Chapter 47

Chapter 47: Waiting for Your Three Taels of Silver

Sir Gu descended the stairs at an unhurried pace. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a familiar silhouette from behind, slipping out of view.

Wasn’t that the little young lord who looked like Gong Yun Chi’s brother-in-law?

Why was that person only leaving now?

He beckoned a menial over and asked what had happened—why Shen Tang had lingered at the Moonlight Tower.

The menial’s face lit with envy. “You mean that little lady? She came to redeem her grandfather. Old Chu, the one who does odd jobs in the back kitchen. So filial.”

Sir Gu’s eyelids lowered.

Thoughts turned over, careful and sharp.

“Who is this Old Chu?”

If Shen Tang truly was the Shen clan’s offspring, then any “grandfather” she had should’ve died on the execution platform. How could he be alive, doing grunt work in the Moonlight Tower’s back kitchen?

Shen Tang already carried too many doubts. And now, at a moment like this, she’d still bought herself a servant—an older menial, no less. For what?

Sir Gu’s gaze darkened, suspicion tightening like a wire.

The menial scratched his head. “This one’s only been here three months. I don’t know much. I just know Old Chu works in the back and he’s a quiet weirdo.”

Sir Gu didn’t press him.

“Call your steward.”

—

Outside the Moonlight Tower, Elder Chu hugged a worn bundle to his chest and stared down the empty street with a calm, unreadable face. Shen Tang stood beside him, silent.

The shopkeeper, thinking he should give space to this “grandparent and grandchild” pair to talk after so many years, chose to bow out. It was broad daylight; even in a den of chaos, trouble was less likely.

He said his goodbyes and hurried off to mind his shop.

Shen Tang watched him go, then glanced up at Elder Chu again.

Still that same expression.

She opened her mouth, searching for something—anything—to break the dead air.

Right then, Moto trotted up, reins clenched in its teeth, and nudged its head against her chest as if demanding attention.

Shen Tang took the reins instinctively. The mule’s warmth grounded her.

She finally found a topic.

“Elder Chu, it’s a long road back. Do you want to ride… the mule?”

She’d meant to say horse, but Moto was a mule no matter how handsome it looked. She wasn’t going to call a mule a horse.

“Elder Chu?”

She called again, softer. This time, it pulled him out of whatever distant place his mind had wandered to.

He looked at Moto. Moto looked back at him.

Then he looked at the little young lord who only reached his chest—the new master. The master was looking at him too.

Being watched by one person and one mule with the same steady stare made something in him shift. His mouth twitched. He lowered his head.

“This servant wouldn’t dare.”

Shen Tang’s brow twitched. The phrase sounded wrong coming from him—his posture, his eyes, his entire bearing didn’t match that kind of self-abasement. It grated.

She waved a hand. “Don’t call yourself ‘this servant.’ Just use your name. Given name or courtesy name, either is fine.”

Elder Chu froze for a breath, then accepted it without argument. “As you wish.”

“Then what are they?” Shen Tang asked. “My surname is Shen. My courtesy name is You Li. In the family I’m…”

She stalled. The original body’s birth order… what was it again?

Not important. She chose a number on the spot.

“I’m fifth. You can call me Wu Lang.”

If people insisted on calling her Fifth Lady, she wouldn’t fight them either.

It was just ridiculous. She was clearly a pretty girl, yet everyone kept mistaking her for a handsome young man. This world had problems.

Elder Chu said, “My surname is Chu. Given name Chu Yao. Courtesy name Wu Hui.”

“Chu Yao?” Shen Tang repeated, brightening. “That’s a good name.”

She rolled right into practiced praise, the way she always did. “Yao means radiance—brilliant and dazzling. And Wu Hui, ‘no darkness.’ Excellent meaning.”

Then she swallowed her snark.

A blessing was a blessing, but reality rarely matched the name. Whoever named him wanted him to shine without shadow, yet here he was—old, sold, washing dishes in a back kitchen for years, and apparently crippled of his literary heart.

It was tragedy, plain and loud.

She pointed at Moto, who was looking innocent as ever. “Do you want to ride? Moto’s gentle. It won’t jolt.”

Chu Yao took the reins from her hand and wordlessly signaled for her to climb up.

Once she was seated, he started walking, leading the mule.

“There’s no rule where the master walks while the servant rides,” he said. “It’s improper.”

Shen Tang muttered, “Since when are there so many rules…”

She’d bought him to replace Qi Shan’s role as her guide. She hadn’t bought an old man so he could suffer for her convenience—especially not one who might become half teacher, half adviser.

“It’s different,” Chu Yao said.

“How?”

“Different.”

Instead of explaining, he asked something else—quiet, almost too careful.

“Wu Lang… how much did you spend to buy me?”

Shen Tang hesitated. “Technically, I should report a higher price to spare your feelings, but that’d be dishonest.”

She looked ahead at his back. “The steward meant to ask five taels. He thought we were grandparent and grandchild, took pity, and cut off two.”

Chu Yao didn’t answer for a long time. Something flickered across his face—strange, complicated, like suspicion wrestling with something deeper.

Then, very softly: “So… three taels?”

Shen Tang stared at the back of his head.

Five minus two. Three.

Why was he acting like that was a difficult calculation?

“Yes,” she said, a little wary. “Three taels.”

She flexed her fingers, double-checking the count in her head, then found herself wondering—had she bought the wrong person? If he struggled with arithmetic this basic, was he really as impressive as Qi Shan claimed?

Or had Qi Shan been messing with her?

The question that had been stuck in her throat finally came out.

“Yuan Liang said you have talent. If someone is capable, even at rock bottom, they can usually find a way to live a little better.”

She watched his shoulders, waiting for a reaction. “Why didn’t you redeem yourself? Or were you unable?”

He’d worked in the Moonlight Tower’s back kitchen for years. Even if he lived poorly, he wasn’t completely without income. With education and ability, he ought to have been able to earn extra and buy his freedom.

She couldn’t make sense of it.

Before Chu Yao answered, his voice went quieter, edged with something old.

“Before Xin State was destroyed, a criminal like me couldn’t redeem myself.”

“But Xin State is already gone,” Shen Tang said quickly. “That rule should be gone too.”

Chu Yao’s steps didn’t change. He only said, “It wasn’t that I didn’t want to. And it wasn’t that I couldn’t.”

Shen Tang frowned. “Then why—”

Chu Yao let out a short, tired laugh. It sounded like resignation.

“I was waiting,” he said, “for Wu Lang’s three taels of silver.”