Chapter 40

Chapter 40: Selling the Ox

Li Tao Hua heard Qin Hui Yin wanted to go into the county town with Song Rui Ze and shut it down on the spot.

“Absolutely not,” she snapped, turning on Song Rui Ze as if he were the one dragging Qin Hui Yin off. “Stay far away from her!”

Song Rui Ze didn’t bother to argue. His face stayed blank, his eyes dark and unreadable.

Qin Hui Yin stepped between them, voice soft as cotton. “Auntie Li, we’re only going to sell the wild ox. Third Grandpa will be with us. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

Li Tao Hua’s refusal didn’t budge. Qin Hui Yin coaxed and coaxed, pouring out sweet talk until her throat went dry, and in the end Li Tao Hua finally relented—on one condition.

“Fine,” she said, still glaring at Song Rui Ze. “Tang Lu Wu goes with you.”

That was exactly what Qin Hui Yin wanted. Li Tao Hua despised Song Rui Ze; if she came along as chaperone, the fragile thaw Qin Hui Yin had carved out over the past few days would freeze solid again. So Qin Hui Yin found a dozen reasons to keep Li Tao Hua at home, and when Li Tao Hua finally gave up on following, Qin Hui Yin let out a quiet breath.

They packed for the road. Once they got to the county town, there would be no time to rush back before dark, so they needed food and water. Luckily, they’d made plenty of scallion pancakes during practice that day. Qin Hui Yin wrapped them up and added several bamboo tubes of clean water.

Third Master Tang took the reins of the ox cart. The dead wild ox lay in the back, stiff and heavy, its eyes still wide open. Tang Lu Wu couldn’t bring herself to sit near it. She climbed up beside Third Master Tang, hands clasped tight in her lap, her gaze fixed stubbornly forward.

Qin Hui Yin and Song Rui Ze sat in the back with the carcass.

Song Rui Ze leaned against the hay, eyes closed, like he was napping.

He wasn’t.

The cart jolted over ruts, the wheels creaking. Beside him, Qin Hui Yin’s breathing evened out, slow and soft. Her head dipped with the sway of the road, drifting, drifting—

Right toward the wild ox.

Song Rui Ze’s hand shot out. His palm caught her cheek before her forehead could bump the carcass. The brush of his calloused skin against her face made his fingers curl instinctively, as if afraid his roughness would scrape her. Her skin was warm and soft, tender as tofu.

Qin Hui Yin frowned in her sleep and, feeling the resistance, her head tipped the other way instead. She settled against the hay with a little sigh.

Song Rui Ze pulled his hand back, silent.

Two hours later, the county town’s walls rose ahead of them.

The streets inside were broader, louder, packed with people and carts and shouting vendors. They tried one richly decorated restaurant after another, but before they could even see the person in charge, a waiter would wrinkle his nose, glance at their cart, and wave them away like beggars.

“Wild ox doesn’t taste that good,” Third Master Tang said at last, spitting the words like a bad mouthful. “These places serve big spenders. Of course they won’t touch it. Let’s just sell it to the butcher.”

“It’s not only about taste,” Qin Hui Yin said, keeping her voice low. “Beef isn’t a necessity, and the rules are strict. Even registered beef from a domesticated cow costs more because it’s approved by the Government Office. If a restaurant buys wild ox and guests like it, what then? How will they get another? Without approval, they can’t sell beef openly.”

Tang Lu Wu nodded hard, relieved someone else had said it. “Third Grandpa is right. Better to sell to the butcher. Even if it’s less, at least it sells.”

Third Master Tang did the math out loud, counting on his fingers. “Pork’s 13 wen per jin. Registered beef is 30. But wild ox? Seven or eight wen per jin if we’re lucky, and that’s before trimming. After you cut off the inedible parts, what do we get—maybe 100 jin?”

Tang Lu Wu’s heart sank. “That’s not even one tael of silver…”

Third Master Tang shook his head, bitter. “We didn’t come all this way for a few hundred wen.”

All eyes turned to Song Rui Ze.

The prey was his. The decision was his.

Song Rui Ze stared at the street ahead for a beat, then said coolly, “I know a steward in a wealthy household. We might sell it to him.”

Third Master Tang’s expression brightened. “Right—big households like rare game. Lead the way. We’ll ask.”

