Lin Fang hurried over to Xi Xian, scooped her up in her arms. Compared to the mischievous boys Lin Yan and Xi Tai, she much preferred her well-behaved little cousin.
Taking out a handkerchief, she wiped the sweat from the little girl’s forehead, planted a kiss on her soft cheek, then rubbed Xi Xian’s chubby little hand against her own face. Though the palm was slightly damp, it didn’t stop Lin Fang from enjoying the delicate texture of the child’s skin. At the same time, she teased Xi Xian: “That’s Rusu-jie, not Ru-jie. Come on, Xi Xian, say it—Ru—Su—Jie—.”
“Ru—Ru—Jie—,” Xi Xian, still learning to speak, could only manage two distinct syllables at a time.
Sima Rusu immediately responded in a gentle voice, “Yes—Xi Xian is such a good girl. Ru-Ru-jie will peel a pear for you.”
While Lin Fang amused the little girl, Sima Rusu had already invited Lin Cui’e to sit down, peeling and slicing a pear for her. Lin Cui’e could either eat the pieces with a toothpick or feed them to little Xi Xian.
With Xi Xian perched on her lap, Lin Fang picked out small pieces of pear to feed her and asked Lin Cui’e, “Auntie, why did you bring the children out in this scorching heat? Weren’t you afraid they’d get heatstroke on the way?”
Lin Cui’e, finding it bothersome to eat piece by piece, simply took a whole pear and bit into it heartily, chewing quickly—clearly quite thirsty. Between bites, she replied, “No worries. I set out before dawn, so the sun wasn’t too harsh yet.” Her current demeanor bore little resemblance to the demure young lady she had been before her marriage.
“Haha,” Lin Fang couldn’t help but laugh. “Auntie, if Uncle saw you eating like this, he might regret his choice back then.”
Taking another big bite, Lin Cui’e slowed her chewing and shook her head with a smile. “You little imp, you don’t understand. In marriage, authenticity is what matters. What’s the point of putting on airs? No matter how I am, your uncle loves me just the same.”
Lin Fang teased, “Tsk, how shameless.”
Ignoring her, Lin Cui’e continued, “Of course, I wouldn’t embarrass him in public. Oh, by the way, I came early to join your parents in celebrating Guo Mianniang’s birthday. Are you coming?”
Guo Mian was currently the magistrate of Duoling County. Wang Hongwen, magistrate of Guiyang County, was both his fellow townsman and colleague. The two often visited each other. This year marked Guo Mianniang’s 60th birthday, and Guo Mian had sent out numerous invitations for the celebration.
During the flood in Liangping Town, Guo Mian had already moved his mother to Shengcheng. Apart from his studies, he continued to care for his blind mother day and night—a filial act recorded in the school archives. Though Guo Mian started his education late, he was naturally intelligent and diligent. Wang Hongwen, two years his senior and earlier in his studies, though less gifted, matched Guo Mian in diligence. Both excelled in their studies and chose to forgo further education in favor of official posts.
Nowadays, whenever people mentioned Lin Town, they invariably prefaced it with two words: “Fudi,” meaning “Land of Blessings.” Fudi Lin Town was not only the imperial-designated winter vegetable cultivation site, a black fungus production hub, and the largest supplier of woolen garments, but its clay figurines were also renowned. Unlike others, these figurines were lifelike, durable, and colorfast, far surpassing those from elsewhere—though their prices were equally unmatched.
Rumors claimed that Fudi Lin Town’s clay figurines carried the land’s blessings. Larger ones could safeguard homes, while smaller ones could be carried for personal well-being. Thus, visitors to Lin Town invariably took several clay figurines home, either for themselves or as gifts.
The Lin Town Clay Workshop only accepted custom orders, never selling ready-made products. Each figurine’s base bore an indentation with a unique code—essentially the buyer’s name in pinyin. Every figurine came with a slip listing the buyer’s name, gender, hometown, and purchase date. The workshop kept records of all sales, including the buyer’s details and both pinyin and Wubi input method codes. Anyone doubting a figurine’s authenticity could verify it against these records.
This anti-counterfeiting measure was Lin Fang’s idea, taught to Lin Wu. Thus, apart from Sima Rusu, only the siblings could decipher the pinyin codes—even the craftsmen merely engraved the patterns provided by Lin Wu and Lin Fang. This made forgery difficult, and mistakes were common. As for the Wubi codes, even Sima Rusu couldn’t understand them. Lin Fang sometimes teased her, saying that if she married Lin Wu, he’d naturally teach his wife.
