Volume One, Chapter Two: Drawing Lots to Decide Life and Death—At Eight Years Old, I Offer a Plan to Save My Sister!

“Old man, just sell the granddaughter. After all, girls are nothing but a loss for the family.”
Old Madam Chen turned her prayer beads, her eyelids drooping as she sought Old Master Chen’s opinion.
“Fine!”
Old Master Chen hardly hesitated, the single word landing heavily in everyone’s hearts.
Luo’s voice trembled. “Father! That’s your own granddaughter! How could you—”
“So what if she’s my granddaughter?” Old Madam Chen cut her off, her withered fingers tapping on the table. “If she can bring my son a brighter future, that’s her good fortune!”
Her words, cold and hard as poisoned steel needles, stabbed mercilessly into Chen Pingchuan’s heart.
To be sold was considered good fortune?
Did this old woman have a heart of stone?
Old Master Chen’s murky gaze swept the room, finally settling on his second and third sons.
“The eldest will be an official one day, his name mustn’t be tainted by scandal. The eldest branch will not be involved in selling a child.”
The eldest daughter-in-law’s face betrayed a fleeting hint of pride. She straightened her back, as if she truly were the wife of a high official.
Chen Zhongwen, meanwhile, simply focused on his nose and then his heart, feigning indifference, even with a trace of scholar’s aloofness, disdainful of such worldly matters.
Chen Pingchuan fumed inwardly: the old man’s favoritism was outrageous!
Old Master Chen turned to his other two sons. “Second, third, which of your families will offer a girl?”
Chen Zhongwu’s face turned pale. He hurried to speak. “Father! Children are our flesh and blood! Besides, my wife’s been in poor health lately—”
Madam Wang immediately clutched her chest and coughed weakly, appearing frail and gravely ill. “Yes, Father, our little girl is still too young…”
“My Pingyu is only five!”
The cry burst from Luo’s lips. She jabbed her husband hard, urging him to speak up.
Chen Zhonghe’s lips quivered. The honest farmer struggled for a long moment before squeezing out, “Father… couldn’t we… think of another way…”
“Another way?” Old Master Chen’s mouth curled into a cold sneer. “Fine, produce twenty taels of silver!”
The room fell into deathly silence.
Twenty taels of silver!
For a family that seldom saw even a few copper coins in a year, it was an astronomical sum.
“If you have no money, there’s no other way!” Old Master Chen’s tone was icy, void of feeling. “Second and third families, leave it to fate!”
He glanced at Old Madam Chen.
She understood, rose shakily, walked to the corner, and drew two stalks of dried straw of uneven length from the firewood pile, gripping them so only the tips showed.
“Come here. Draw lots,” she ordered. “Whoever draws the short one will sell their daughter.”
Chen Zhonghe and Chen Zhongwu looked at each other, fear and reluctance plain in their eyes.
But a mother’s command could not be refused. In the end, Chen Zhongwu gritted his teeth and stepped forward.
Chen Zhonghe, his footsteps heavy, followed.
Chen Pingchuan’s heart leapt to his throat. He clutched his little sister’s cold hand tightly.
Chen Pingyu seemed to sense what was coming; her small body trembled even harder.
The air was so thick with tension it was hard to breathe.

