Lin Dalang returned to Shengcheng for a visit and, despite Old Gaotou’s earnest attempts to persuade him to stay, firmly resigned from his position as shop manager. When Guicheng heard that Lin Dalang planned to open his own shop, he also grew restless and wanted to follow him back. However, Dong Panyu was suffering from severe pregnancy symptoms, and her condition was unstable. The doctor advised her to rest and avoid long-distance travel until at least five months into the pregnancy. Lin Dalang reassured Guicheng, explaining that the shop was still in its early stages—they hadn’t even secured a location yet. Even after renting a space, they would need time for renovations and stocking inventory, so the shop wouldn’t open anytime soon. He urged Guicheng to stay with Dong Panyu and wait patiently, promising to notify him once the shop was ready for business.
These days, Lin Fang was experiencing a mix of pain and joy.
With her mother now able to rest and recover, Lin Fang no longer had to be carried out to the fields to bask in the sun. Moreover, her eyes had fully opened, allowing her to observe the world around her. Well-fed and gaining strength, her spirits gradually improved. Unlike before, when she would fall asleep before she could even think, she now had ample time to ponder things, which delighted her. The biggest relief was the removal of a heavy burden from her heart—she no longer feared being forced to bind her feet, as she had noticed that both her mother and Second Grandmother, as well as Aunt Hong, all had unbound feet.
What frustrated her, however, was being treated like a child despite her thirty-plus years of life experience. People constantly coaxed her to smile or babbled meaningless words at her. Even pretending to sleep didn’t work—Lin Wu and Lin Xia, those little rascals, would poke her cheeks or tug at her ears, driving her to yell, “Stay away from me!” But all that came out was a loud wail. For a woman in her thirties to cry all the time was utterly humiliating, yet she had no choice but to endure their antics.
“Fang’er, come, time for your medicine.”
Ever since Lin Fang regained consciousness, Madam Tong had been feeding her medicine daily. At first, Lin Fang resisted fiercely. She remembered clearly—when her soul had left her body and lingered at home, she overheard her mother-in-law say, “Who would’ve thought she’d last so long after drinking all that medicine? She really held on.” The tone suggested relief, as if a long-awaited task had finally been accomplished.
“Of course she held on—she’s been drinking all sorts of medicine since childhood and built up resistance. Mom, you’re so clever. Pretending the medicine was to nourish her body, you actually increased the strain on her heart bit by bit. And that fool trusted you completely.” That was her husband’s voice, devoid of any grief over her death, sounding almost gleeful.
Her mother-in-law chuckled. “She was over thirty with no children—of course she was desperate. When we told her this medicine could cure her heart condition and help her conceive sooner, she drank it obediently, never missing a dose. Haha!”
Recalling this, Lin Fang reflexively refused the medicine. Besides, she didn’t feel unwell and saw no reason to take it. She clamped her mouth shut, and even when Second Grandmother or her mother forced the medicine down her throat, she’d use her tongue to push it back out. If that failed, she’d cry until she coughed and vomited, expelling the medicine completely.
It wasn’t until her mother, tears streaming down her face, hugged her tightly and pleaded, “Sweetheart, please take your medicine. Only then will the blood tumor on your face disappear, and you’ll grow up beautiful. You won’t end up unwanted like me, suffering in silence.”
Blood tumor? So that was why Lin Shilang had called her appearance strange. Was this “blood tumor” the same as what she knew in her past life? In her previous life, Lin Fang had two older brothers. Her eldest brother’s son was born with blood tumors—raised, red patches like toad skin, each about the size of a coin on either side of his waist.
Her nephew was born during the hottest time of the year, and the doctor advised waiting for cooler weather before surgically removing the tumors to avoid infection from sweating. Later, family matters delayed the procedure. By the time the boy turned two and they were ready for surgery, the tumors had vanished—the skin where they once were was smooth and unblemished. The doctor explained that some blood tumors are reabsorbed by the body, though such cases were rare. Her nephew was one of the lucky few.
The family was relieved they hadn’t put the child through unnecessary suffering. Lin Fang wondered if the tumor on her face would disappear on its own like her nephew’s. Regardless, from then on, she stopped spitting out the medicine, drinking it obediently each time. Whether it worked or not, she couldn’t bear to see her mother cry again.