Lin Town had vast lands, but Lin Fang, no farmer herself, was a theoretical expert. Using ancient texts as cover, she passed advanced farming techniques from her past life to Lin Wu. This “half-expert” then consulted skilled farmers to test the methods, adapting them to local conditions. Over the years, Lin Town’s crop yields doubled compared to elsewhere.
Last winter, over a hundred artisans in Lin Town received official certifications. Come spring, the court relocated fifty certified households to test Lin Town’s farming methods elsewhere.
Lin Town’s prosperity transformed all of Duoling County. The increased tax revenue finally earned Lin Chengxiang a promotion—a karmic reward for his efforts in revoking Lin Wu’s disownment. Yet even after his transfer, Song Shi, now self-sufficient at Tong Shi’s request, never revealed his relationship with Lin Wu.
After Lin Chengxiang’s transfer, Guo Mian succeeded him as magistrate. Wang Hongwen could have taken a post in wealthier Jiangnan but chose Guiyang County out of consideration for his wife Lin Cui’e’s attachment to her sister-in-law’s family.
“No.” At the mention of another banquet, Lin Fang refused without hesitation.
Sima Rusu laughed. “Auntie, Fang-jie is scared.”
“Haha,” Lin Cui’e joined in. “Fang’er, you can’t hide forever.”
“Humph, that old monk really did me in.” Remembering the monk’s words, Lin Fang gritted her teeth.
Back when Lin Fang and Sima Rusu were promoting Fudi, there had been a surge of marriage proposals.
After her tumor disappeared, Lin Fang grew increasingly beautiful, exuding a scholarly grace and innate elegance—poised yet unpretentious, erudite beyond her years. Someone had started the rumor that marrying Lin Fang would greatly benefit a husband and produce exceptional children.
At barely eight, Lin Fang had no interest in early betrothals. While one proposal could be declined, the trend caught on, with suitors swarming in. Worse yet, they adored her naturally small feet—a local beauty standard she despised.
Unwilling herself, and with Lin Wu and Li Cuimei also deeming it too early, they declined each proposal. But no reasoning could outmatch the matchmakers’ silver tongues. Too many refusals risked damaging Lin Fang’s reputation as haughty, affecting future prospects.
Reluctant to offend yet unwilling to commit, Lin Wu and Li Cuimei sought the revered monk’s intervention—to spare them daily social burdens without harming Lin Fang’s standing.
The monk agreed readily, but his “help” backfired. He declared that while Lin Fang was greatly blessed, discussing marriage now would hinder her fortune, diminish her auspicious spousal qualities, and harm future children. Only after thirteen would she bring prosperity to husband, children, and family.
The proposals stopped, but visitors multiplied—if they couldn’t secure her now, they’d keep watch lest others did. The flood of refugees temporarily scattered these suitors, but as Lin Town thrived, they returned in force.
Newcomers, hearing of the monk’s prophecy, joined the fray. Lin Mansion’s gate was truly “thronged with visitors.” The disruption forced Lin Fang to abandon teaching her nature class, retreating into seclusion at home.
“Haha, with you cursing him, the abbot’s ears must be burning.” Sima Rusu, familiar with the monk, always addressed him respectfully, unlike Lin Fang’s gnashing teeth.
Lin Cui’e chuckled. “True—this time his travels are longer than usual.” Hinting: revenge was impossible against an absent target.
Unfazed, Lin Fang sighed theatrically. “It’s not just the proposals. Those insincere banquet formalities are so tedious.”
“Ha, you little imp,” Lin Cui’e teased. “You’ve attended barely any banquets—you sound like some world-weary elder.”
Lin Fang and Sima Rusu exchanged smiles—their true ages being precisely that. Puzzled, Lin Cui’e asked, “What’s so funny?”
“Auntie,” Lin Fang replied, “you’re only ten years older than me. Given your temperament, don’t tell me you relish banquet small talk.”
Lin Cui’e laughed. “Fair point—I avoid them when possible. But Guo Mian’s different; his ties to our family are special.”
Suddenly remembering something, Lin Fang whispered to Lin Cui’e, earning a flick on the forehead. “Always stirring trouble,” Lin Cui’e scolded. “I’d forgotten that childhood matter—must you dredge it up?”
“Truly forgotten?” Lin Fang teased, ducking behind Sima Rusu as Lin Cui’e’s swat missed.
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