Chapter 44

Chapter 44: Taking a Risk

Qin Hui Yin didn’t press Third Master Tang about the money. He had no other relatives; helping him later, in practical ways, would matter more than forcing silver into his hands tonight.

Song Rui Ze was the first to leave the table, silent as smoke.

Qin Hui Yin and Tang Lu Wu weren’t hungry either. After tasting the head chef’s dishes, they told Third Master Tang to drink at his own pace and went to rest.

The guest room bed was soft enough to make Tang Lu Wu feel guilty. She lay down and then rolled over, then rolled again, eyes wide in the dark.

“Yin Yin,” she whispered, as if afraid the room would hear, “I feel like I’m dreaming.”

Qin Hui Yin’s body wasn’t iron. After the chaos of the day, exhaustion sat on her bones. She murmured, half-asleep, “What kind of dream…”

“This is a rich household,” Tang Lu Wu said, words spilling faster as her excitement took over. “We ate here, slept here—and we earned so much silver. Doesn’t it feel unreal? Ten taels… if it weren’t for those debts, our family could live without worry for years.”

Before Qin Hui Yin came, Tang Lu Wu had never even held silver. Now she’d worn decent clothes, eaten meat until she was full, and stepped into a great household’s gardens with little bridges and running water. Even the latrine smelled sweet, for heaven’s sake.

And Yin Yin had said what they’d seen was only the most remote corner. Where the master and the honored guest stayed was even more exquisite.

Tang Lu Wu swallowed, eyes stinging with longing she didn’t know how to name. “Yin Yin is amazing,” she said softly, to herself as much as anyone. “No wonder Auntie Li likes you so much. If I could be even half as capable… would Father and Auntie Li look at me differently, too?”

Qin Hui Yin was already sliding under. “We’ll have money in the future too,” she mumbled, turning over. “Go to sleep. Tomorrow we’ll look around the county town.”

Tang Lu Wu finally quieted, holding those words like a warm stone until sleep took her.

The next morning, the same servant from the night before brought breakfast.

It was simple—steamed buns, stuffed buns, vegetable porridge—but served on clean trays, hot and fragrant. Even that plainness felt like kindness.

Qin Hui Yin set down her chopsticks and spoke politely. “After breakfast, we’ll leave your manor. The Second Steward is busy; we won’t disturb him. Please pass along our farewell and thanks.”

The servant bowed. “The Second Steward said Miss Qin must have things to do. He asked if you need any help. If you do, he can arrange it.”

Qin Hui Yin smiled as if she hadn’t just walked away with a pouch of silver. “Please tell the Second Steward his kindness is appreciated. We don’t dare make demands.”

She refused again, gently but firmly, until the servant withdrew.

Once the door shut, Third Master Tang shuffled out, still smelling faintly of wine. Qin Hui Yin poured him porridge and asked, “Third Grandpa, are we leaving after breakfast? Is Song Rui Ze still asleep?”

Third Master Tang let out a weary laugh. “That brat? He left ages ago.”

Qin Hui Yin paused. “Where did he go?”

“To sign up for the Dam Worksite,” Third Master Tang said, sounding both angry and helpless. “I was sleeping like a log when he shook me awake and said he was going. I told him to hand over the silver and cancel his slot. He didn’t say a word. Just walked out.”

His chopsticks jabbed the air. “Work at the Dam Worksite is brutal. Ordinary people can’t handle it. And it’s not a short stint. It’s on a huge scale—at least 1 or 2 years, sometimes 7 or 8… even 10. How can that 14-year-old brat be that stubborn?”

Qin Hui Yin’s throat tightened. She thought of the original storyline, of a boy who’d learned early that pride was the only thing he owned. She forced her voice calm. “Everyone has their own path. We can’t force him.”

Third Master Tang grumbled, but he didn’t argue. Qin Hui Yin coaxed him into eating, then urged him to rest his legs before they went out.

After breakfast, they didn’t linger in the luxury. They drove the ox cart to the market.

The county town was louder and livelier in daylight. Vendors shouted until their voices went hoarse. Carts crowded the streets. People in clean robes and bright skirts flowed around them, the air thick with food scents and dust.

They started by checking prices—grain, meat, spices—then asked about renting a stall. In the town, a person could sometimes set up wherever there was space. In the county seat, nothing was that easy. If you wanted to sell in the market, you paid a stall fee.

“A single stuffed bun costs three wen here,” Tang Lu Wu said, staring at the price as if it were an insult. “Everything’s so expensive. And the stall fee is 50 wen a day. Monthly is cheaper, but it’s still one tael of silver.”

They asked about shop rentals too. Even the smallest, most remote storefront—dark, cramped, practically a closet—cost 10 taels of silver per month.

Third Master Tang rubbed his chin. “Qin Family Girl. What do you think? We’ve looked around. Learned enough. Can your business work here?”

“Yes,” Qin Hui Yin said without hesitation. She pointed down the street where well-dressed men and women walked with children at their heels, their sleeves clean, their shoes unpatched. “The county town is a much bigger basket than the town. There are more people with money. As long as someone has even a little property, they’re willing to satisfy their cravings.”

She spoke like someone who’d watched markets rise and fall. “Since ancient times, when commoners start living better, the first thing they satisfy is food and clothing. Only after that do they care about housing and travel.”

Third Master Tang nodded, impressed despite himself. “So young, and you understand this already. Looks like you suffered a lot, wandering with your mother.”

Qin Hui Yin didn’t correct him. She only said, “Third Grandpa, let’s walk a bit more. We should learn what’s most popular here. And we need to ask how the local official governs his subordinates—what kind of person he is.”

They wandered deeper, buying seasonings they couldn’t find in town. In a seed shop, Qin Hui Yin discovered several foreign seeds the owner didn’t recognize, and she bought them as well, tucking them away like treasure.

Two hours later, near noon, they stopped for a bowl of noodles.

It cost 10 wen—an absurd price for one bowl. Worse, the noodles were soft with no chew, and the broth was thin and bland. Tang Lu Wu forced down a few bites, then put her chopsticks down, defeated. After Qin Hui Yin’s cooking, this tasted like punishment.

By the time they returned to town, afternoon shadows were stretching across the street.

They didn’t rush home. Instead, Qin Hui Yin directed the cart to the private school to find Tang Yi Chen.

The old gatekeeper took one look at them and frowned. “Are you Tang Yi Chen’s family? Where have you been? Something happened to Tang Yi Chen. Didn’t you know?”

Qin Hui Yin’s stomach dropped. “What happened? He was fine when we left yesterday. We were only gone one day. What could’ve happened?”

“He’s at the medical hall,” the gatekeeper said with a long sigh. “We sent someone to notify your household, but only a half-grown child came to stay with him. I don’t know how he is now.”

Qin Hui Yin gripped the edge of the cart. “Sir—what exactly happened?”

“Someone stabbed your Tang Yi Chen,” the old man said, voice heavy. “The wound was deep. He nearly died.”

Tang Lu Wu gasped, hand flying to her mouth.

The gatekeeper shook his head, sorrow and irritation mixing on his wrinkled face. “Several tutors are running around for him, determined to get an explanation. They’re still making a scene at the Patrol Inspector Office, demanding justice. I don’t know the details—I’m only an old gatekeeper. Go see Tang Yi Chen. Then you’ll know.”

Qin Hui Yin didn’t waste another second.