In her past life, Lin Fang had loved watching period dramas and envied classmates who dressed in traditional costumes for photos. But due to her congenital heart condition, she rarely left home except for school. After marriage, aside from cooking (which she was terrible at, leaving it to the servants), her mother-in-law piled all household chores onto her, leaving no time for TV. Now, though she was living in an actual historical setting, she felt no excitement. Her name might be the same, but she was no longer herself.
Previously, Lin Wen stayed at school during lunch, practicing calligraphy or reciting texts alone, eating simple meals like flatbread or steamed buns. His teacher, impressed by his diligence, sometimes had a servant heat water for him before he left. Now, Lin Wen returned to Second Grandmother’s house every noon. With her mother no longer rushing to the fields, she could supervise his studies. Her knowledge rivaled the teacher’s, and her interpretations of texts sometimes differed. His father had advised listening to multiple perspectives to avoid narrow-mindedness in the future.
Lin Meng, however, was having a tough time. He and Lin Wen studied together, but while Lin Wen thrived under their mother’s guidance, Lin Meng preferred playing—especially with Grandmother’s weapons. Though some were too heavy for him, he adored them. Studying, on the other hand, gave him a headache, and he often wished his aunt would overlook him.
Li Cuihong, well aware of her sister’s intellect, spoke her mind: “Third Sister, why not just teach Wen and Meng at home? The schoolteacher has dozens of students—he can’t possibly be as attentive as you.”
“No,” Li Cuimei replied. “To thrive in this world, one must see and hear widely. Staying cooped up at home, no matter how learned, is no better than theorizing on paper.”
Seeing her point, Li Cuihong dropped the matter. Just then, she wondered why her mother-in-law, husband, and three children hadn’t returned yet, when Lin Wen and Lin Meng were already home. Suddenly, the sound of bleating filled the air—twenty-odd sheep, their thick, curly wool freshly shorn, rushed through the gate, looking absurdly bare. Without guidance, they trotted straight to the small yard behind the western wing.
“I’m back!”
“Me too!”
Two little ones trailed behind the flock, brandishing makeshift twig whips.
Lin Juan followed, carrying a small basket filled with “flower-leaf vegetables,” a type of wild greens at their peak. Whether eaten fresh or pickled, they were delicious, and villagers often gathered them while working.
Madam Tong led the cow, a large basket slung over her arm containing herbs, a water flask, and a cloth-wrapped lunch. A woven grass basket strapped to the cow’s back overflowed with fodder.
Behind the cow walked what seemed like a moving haystack—until you realized it was Lin Erlang, his head obscured by the massive bundle of grass he carried.
Last came the tall, handsome Lin Dalang, dressed in a simple blue robe, his dark hair loosely tied back with a matching ribbon. He led his usual black horse.
Lately, Dalang had stopped wearing bright silks, opting instead for muted blues and grays. Though unspoken, the family understood—he was toning down his appearance to bridge the gap with Li Cuimei. She insisted it wasn’t necessary, but he argued that saving money was wise now that he was self-employed.
Madam Tong disliked rigid formality. With no outsiders present, meals were lively affairs, with two tables for adults and children, seating arrangements casual.
Over dinner, Madam Tong asked, “Dalang, have you found a shop?”
Dalang, carefully wiping egg custard from Lin Fang’s lips, replied, “Yes, Aunt. It’s in the busiest part of town, with a courtyard. The rent is 150 taels a year, but I’m still considering.”
Li Cuihong scoffed. “150 taels could buy ten acres of good farmland. The owner’s robbing people!”
Madam Tong frowned. Though Liangping Town was the largest in the area, 150 taels was exorbitant. “Keep looking,” she advised. “If this is truly the best, ask if they’ll sell. At that rent, buying outright may be cheaper long-term.”
The next day, Dalang returned with news: the owner was willing to sell—but only as a package with a nearby field, totaling 500 taels. The field, about ten acres, wasn’t prime land and would normally cost under 70 taels alone. However, it was conveniently close to a river for irrigation.
After inspecting both, Madam Tong agreed the shop was ideal—spacious and centrally located. The field, split by a main road, had trampled cornstalks, especially near the roadside, rendering it nearly barren—hence the sale. But as Dalang noted, irrigation was easy, and with proper care, its yield could match their village’s fertile plots. The shop’s backyard was sizable, with enough space for storage and living quarters. After bargaining, they settled on 480 taels.
With the shop secured, preparations began in earnest. A month later, as autumn arrived, “Lin’s Cuiji Cloth Store” opened for business.
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