Chapter 7

Deep within the endless mountain range behind Qingmiao Village, morning mist swirled thickly. Occasionally, the distant cries of monkeys and the eerie calls of unknown creatures drifted through the air, lending a desolate and chilling atmosphere.

If the fog thickened any further, one would lose sight of the way home, and the mountains cloaked in mist seemed perilous and unpredictable.

For ordinary people, stepping into this place would cause their legs to tremble with fear. Yet Gu Chengwu moved with ease; accustomed to hiding in the mountains during battles, such an environment posed no challenge for him.

A few days ago, he had set several homemade traps here. Today, he chose a fine bow and arrow and ventured back into the mountains. From one of the deep pit traps came a cry—it was clear that prey had been caught.

Tying a rope to a tall ancient tree, Gu Chengwu secured the other end to himself and slid down into the pit to investigate. Inside was a fiery red fox, its hind leg tightly caught in the trap, barely clinging to life.

The fox was fairly large, struggling fiercely when lifted, indicating it had been trapped recently and still had some strength. But Gu Chengwu, trained in martial arts and possessing great strength, easily subdued it with a gentle lift.

Having captured such a rare red fox, Gu Chengwu decided not to pursue other large animals. Instead, he drew his bow and shot several grey rabbits hopping through the grass, returning home with a plentiful harvest.

That day, the family where Zhang Cuilan worked had all gone out for a spring outing, so she took the day off to return home. Seeing what Gu Chengwu carried, she couldn’t hide her surprise and fascination. Their big black dog hadn’t followed him into the mountains; when it saw the fox wagging its tail and growling threateningly, it frightened the fox into playing around before Gu Chengwu shooed it away.

Such wild creatures needed to live well. Wealthy people favored pelts for clothing, and some raised them as pets. Once dead, their value would diminish by at least half.

“Oh my, this is a treasure,” Zhang Cuilan said. Having worked for wealthy families for years, she had only seen ladies wear red fox fur hats at New Year, reserved for the main wife or the matriarch. These items were proudly flaunted among noble ladies, bringing great prestige.

Gu Chengwu quickly crafted a bamboo pen, placed the fox inside, and fed it. “Lucky to have found it caught in the trap. It’s strong—a mature fox. If I had come later, it probably would have broken free.”

Zhang Cuilan’s eyes sparkled with curiosity and delight. She leaned in, eager to touch it but afraid of being bitten.

She clapped her hands, smiling broadly. “Tomorrow, we’ll take it to town and sell it. Such fine fur will fetch a high price. We’ll save up and immediately start building the tiled house—then you can find yourself a bride.”

In the village, only a few families could afford tiled roofs. This was Zhang Cuilan’s steadfast dream. She also thought that having a good house would make arranging a marriage for her godson easier. These were peaceful times; though nobody was wealthy, families nurtured their sons and daughters carefully. Unless someone was truly unscrupulous, everyone wished for their children to marry into good families.

Gu Chengwu responded calmly, “The tiled house can wait until after I’m married.”

Zhang Cuilan stared at her godson, puzzled at first, then slowly understood. If they built the house first, many might come just for their money, potentially bringing trouble. It was better to appear poor outwardly and reveal their true worth only when marriage proposals came, discerning sincerity. They didn’t expect the bride’s family to be wealthy—just kind and capable of managing life.

She nodded approvingly. “If you have a plan, Mother will follow your lead. No rush on the house. And keep the fox hidden when you take it to town tomorrow.”

Gu Chengwu agreed and quickly prepared the rabbits. “I’ll stew some spicy rabbit for lunch; no need to sell these.”

“Good, no selling. You’ve worked hard hunting; I’ll cook for you to nourish your body.”

Zhang Cuilan bustled into the kitchen, quickly lighting the fire and starting to cook. She was capable of making various dishes, though not exceptionally delicious—just enough to get by.

Gu Chengwu wasn’t a picky eater; meals were simply to fill his stomach. Occasionally, when dining at an inn in town, he enjoyed the taste and could eat several bowls.

Outside the bamboo grove, vast fields sprouted fresh green shoots, especially the patch tended by Jiang Yun, which grew particularly well. Passing villagers often clicked their tongues in admiration.

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Smoke rose from the Gu family’s bamboo grove as the Jiang family began cooking. Jiang Mo, after a night of turmoil, locked himself in his room today, refusing to eat breakfast and still brooding over his rejected offer.

He envied He Qiaoqiao, who had soared to great heights; why couldn’t he? He believed he deserved to marry a scholarly gentleman and naturally become the wife of an official or a successful scholar. The fairy tales of heroes and immortals should have been his story.

In the kitchen, Jiang Yun dared not indulge in such thoughts, chopping relentlessly. He fetched a lump of pickled vegetables from a jar, planning to stir-fry a simple dish.

His mind drifted, for the day after tomorrow marked his mother’s death anniversary. He planned to go to town early to sell bamboo shoots, use the money to buy incense and offerings, and visit his mother’s grave in Peach Blossom Village. Last year, locked away by Liu Guihua, he had no money at all. The grave was likely overgrown with grass, and with his maternal relatives passing away one after another, no one remained to tend it.

