Chapter 17

Chapter 17: Making Money Is What Matters

Their gazes met.

In the next heartbeat, both looked away—cleanly, naturally—like two strangers who had never acknowledged each other at all.

Across the crowd, the other person dipped his head in a tiny nod.

Xie Yu Chuan lowered his gaze and returned a faint nod of his own.

The figure turned and vanished into the press of people.

Behind him, Xie Wu Ying still hadn’t noticed the subtle shift in Xie Yu Chuan’s expression. He followed orders, urging Xie Wen Jie and the others to stay alert. With this many mouths and this many eyes, anything could happen.

The soldiers split into two lines, escorting the convoy from both sides. Xiong Jiu Shan marched at the front with two deputies, keeping the pace tight. If someone tried to approach, they’d get one warning.

A second attempt might earn the crack of a whip.

After a few demonstrations, no one dared test it.

In Great Liang, exile convicts were typically sent to one of three destinations: Cang Island in the southeast, Liao Zhou on the northern frontier, or Gui Ridge in the southwest.

From the capital, the distance ranged from two thousand li to four thousand. Each place had its own flavor of misery, but all shared the same core qualities: remote, sparsely populated, and brutally hard to survive.

The imperial court usually arranged exile transfers in early spring or late autumn, aiming not to disrupt farming or larger state matters.

There was also an unspoken habit in Great Liang: prisoners bound for the northern frontier were often sent north if they were southerners—southerners driven into northern cold, forced into a life and climate they couldn’t adapt to. The suffering doubled. The warning sharpened.

Most of the southerners in the convoy didn’t yet understand what northern winter meant. They only knew the road was already exhausting, and they didn’t know whether they’d live long enough to reach the end of it.

Song Jiang Town was a must-pass stop on the northern route to Liao Zhou.

The town was used to seeing convicts. Usually it was one or two, sometimes a handful—passing through, maybe even resting a night if the escorts weren’t rushing.

But a convoy of over a hundred?

That was rare enough to draw crowds.

Lai Yun Street filled with watchers, especially those who’d heard the rumors about the Xie family’s strange miracle. They craned their necks and asked their neighbors, eyes sharp with interest.

Where were the Xie family people?

There was a difference between watching a spectacle and watching prey.

Xie Yu Chuan scanned the crowd and gave a quiet, humorless huff.

So they really couldn’t wait.

Even in a tiny place like Song Jiang Town, they still couldn’t let the Xie family breathe.

The convoy kept moving.

The womenfolk at the front had walked all day. Their legs trembled, their shoulders sagged, and they moved like sleepwalkers. The men behind weren’t much better—heads low, steps dragging.

To ordinary commoners, fresh-from-the-capital exiles looked pitiful.

To the seasoned shopkeepers of Song Jiang Town, they looked like walking opportunities.

Merchants hurried up to the escorts with practiced smiles, advertising their inns and kitchens. One smooth-tongued innkeeper arrived with a shophand, carrying water and warmth like a sales pitch.

More than a hundred people—surely there were a few rich benefactors among them. If someone “accidentally” let something valuable slip, it could make half a year’s profit for a small business. And if the escorting officers were “taken care of” as well…

Well.

A merchant’s heart broke watching profit pass by untouched.

“Officials,” one called, hands clasped. “Why not rest at my place for the night? The post station outside the city is still far. The weather’s cold and the wind bites—stay, eat, drink. I’ll even heat water so you can warm your hands.”

They competed, eyes practically glowing.

Before Qiu Ling Pass, they could still earn. Once the convoy crossed the pass and left the last protections behind, the escorting yamen runners and soldiers wouldn’t be gentle. The window was small.

Even if the chance was slim, merchants didn’t want to miss it. There were thousands of li ahead—surely the convoy needed to stock up before leaving the pass.

Making money was what mattered.

Tu Hua agreed completely.

The only issue was the tiny detail of: how?

Ever since the system upgraded, everything inside it cost money. Every feature. Every convenience. Every ability that made her “Household God” act possible.

It tossed her three free roulette spins each day—generously, lovingly—with a ninety-nine percent chance of “Thanks for playing.”

Tu Hua treated that feature like it didn’t exist.

That left one option: pay.

Except her wallet was flatter than her patience.

She’d fed Xie Yu Chuan a little. Just a little.

And that dog system had charged her sixty thousand.

She pulled up the system’s explanation. A neat pop-up appeared, smug as ever.

“Feeding fees are not high. The first deduction was excessive because you forcibly used high-tier functions at a low version stage, such as top-level security and targeted, fixed-amount rainfall.”

Tu Hua squinted. “Can I unbind you?”

“No.”

“I know,” Tu Hua muttered. She hadn’t expected mercy. She’d asked out of habit—like yelling at a vending machine that stole your coins.

She opened the itemized deductions anyway.

As expected, the biggest costs were all under one category: Divine Manifestation.

Two or three ten-thousands per use, like it was nothing.

Tu Hua might call herself the Household God, but the truth was obvious: her wallet was the real deity in this relationship.

“I can’t just keep paying to protect people and get nothing out of it, right?”

She rummaged through the upgraded system menus, trying to understand what she was dealing with. If she was going to spend money to cosplay a god, she at least wanted to do it with her eyes open.

And then she found it.

A page that made her sit up.

System Shop — Host Exclusive — Reward Items

Four rows.

Three were locked, blacked out, and taunting.

Only the bottom row was available, glowing with three choices:

Eat-Without-Gaining-Weight Food Pill (100 points)

All-Poison-Immunity Health Elixir (500 points)

Main-Plane Currency: ¥5 Million (1000 points)

Tu Hua’s eyes glued themselves to the third option.

A new idea formed—sudden, bright, suspiciously hopeful.

Her mood lifted like sunlight after rain.

She grabbed her phone and messaged Xie Yu Chuan.

“Are you camping outdoors tonight?”

This season was brutal. Sleeping outside night after night would grind people down fast. She wanted to top up and at least get them something for emergencies.

A few seconds later, he replied.

“If nothing unexpected happens, we’ll likely still sleep outdoors tonight.”

If something unexpected happened, then who knew.

Tu Hua was about to ask what he needed when another message came through.

“Yu Heng is being presumptuous,” Xie Yu Chuan wrote, carefully respectful. “May I ask what offerings the Household God prefers?”

“We’re passing through a town. I was powerless in the Imperial Prison before, but now I have a chance. I wish to repay the Household God for saving my life.”

Tu Hua stared at the words.

Offerings.

Repay.

There was something oddly bracing about it. Like a shot of confidence straight into her veins.

She was the Household God.

In his mind, she wasn’t just Tu Hua with a phone and an overdraft. She was a god.

On the road, Xie Yu Chuan walked a dozen steps without receiving a reply.

Unease rose.

Had he overstepped?

Was the question insulting?

Just as regret began to prick him, her voice came again—gentle and calm.

“Whatever’s convenient for you,” Tu Hua said. “Anything is fine.”