Song Rui Ze’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing more. If he’d come alone, he would never have spent that favor. The steward owed him once, and Song Rui Ze had no desire to trade that debt for a dead ox.

But he’d watched them worry, watched them count and recount those few miserable wen. The words had slipped out before he’d decided.

Ou Yang Manor sat deep in the county town, its front gate broad and imposing. When their ox cart rolled up, a carriage was arriving as well. They pulled their cart aside and waited.

A man stepped down from the mounting stool in splendid brocade, a knife-bearing attendant at his shoulder. Just from his posture and the smooth way the servants hurried, it was obvious he wasn’t ordinary.

Qin Hui Yin’s eyes flicked to the manor and back to Song Rui Ze. “Perfect timing,” she murmured. “An honored guest. Your wild ox has somewhere to go today.”

“This is the front gate,” Song Rui Ze said flatly. “They won’t let us through.”

“No problem,” Qin Hui Yin said, unbothered. “Then we go to the back. We’re not benefactors. Of course we don’t use the front.”

They steered the cart around to the back gate. Song Rui Ze knocked, gave the servant boy the name of the Second Steward, and waited.

Time dragged. The sun slid higher. Tang Lu Wu shifted nervously beside Third Master Tang, fingers twisting her sleeve.

Just when it felt hopeless, the back gate opened wider and a chubby man hurried out, his face split by a beaming smile.

“Young Man Song!” he called, clasping his hands. “Forgive me, forgive me—I’ve been running myself ragged. An honored guest arrived today, and the manor’s been in an uproar. The moment I heard you were here, I had someone cover my post and came straight over.”

Qin Hui Yin watched him with interest. Song Rui Ze was tight-lipped enough to make people grind their teeth, yet he’d somehow gained the regard of someone this smooth.

She stepped forward with her brightest smile. “Uncle, you’re so busy and still you came out to see my brother. My brother said you’re warmhearted, but I didn’t expect you to be this kind.”

Song Rui Ze went still. His eyes slid toward her, puzzled.

The Second Steward blinked at her. “Brother?”

Qin Hui Yin didn’t hesitate. “Yes. He’s my brother.”

The Second Steward’s surprise turned into amusement. “Young Man Song has such a pretty sister?”

“Uncle flatters me,” Qin Hui Yin said, then gestured to the cart as if she were offering a gift basket. “My brother hunted a wild ox. Since your manor is hosting an honored guest, why not take it and add another dish?”

Tang Lu Wu’s mouth fell open.

Give it away?

Even selling to a butcher would bring a few hundred wen. If they handed it over for nothing, what had they dragged it all the way here for?

Tang Lu Wu’s fingers found Qin Hui Yin’s sleeve, tugging urgently, but Qin Hui Yin only patted her hand once, calm as still water.

Third Master Tang stared at Qin Hui Yin, and something in his eyes shifted. The girl was young—far too young—but she understood favors and face as if she’d been born navigating them.

Song Rui Ze said nothing at all.

The Second Steward stroked his beard, eyes skimming the carcass. A chuckle rumbled in his throat. “How could I take your things for free? I’ll buy it. 10 taels of silver.”

Tang Lu Wu clutched her chest so hard she nearly winded herself. Ten taels. Just like that.

Qin Hui Yin widened her eyes in apparent panic. “Uncle, that’s far too much. A wild ox isn’t worth that. If you’re this generous, I can’t be stingy either.” She inclined her head, polite and sweet. “My ancestors were imperial chefs. I know recipes other people don’t. Let me use this ox to cook a few new dishes for the honored guest. I won’t embarrass myself in front of your manor’s head chefs—I only want to thank you.”

The Second Steward’s smile faltered. He hesitated, his gaze sharp despite the soft cheeks. Outsiders in the kitchen were trouble; one mistake and his position would be finished.

Seeing the doubt, Qin Hui Yin immediately retreated. “If it’s too troublesome, then forget it. Truly. The ox isn’t worth 10 taels. Please don’t take a loss because of us. That would make us look rude and thoughtless.”

She glanced at Song Rui Ze as if explaining him away. “My brother doesn’t talk much. He’s been like that since birth. Uncle, don’t mind him.”

Song Rui Ze’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he still didn’t speak.

Qin Hui Yin kept her smile steady. Opportunities like this were rare, and Song Rui Ze wasn’t a man who could smooth a relationship with words. If she didn’t speak for him now, the connection might die before it ever became useful again.