Chapter 21

The three of them were busily gathering leaves, and Chen Youtian had returned home.

Old Mrs. Chen sat in the courtyard spinning hemp, and when she saw her son carrying a yoke of buckets, she was surprised. “Back so early?”

As she stood and looked into the buckets, she saw not only the basket he had taken out that morning but also a ceramic basin from their home. “How did it go? Was it smooth?”

Chen Youtian set down the yoke and nodded. “Smooth. Those eggs were all sold early, thanks to their help.”

Mrs. Chen grew interested and asked her son to explain in detail. She glanced toward the yard—Shen’s house was not far away—and beckoned, “Come inside the main room and tell me.”

Qin Fangniang had been weaving cloth in the west room but stopped when she heard the commotion and came out. The two women entered the main room together to hear Chen Youtian’s account of Sangluo’s market day.

Chen Youtian, seeing his mother and wife so attentive, fell silent for a moment.

He wasn’t one for many words. In a few dry sentences, he told them how much fairy tofu Sangluo had brought today, the price per piece, and what they had bought in return—and that was it.

After a moment’s thought, he mentioned how Sangluo was especially good at organizing and shouting out different calls at the market, and how she had switched to the mountain road near the edge of the mountain. “She’s got a good head for business.”

Mrs. Chen approved. “Having a good plan is what holds the family up.”

Qin Fangniang was envious. “Just in half a morning, they earned over fifty wen?”

That was a fortune for a farming family.

For example, the dozen or so eggs her husband had taken out that morning were what the family had saved over six or seven days. On average, egg sales only brought in two or three wen per day.

Chen Youtian shook his head. “Not just that. Some were exchanged for goods. If you count the value of those items, it’s probably over sixty wen.”

Qin Fangniang was speechless with envy.

Sixty wen in one day, five market days a month—that would be how much? And in a year?

She couldn’t calculate it; all she knew was that it was a sum beyond her wildest dreams.

Mrs. Chen was quite pleased. “At this rate, their life will gradually improve. Xiao An and A Ning will have something to rely on.”

She turned to her daughter-in-law, who looked dazed and dreamy-eyed, and tugged her back to reality. “Don’t envy them too much. They have no land or fields; they live entirely by this craft. Didn’t Youtian say? When they eat some vegetables, they have to trade for them. After buying a basin or some grain, not a single coin is left.”

Qin Fangniang nodded faintly. “I know. I just think having a skill like that is really good.”

It was indeed good, but envy wouldn’t help. Mrs. Chen, always practical, thought of the approaching autumn harvest and asked Chen Youtian, “How’s the grain price now?”

Hearing his mother ask about grain prices, Chen Youtian paused. “Seventy wen per dou.”

Qin Fangniang’s eyes lit up. “Seventy wen?”

Chen Youtian nodded but tugged at his mouth without smiling.

Qin Fangniang was puzzled. “Isn’t a price increase good? We’ve prepaid the autumn tax. Once the grain is harvested and we keep enough for ourselves, we can sell the rest to the grain merchants. Our family should have a few extra savings this year.”

For farmers, saving money was hard. Without other sources of income, they relied on grain from the fields and odd jobs during the off-season. From the start of the year to the end, taxes and rents drained their earnings. After buying necessities and dealing with illnesses or social obligations, having even one or two taels of silver left was considered a good year.

That’s why Qin Fangniang envied the sixty wen Sangluo made today so much.

Chen Youtian nodded. “It’s a good thing.”

Then he said no more.

Mrs. Chen glanced at her son, sensing the knot in his heart couldn’t be undone. Qin Fangniang didn’t notice, and Mrs. Chen said nothing, changing the subject. “You came back early today. Rest a bit, drink some water, then go to the fields to help your father.”

It was better than brooding at home.

Chen Youtian nodded, fetched a bowl, poured half a bowl of cold water from the jug in the main room, drank it, then grabbed a hoe from the yard and headed to the fields.

Qin Fangniang was puzzled. “Mother, what’s wrong with him?”

Mrs. Chen looked at her.

What’s wrong? Thinking about their eldest son, of course.

The grain price had risen because of continuous warfare, the court’s grain supply was insufficient, so taxes were levied early. With the northern regions suffering disasters, prices had to rise.

Because of the death of their eldest son, closely tied to the war, it pierced her son’s heart.

Unlike the Shen family—where Shen San had bribed to push out the underage Shen Lie—her eldest son had cared for his father, proactively sought to change his name through the local official, and had the list submitted. Only at the last moment did the family learn, and it was too late to switch.

When he first heard that the eldest son and Shen Lie were in the same battalion and that the whole battalion had perished, Chen Youtian wished he could die instead.

More than half a year had passed, and the grief had gradually eased, but whether his heart had truly healed, the family all knew.

It hadn’t.

But could he say this to his daughter-in-law?

Both parents loved their son equally. Since Qin Fangniang hadn’t thought along those lines, why remind her and rip open the barely healed wound?

So Mrs. Chen just waved her hand. “Probably just thinking of the severe disasters up north. We fled famine back then, too.”

Qin Fangniang thought of the years when their hometown suffered disaster and the family fled. With a sigh, she said, “Ah, when Heaven offers no way out, people are helpless indeed.”