But what excuse could he use to leave? Liu Guihua certainly wouldn’t let him go; without him, no one would do the housework. Even if he escaped secretly, he would be gone half a day—no cooking would alert Liu Guihua.

Distracted and worried, Jiang Yun accidentally cut his middle finger while chopping. Blood immediately flowed.

“Ow,” the salted pickled vegetables stung fiercely on the wound. Jiang Yun dropped the knife and sucked on his finger.

Liu Guihua, sunning herself in the courtyard while eating melon seeds, glanced at him with a mocking sneer. “You’re not going to die, are you? Stop finding excuses to slack off.”

Jiang Yun pressed his lips together, unwilling to stop working in front of her. When no one was watching, his eyes welled with tears.

This time, Liu Guihua held back her words, seemingly in a better mood. As she ate melon seeds, her gaze lingered on the woodshed. Her hand fondled a bulging purse jingling with over sixty copper coins.

Jiang Yun squatted near the stove finishing his meal, weighed down by worries as he returned to the woodshed to count the money earned from selling bamboo shoots.

But the brick hiding the money had been pried up. His heart pounded; he dared not look inside. His face turned pale, yet he reached out and lifted the brick.

The space beneath was empty. No money pouch remained.

His nose tingled with sorrow. He had hidden the money there to avoid losing it while working. He never imagined it would be gone after just a few days.

No doubt about it, he knew who had taken it.

Wiping his tears, Jiang Yun approached Liu Guihua in the courtyard. Though terrified of her, he had no choice but to plead—for the money was needed to buy incense for his mother’s grave.

“Could you… please return my money? I want to… buy incense for my mother.”

His head bowed, voice barely above a whisper, he braved the risk of being scolded.

Liu Guihua swaggered, sitting on a stool, cracking pumpkin seeds. She shot him a cold glance, spat the shell, and sneered, “What money? Have we raised you all this time for free? If you earn money, it belongs to the family. You’re always thinking about your dead mother.”

Not satisfied, she twisted Jiang Yun’s waist hard.

He trembled in pain, eyes misted with tears, hands desperately blocking her blows.

Just then, Jiang Shunde, who worked odd jobs in town, returned. Opening the door, his face dark with gloom.

Normally, Jiang Shunde came home every two days, but this time he returned early, right at midday. Liu Guihua, ignoring Jiang Yun, hurried over to ask, “Why did you finish work so early these days?”

Jiang Shunde threw his tools into the yard, irritated. “They promised eighty wen a day, but only paid fifty. I’m not putting up with this—quitting.”

Liu Guihua was unaware of the true story behind this. Jiang Shunde usually worked hard hauling cargo at the docks in front of his employer. The moment the employer left, he would slack off and insult them behind their backs.

A fellow worker reported this, and the employer lost his temper—refusing to pay for the day and having Jiang Shunde beaten.

Jiang Shunde was fierce only at home. Outside, he dared not show anger, but beaten and humiliated, he returned home to reclaim some authority.

Fuming, he came back to find Jiang Yun crying in the yard and shouted furiously, “No one’s dead yet, so why the mourning? You useless fool, better sold off sooner.”

Jiang Yun quivered under the outburst. He knew Jiang Shunde, egged on by Liu Guihua, already disliked him, yet had never spoken of selling him.

If sold, Jiang Yun dared not imagine how he would survive. He bit his lip hard, drawing blood but making no sound, and fled to the woodshed in panic.

These were peaceful times. The borders were calm, people lived in harmony, free from want. It had been many years since anyone sold their children.

Across the way, Mrs. Xu and her husband Zhou Daniu were just sitting down to eat. Zhou Daniu had worked in the fields all morning and was now hurriedly swallowing two steamed buns without tasting them.

Their eldest son, Zhou Gou’er, was only ten, and their youngest daughter, Er Ya, six—ages when children loved to eat and behaved well at meals, each happily eating their own bun.

Suddenly, the noise of shouting came from next door, causing the siblings to shiver.

Mrs. Xu set down a pan of stir-fried spring bamboo shoots and sighed, “Jiang Shunde and Liu Guihua are truly a wolf paired with a tiger. Especially Jiang Shunde—he treats the younger son as his own but wants to sell off his real son. I think that whole family deserves divine punishment.”

Zhou Daniu nodded while chewing.

Mrs. Xu glanced at her children and continued, “Luckily, Gou’er and Er Ya haven’t suffered such hardships. I think Brother Yun works hard and is honest. Though he looks pale, he’s decent. If Gou’er were older, maybe he and Brother Yun could get along.”

Zhou Daniu swallowed and said, “Would you dare to marry into the Jiang family?”

Most likely, they’d be extorted before the match was even made.

The Zhou and Jiang families were neighbors and knew the Jiang’s true nature beneath their skin. But outsiders did not. Over the years, Liu Guihua cultivated a respectable image to gain favor, making everyone believe she was a virtuous stepmother. She praised Jiang Mo’s abilities both inside and outside the home while disparaging Jiang Yun to highlight her own son’s virtues.

In the dim woodshed, Jiang Yun dared not stay at home. He feared Jiang Shunde’s temper and Liu Guihua’s beatings, so he slipped out quietly, hoping his father would calm down before he returned.