Volume One, Chapter 26: Selling Himself into Servitude and Still Making Money—My Affection for Him Was Not in Vain!
Chen Zhonghe’s face flushed crimson in an instant. Tiny beads of sweat broke out on his forehead, sliding down his cheeks. His lips trembled, and every word seemed squeezed out through clenched teeth: “Father, I… I truly can’t produce a single coin.”
Before the words had faded, his eldest aunt’s shrill and cutting voice rang out at once.
“No money?”
“Second brother, are you trying to fool us?”
Her eyes slanted, gaze sharp as a blade, sweeping Chen Zhonghe up and down, her tone rife with suspicion: “Don’t you send stones to the Zhang household every day for money?”
“What about that money?”
“Is it… hidden away by your wife in secret?”
Every sentence implied he had money but refused to share it.
Chen Zhonghe was choked by these words, his chest tight and throat dry. He could only let out a long sigh, his voice hoarse and filled with endless anguish: “Eldest sister-in-law, you don’t understand.”
“The matter of selling stones for money—who knows which gossip spread it around!”
“Now, it’s not just me. Several families in the village are all carrying stones to the Zhang mansion.”
“With so many people competing, the price… of course, it’s been pressed down.”
The more he spoke, the lower his voice became, tinged with an indescribable despair.
“In the past, a basket could fetch a hundred coins or so, but now… now it’s barely worth a few dozen coins, just enough for subsistence.”
His voice grew rough as he added, “And, according to Steward Ren at the Zhang mansion, their road will soon be finished. After that… I fear even this small income won’t last.”
Chen Zhongwu and Mrs. Wang both averted their eyes at the mention of “the gossip,” their expressions turning slightly unnatural. Wang felt a pang of guilt. She recalled, only days ago, chatting with the village women, she had casually mentioned Chen Zhonghe had found a decent livelihood, bringing home coins each day. Unexpectedly, some listener had spread the word, and competitors soon followed, cutting off Chen Zhonghe’s source of income.
Chen Zhonghe, unaware of these twists and turns, continued to voice his woes: “Besides, the money from selling stones mostly has to be handed over to the family. My wife… she was ill again recently, and between medicine and visits, the household funds have been emptied out.”
His eldest aunt utterly refused to believe his words. She took him for a deliberate miser, unwilling to spend.
“Who knows if you’re telling the truth?” she sneered, lips curled with disdain. “I think you’ve made up your mind not to lift a finger to ease Father’s worries!”
Chen Zhongwen, standing nearby, stroked the sparse short hairs on his chin, shaking his head with a look of deep pain and regret. “Alas, money is but a worldly possession—how could it be more important than our parents’ health?”
“Second brother—your actions are truly lacking in filial piety.”
With these words, the old patriarch’s sunken eyes suddenly flashed like arrows. He stared hard at Chen Zhonghe, as if to pierce him through. “Second son, tell me the truth—do you really not have a single coin left?”
The atmosphere in the hall froze instantly.
Everyone’s gaze fixed on Chen Zhonghe in the corner.
He was pinned beneath their eyes, especially the scrutiny and disapproval from his parents, making him feel as if he were sitting on needles, thoroughly ill at ease.
He had always been honest and simple, slow-tongued and poor at lying. Now, flustered and sweating, his face burned red, and his hand instinctively clutched the pocket of his worn short jacket.
Inside, something seemed hidden that could not be shown.
No one knows a son like his mother.
The old matriarch, seeing Chen Zhonghe’s demeanor, quickly took measure. Her small, triangular eyes narrowed, flashing with cunning. Without a word, she lunged forward, swift as a starving wolf pouncing on prey!
Her movement was so quick, there was barely time to react—not at all like someone in their sixties or seventies.
“Mother, what are you—” Chen Zhonghe panicked, raising his arm without daring to truly block her.
The old matriarch ignored all, thrusting her shriveled, claw-like hand deep into the pocket Chen Zhonghe clutched so tightly!
Clink—
A crisp, dull sound.
Several pieces of gleaming silver spilled from Chen Zhonghe’s pocket, rolling across the cold earthen floor.
Everyone stared, drawing sharp breaths—
The fallen silver, shining temptingly even in the dim light, was clearly a full two taels of stamped silver!
The entire hall fell silent in an instant.
Not a sound could be heard.
The old patriarch’s face darkened frighteningly.
“Second son!”
He barked angrily, thunder in his voice. “You dare lie to me?!”
“Speak! Where did this silver come from?”
Chen Zhonghe stiffened, frozen like a block of wood.
His Adam’s apple bobbed wildly, sweat running down his face and dripping into the dust.
His eldest aunt lunged forward, scooping up the pieces of silver in her palm. Weighing them, her face was instantly lit with greedy brilliance, her voice shrill and piercing. “Ha! That’s no less than two taels!”
“Second son! How dare you! Hiding such a sum from the family!”
Smack!
A sharp, loud slap landed on Chen Zhonghe’s face.
The old matriarch’s wrinkled face twisted with rage, her gaze ferocious enough to devour. “Ungrateful wretch! I’ll beat you to death for your lack of filial piety!”
Panting, her finger jabbed nearly into Chen Zhonghe’s nose. “Speak! Where did this money come from? If you don’t tell the truth, I’ll skin you today!”
Chen Zhonghe clutched his burning, rapidly swelling cheek, eyes full of fear. He stammered his explanation:
“It… it was my son Pingchuan who gave it to me, told me to bring it back… for his mother’s nourishment, to help with the family expenses…”
His words dropped like cold water into boiling oil—the hall erupted in chaos.
“What?!” His eldest aunt was the first to cry out, her face incredulous. “That boy Pingchuan?”
Mrs. Wang’s eyes widened, staring fixedly at those pieces of silver in her aunt’s hand, shock and envy mingling in her gaze.
She sneered, tone sour, “A boy of only eight, sold as a servant for just a few days, and he’s already earned this much? Could it be… he’s been dishonest, stealing from his master?”
The words were venomous. Chen Zhonghe’s face, already red, grew even more flushed, as if blood might drip from it.
He raised his head sharply, waving his hands in panic. “No! Absolutely not!”
“Pingchuan serves the young master at the Zhang mansion, tending to his studies and writing! Master Zhang saw his diligence and dedication, and rewarded him with this silver!”
The old patriarch, his face stern, stroked the sparse hairs on his chin, his clouded eyes flickering.
He calculated quickly—this boy truly had some ability.
At the thought, the darkness on his face gradually melted away, replaced by a hint of satisfied smile.
“Good! Very good! Pingchuan is indeed promising!”
“He’s well worth all the affection I’ve shown him over the years!”