It was autumn, the season of harvest. To prevent the continuous autumn rains from ruining the fruits of a year’s hard work, the villagers toiled all day and fell asleep as soon as they lay down at night. Who had time to weave cloth? Moreover, even if they had the energy to weave at night, they couldn’t bear the cost of oil. To collect a large quantity of cloth, they would have to wait until the idle winter season.
However, Dalang and Guicheng were not idle either. They went from village to village, promoting their newly opened cloth shop. They told everyone that if any household weaved cloth in the future, they could sell it to their shop. If anyone had ready-made cloth, they would pay cash on the spot based on quality. Even so, the results were not great. Most weaving households would sell to merchants they were already familiar with. These two newcomers, no matter how convincing they sounded, didn’t gain much trust. Moreover, many households had already signed contracts with merchants last year, agreeing to sell this year’s cloth to those merchants. Breaking the contract would require paying compensation. Even if Dalang offered higher prices, the households still found it unprofitable.
After Dong Panyu’s pregnancy stabilized, Guicheng brought her back and temporarily settled her in the courtyard behind the shop. When Madam Dong saw Dong Panyu’s visibly pregnant belly and was told the child was Guicheng’s, she flew into a rage, cursing Dong Panyu for being shameless and committing adultery with a lowly servant. She immediately threatened to report them to the authorities, vowing to make the adulterous couple suffer. Guicheng showed Madam Dong the marriage certificate. If not for his quick reflexes—honed from practicing martial arts with Dalang under Tong Shi since childhood—the certificate would have been snatched and torn to pieces by Madam Dong.
Guicheng had never imagined a woman could be so terrifying when enraged. Madam Dong had bound feet and usually walked with unsteady, slow steps, hardly associated with speed. But when she lunged at him with red eyes and clawing hands to snatch the marriage certificate, Guicheng was genuinely stunned. What kind of fury and hatred could drive a woman to such madness? He swore never to underestimate a woman with bound feet again. Anyone who claimed they were slow was blind. Yet he forgot his own wife was a woman with bound feet.
When Lin Fang saw Dong Panyu, her heart twisted in discomfort. Dong Panyu was only fourteen or fifteen, her face still slightly plump with baby fat. In Lin Fang’s original world, this age would have been the prime time for middle school. But here, Dong Panyu was heavily pregnant, which Lin Fang found deeply unsettling. Then there was Guicheng, barely in his late thirties but looking a decade older with his unkempt beard. To Lin Fang, the phrase “a fresh flower stuck in cow dung” was perfectly embodied here.
But that wasn’t the worst of it. In Lin Fang’s original world, age-gap relationships—whether older men with younger women or older women with younger men—were nothing unusual. What truly disturbed her was seeing Dong Panyu’s tiny, pointed bound feet peeking out from under her skirt. It reminded her of her cousin, who had visited a few days earlier with her uncle to see Lin Fang’s mother. The girl was only seven but had already endured three years of foot-binding. She walked in tiny, unsteady steps, looking as if she might topple over at any moment. Lin Fang’s heart grew uneasy again. She had heard her grandparents were open-minded people, yet even their granddaughter had bound feet. What would happen to her in the future? She’d heard foot-binding was excruciatingly painful. She had also seen her grandmother’s feet in her past life—only the big toe remained normal, while the other four toes were bent and curled under the sole. Not only was it unsightly, but washing and trimming the toenails were also troublesome.
While Lin Fang, the infant, wrestled with these thoughts, Dalang and Guicheng began working on the land they had bought. They had already visited all the nearby villages with little success. Since most households weren’t weaving in large quantities yet, their urgency was futile. But two grown men couldn’t just sit idle, so they turned their attention to the land. Despite their rural upbringing, Dalang had never done farm work, and Guicheng, as his follower, wasn’t much better. Even with the land, they had no idea what to do with it.
On the main road near the town, two men of starkly different builds walked side by side. One was tall and fair-skinned, his refined bearing undiminished even in coarse clothing. The other was short and stout, his freshly shaved chin pale against his dark, weathered face. They occasionally gestured at the fields around them. At first, passersby merely watched curiously, but as the pair paced back and forth before finally stopping with troubled expressions—especially the handsome one, who looked particularly distressed—a nosy old woman approached.
“Young man, what troubles you? Perhaps this old woman can offer some advice.”
At thirty-six, being called “young man” was a constant annoyance for Lin Dalang. He shot a glare at Guicheng, who stifled a laugh, then bowed to the old woman. “Elder, I’ve bought this land but don’t know what to do with it. I’ve been pondering it.”
Before the old woman could reply, someone else chimed in, “What else is land for but farming?”
Another disagreed, “Who says land is only for farming? A plot this big could be used to build lodgings for traveling merchants. Our area is rich in medicinal herbs. Every winter, merchants come from all over to buy them.”