“Hurry up!” Old Madam Chen urged impatiently.
Chen Zhongwu closed his eyes and grabbed a straw at random.
Chen Zhonghe’s hand shook violently, but by instinct, he took the remaining one.
Old Madam Chen released her grip.
Both stalks of straw were revealed.
Chen Zhongwu held the longer one.
Chen Zhonghe… the short.
Chen Pingchuan felt his blood run cold.
Madam Wang quickly lowered her gaze, a barely perceptible smirk flitting across her lips before she resumed her fragile, worried demeanor, gently dabbing at nonexistent tears.
The eldest daughter-in-law craned her neck, her face full of gloating curiosity.
Staring at the short straw in his hand, Chen Zhonghe’s face turned ashen, his soul seemingly sucked from his body.
Luo’s legs gave way, and she collapsed into a chair.
“Father…” Chen Zhonghe’s voice trembled with pleading.
But Old Master Chen didn’t even look at him. He simply announced, “Second’s Pingyu will be sold.”
Almost at once, a terrified wail rose from outside the window. Chen Pingyu, understanding at last, clung to Chen Pingchuan’s leg, sobbing, “Brother! I’m scared! I don’t want to be sold! Waaah—”
“Pingyu!”
Hearing her daughter’s cries, Luo rushed out, scooping her shivering child into her arms and weeping bitterly. “My poor, doomed child! Mama won’t sell you! No one will take you from me!”
Chen Zhonghe staggered out as well. Watching his wife and daughter in despair, the silent man’s eyes reddened, tears sliding down his cheeks as he stood helplessly by.
Under the eaves, the eldest branch watched coldly, unmoved.
The third branch, Chen Zhongwu and Madam Wang, exchanged a look of relief and quietly exhaled.
Chen Pingchuan looked at the tragic scene before him, then at the smug faces of the other families. Rage burned in his small chest.
But what could he do?
He was only an eight-year-old child; his words carried no weight.
If he said anything out of character for his age in this superstitious and ignorant era, he could be labeled possessed by evil spirits—an unthinkable outcome.
He could only swallow his anger and cling tightly to his sister’s cold hand, refusing to let go.
Luo wept for a long time, her sobs gradually fading. She suddenly wiped her tears, picked up her daughter, and turned to face Old Master and Old Madam Chen, her words firm and clear.
“Father! Mother! Listen to me! No one will touch Pingyu! You want money? I’ll earn it! Even if I have to beg or work myself to death, I’ll scrape together those twenty taels for you!”
With that, she no longer spared anyone a glance. Cradling Pingyu and taking Pingchuan by the hand, she walked back to their humble mud-brick home without looking back.
Chen Zhonghe, like a man stripped of his soul, hung his head and silently followed his wife and children.
The absurd family meeting ended in a haze of grief and anger, and no one had the heart for supper.
In their cramped and dim room, Luo gently laid her exhausted, sleeping daughter on the kang and covered her with their worn quilt.
Sitting on the edge, she gazed at her daughter’s pale face, tears silently streaming down again.
Chen Zhonghe squatted in the corner, puffing harshly on his acrid pipe. His face, etched with suffering and despair, flickered in the swirling smoke.
“Dear,” Luo sniffed, her voice hoarse, “we must find a way to save Pingyu.”
“What way?…” Chen Zhonghe’s tone was hopeless. “Twenty taels… Even if we sold everything, it’s not enough…”
But Luo’s eyes held a desperate resolve. “I’ll borrow! I’ll beg from house to house! Even… even if I must borrow from those cursed usurers, we will never sell our Yu’er!”

Borrow from usurers?
Chen Pingchuan’s heart clenched.
Those rolling interest loans were no better than selling Yu’er—just trading one pit for another, deeper one.
No, absolutely not!
He had to find a way to save his family!
Chen Pingchuan’s mind raced. Suddenly, a memory flashed, and his eyes brightened.
“Mother…”
He walked to the kang and gently tugged his mother’s patched sleeve.
Luo looked down, her tear-filled eyes meeting her son’s unnaturally bright gaze. “Pingchuan… Mama’s fine…”
“Mother,” Chen Pingchuan tried to sound as childlike as possible, “by the little stream behind our house, aren’t there lots of smooth, round pebbles?”
Luo was startled, momentarily lost, and nodded blankly. “Those stones… what about them?”
Chen Pingchuan blinked wide eyes. “Last time I played with Erdan, I saw that the stones paving the road at Master Zhang’s gate looked a lot like the ones by the stream.”
He gestured with his hands. “Erdan told me Master Zhang wasn’t happy with the stones from the town—said he wanted rounder, shinier ones.”
Chen Zhonghe showed little reaction, but Luo’s heart skipped a beat. “You mean… we could sell those stones?”
“I don’t know,” Chen Pingchuan tilted his head, feigning innocence, “I just thought Master Zhang seemed to like that kind.”
“Stones are everywhere—who would pay for them?” Chen Zhonghe thought his son was dreaming.
“They’re different, Father,” Chen Pingchuan insisted. “The stream stones are polished smooth by water, much prettier than the ones from the market.”
He added, “And some are white with patterns. Master Zhang would love those!”
Luo stood up, a spark of hope in her eyes.
“Husband, maybe Pingchuan is onto something.”
“How much could stones sell for? Could we really get twenty taels?” Chen Zhonghe still doubted.
“Whether they’re worth anything or not, we’ll only know if we try!” Luo turned to her husband. “Let’s gather the best ones and take them to Master Zhang. A desperate remedy is better than sitting here in despair.”
“When you go to the fields tomorrow, stop by the stream—pick out the roundest, shiniest stones, black or white, and go ask him.”
Chen Zhonghe looked at the rare hope in his wife’s eyes, then at his son’s earnest little face. Though he doubted this plan, seeing the determination in his family, he finally nodded.
“…Alright, I’ll look tomorrow.”
A hint of a smile finally crept onto Luo’s face as she reached out to pat Chen Pingchuan’s head.
“My son is clever indeed.”
Chen Pingchuan lowered his head, a barely noticeable smile on his lips.
Pebbles like these were common in modern parks for paving and landscaping. With a bit of selection, selling them to a wealthy man who appreciated novelty in this era might just be a way to earn a little money.
A business with no capital required—only a bit of effort.