles. “You used to knit beautifully—that skirt everyone copied! How’d you get so clumsy? Such a waste of Sima Rusu’s ‘genius’ reputation.”
“Genius? Pah!” Chen spat. “Lady Sima raised her like an idiot—no books, no skills, locked indoors. Frankly, if I hadn’t come, this body wouldn’t even be breathing.”
Lin Fang grew serious. “Maybe because Rusu was the smartest sister, Lady Sima hyped her ‘genius,’ then planned to mourn her as ‘heaven-envied’ to play the saint?”
Chen shuddered. “Enough! Since when are you so imaginative? It’s creepy.”
Chen’s natural complexion had returned—less pale now, but lead poisoning had left her skin sallow and prematurely spotted. Lin Fang wondered if it also dulled Chen’s mind. She prayed Monk Zixing’s medicine would work, sparing Chen further hardship.
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