“My opinion? A place this size is perfect for raising chickens. Far better than keeping just a few dozen in your own yard.”
“Chickens are a bad idea. This land is right by the road—too noisy.”
“Brother, I think fish farming is best. The river isn’t far. Dig a pond, channel the water in—easy. And with the pond by the road, selling the fish would be convenient too.”
The crowd fell silent at this suggestion. The speaker was a young woman with a melodious voice and striking beauty, her bright green dress enhancing her charm.
The old woman who had first spoken to Dalang recognized her as the daughter of the land’s previous owner. “Yuan Li, if you had such a good idea, why did your father sell the land?”
Yuan Li sighed. “My mother is ill and needs expensive treatment urgently. My father had no choice but to sell.”
Someone else asked, “Did your family’s pickle shop get sold to him too?”
“Yes, Brother Li.”
“Hmph.”
Dalang was baffled. The Li family had chosen to sell their shop and land—no one had forced them. Why was this “Brother Li” sneering at him? Exchanging a glance with Guicheng, the two politely thanked the crowd and quickly left.
Back at the shop, Dalang and Guicheng discussed their options and concluded the land was a hidden gem. If they built lodgings for herb merchants, the rental income would far exceed the land’s cost. The fish farming idea was also good, but it was too late to start digging ponds and stocking fish—winter was approaching.
They decided to build houses on one side of the road first. The five-acre plot could accommodate twelve small courtyards, each on a quarter-acre, arranged in rows of three with pathways in between. Each courtyard would have three main rooms and a ring of simpler structures for tenants to use as they pleased—living quarters or storage.
When Dalang explained the plan to Li Cuimei, she agreed it was a good idea. Dalang withdrew money from Tong Shi and went to town to find Liulang. As a skilled carpenter, Liulang had no trouble organizing a crew to start construction. Dalang didn’t reveal the full truth, only saying the funds came from his aunt and that she would pay for the work.
Li Cuimei had heard Dalang’s grandparents left him money but assumed it was no more than a few dozen taels—maybe five hundred at most. For ordinary farmers, three taels could support a family for a year. Some never saw five hundred taels in their lifetime. Seeing Dalang buy shops, land, and now build houses, she realized his wealth far exceeded her expectations. When she asked why he hadn’t used the money earlier instead of working for others, he simply said, “The timing wasn’t right.”
Seeing he wouldn’t elaborate, Li Cuimei dropped the subject but felt a lingering unhappiness.
“Don’t be upset. I’ll tell you.”
Expecting curiosity, Dalang was surprised when his wife remained silent. He pulled her into his arms, nibbling her earlobe until she shivered and tried to push him away. Laughing, he released her. “After all these years, you’re still so shy. Fine, I’ll explain.”
When the family divided their assets, Dalang’s grandparents split the silver into two portions. One went to the second branch, while the other was mostly entrusted to Tong Shi, with a small fraction given to Lin Boshi. They had long understood their eldest son’s nature—arrogant, harsh, and morally corrupt. No amount of money in his hands would last, so they pinned their hopes on their eldest grandson, whom they had raised themselves.
Lin Boshi never knew about this money. If it had been revealed earlier, he would have suspected and fought for it, ensuring its loss. Over the years, Tong Shi occasionally took medical cases, sometimes traveling for months. People assumed she earned hefty fees from wealthy households, perhaps even receiving lavish tips. Rumors spread that she had amassed a fortune. A few had tried to steal from her, but after her brutal retaliation left them half-dead, no one dared again.
Li Cuimei was sharp. She understood now—those beaten men were no secret in the village. But she still wondered, “If your aunt has even more money than you, why doesn’t she invest it too? It’s a perfect opportunity to grow wealth.”
“You know her—she hates dealing with people. Erlang only likes blacksmithing and avoids chatter. We’ll see what Meng’er grows up to prefer. If he’s inclined toward business, I’ll guide him.”
After a moment’s thought, Li Cuimei suggested, “If she dislikes dealing with others, she could entrust the money to you. Profits could be shared.”
“Aunt has her own plans,” Dalang murmured, reclaiming his wife’s earlobe. “But that’s not urgent. It’s late—let’s rest.”
[Content omitted: Not suitable for minors.]
“Waaah—”
A baby’s cry sidelined Lin Dalang. Li Cuimei carefully changed their daughter’s diaper and began nursing. Watching his wife’s skin grow softer and fairer, Dalang nearly wept. Daughter, why must you wake now? Every time your mother nurses you, she falls asleep with you. What am I to do?
As if hearing his thoughts, the baby giggled. When Dalang reached to pinch her tiny nose, he found both mother and daughter breathing evenly in sleep. Resigned, he tucked them in and closed his eyes, counting sheep.
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