Volume One, Chapter 33: This Farmer’s Luck Must Have Been Blessed by His Ancestors!

Chen Zhonghe was surrounded in the middle, beads of sweat as large as soybeans streaming down his cheeks.

He waved his hands frantically, pleading, “There’s really nothing left! Sirs, not a single one remains!”

“These stones… my child painted them. Next time… whenever there is a next time, or if there ever will be, even I cannot say!”

Seeing the anxious and disappointed faces crowding around him, he felt a pang of guilt; after all, these people had come with sincere intentions. He could only bow repeatedly, apologizing, “I’m truly sorry, gentlemen. There really is nothing left. You’ve made a wasted trip, and I beg your forgiveness.”

The servants and attendants beat their chests and stomped their feet, sighing in frustration. Though utterly unwilling, there was nothing they could do.

After all, if the man insists there are none left, what else could they do?

And so, with heavy hearts and lingering regret, they drifted away, dispirited.

The townsfolk who had witnessed the entire affair seemed to awaken from a dream. From their initial ridicule, to stunned disbelief, and finally to awe, envy, and jealousy—their faces changed more brilliantly than the actors in a face-changing play.

Who could have imagined such a thing?

Who would have dared to guess?

That these worthless, battered river pebbles, casually painted upon, could fetch such eye-watering prices!

This farmhand must be truly blessed by his ancestors!

Unable to endure the attention any longer, Chen Zhonghe dared not linger another moment in this place of trouble. The weighty silver in his arms felt like a searing hot iron, burning his very heart with every step.

He had never seen so much money in his life!

If some ill-intentioned rogue got wind of it, his family would be doomed!

Hastily gathering up the tattered cloth bundle, Chen Zhonghe plunged into the crowd, racing home as if fleeing for his life.

He sped like the wind, his feet barely touching the ground, until at last the familiar, battered gate of his home appeared before his eyes!

He barely paused to catch his breath, flung open the creaking gate, and rushed inside like an arrow released from the bow!

In the main room, Madam Luo was seated at the bedside, carefully combing her daughter’s dry, yellowing hair. Hearing the hurried footsteps and heavy breathing, she looked up in surprise just as her husband burst in, soaked in sweat as though fleeing for his life.

“Husband, what’s happened—” Luo’s words caught in her throat as the scene unfolded.

Without a word, Chen Zhonghe staggered to the bedside, and from his chest produced a bulging, weighty purse.

With a crisp clatter, a heap of dazzling, snowy-white silver pieces spilled out onto the patched bedding, pouring down like a cascade from the heavens.

The brilliance of the silver was so intense that both mother and daughter instinctively squinted.

“Wife! Look!” Chen Zhonghe pointed at the glittering pile, his voice trembling, almost breaking, “This… this is Pingchuan’s doing! I sold those magical stones at the market—this is what I earned!”

Luo was utterly stunned.

She stared fixedly at the pile of silver on the battered bed, her mouth opening and closing, unable to utter a single word, wondering if she were not dreaming.

In halting, breathless fragments, Chen Zhonghe poured out the whole dramatic tale of the marketplace to his wife.

As she listened, Luo’s eyes reddened with tears.

Those unruly tears, like beads on a snapped string, flowed uncontrollably down her cheeks.

She reached out, trembling, to gently touch the cold, hard silver—the sensation was all too real.

At last, she could hold back no longer. She threw her arms around her husband and daughter, sobbing aloud. Her wailing was full of grievance and hardship, but above all, irrepressible joy and a sense of vindication.

“Oh heavens, you have finally shown mercy… Our Pingchuan, my poor, suffering Pingchuan, has made something of himself at last…”

How long she cried, she did not know, but slowly her near-explosive excitement began to ebb.

She wiped her face with a rough hand, her gaze growing sharp and resolute.

“Husband!” Luo suddenly grasped her husband’s rough, calloused hands, her voice low but ringing with determination, “This money! This is what our Pingchuan earned with his wits!”

“We must never again be the fools we once were, letting ourselves be fleeced by those heartless relatives—handing over every last coin to those wolves in sheep’s clothing!”

Chen Zhonghe looked at the fortune before him—an astronomical sum to his mind—and thought of the greedy relatives who were never satisfied, especially the old patriarch and matriarch with their bitter, unkind faces…

His wife was right!

This money was earned by his son, Chen Pingchuan, through his almost divine cleverness!

It was the money that would keep the three of them alive!

“Yes!” Chen Zhonghe nodded firmly. “Wife, you’re right! We must hold tightly to this money ourselves!”

“I’ll buy the best tonic for you, restore your health and strength!”

“I’ll buy new shoes and pretty dresses for our Pingyu, so she can be as lovely and well-dressed as any girl in the village, no longer looked down upon!”

“And for our Pingchuan—I will redeem him! Let him walk out of the Zhang family’s compound with his head held high, no longer forced to live as a servant!”

Meanwhile, a hundred miles away in the city of Luzhou, within the Qian family mansion.

The young master Qian Yue was clutching the stone paintings of Sun Wukong and Zhu Bajie, rolling about his ivory bed in delight, his mouth stretched so wide it could fit a goose egg, crystal drool trickling from his lips—utterly oblivious.

He wiped his precious stones free of saliva with his chubby hands, then, without even stopping to put on his shoes, dashed out of his courtyard, stones in hand, to show off to his circle of young friends.

Soon, before noon even arrived, the Liu, Sun, and several other prominent families in Luzhou were once again thrown into chaos by the earth-shaking wails of their children!

Those young masters and misses who failed to get their own “magical stones” at first, upon seeing Qian Yue’s vividly painted treasures, were wild with envy and jealousy, their eyes nearly blazing red.

Their tantrums were a hundred times fiercer than before, threatening to bring the rooftops down with their cries!

Their parents, driven half-mad by the uproar, could only declare once more that, no matter the cost, they must find these wondrous stones that could bring a smile to their precious children’s faces.

And as for the mastermind behind this farce, Chen Pingchuan—he was, at that very moment, being summoned to the study by Master Fang.