Chapter 45: Food Money

The two stared at each other, both stunned.

Xu Yuan slowly raised his hand: “You go first…”

Lin Wan opened the bundle: “I fixed it for you.”

Inside the bundle was the three-eyed firelock, along with a leather pouch filled with gunpowder.

Xu Yuan was overjoyed, taking it up and caressing it repeatedly, unwilling to let go.

His stepmother snorted: “What’s so great about this thing? It needs reloading before each shot, and after three rounds it’s basically useless. In a magical duel, there’s no time to reload. How can it compare to our traditional craftsmen?”

Even within the Seven Sects, factions abound.

The most chaotic is the “Spellcrafters,” truly a motley assortment.

Spellcrafters are the most numerous; if they could unite, they’d be the strongest force among the Seven Sects.

But anyone who dares suggest unifying them will face infighting so fierce they’ll tear each other’s brains out.

Craftsmen, by contrast, are the most visibly divided faction—new and old craftsmen each believe the other has gone down a “heretical” path.

The old craftsmen once held absolute dominance, but as the Imperial Ming court increasingly interacted with the Snow-Crushing Ghosts, Red-Haired Barbarians, and Blue-Eyed Foreigners, exotic techniques from beyond the borders flooded in. The new craftsmen absorbed these methods, growing stronger by the day, until they could now stand toe-to-toe with the old craftsmen.

The three-eyed firelock is a new craftsman’s invention—his stepmother looked down on it.

Xu Yuan tucked away the firelock: “External tools are for use. As for understanding the Dao of craftsmanship, they’re nowhere near your level.”

“Of course,” Lin Wanmo preened at the small compliment, then pointed to another bundle on the table: “What’s this?”

Xu Yuan said: “The silver I earned on this trip—I’m giving part of it home…”

Lin Wan smiled, her gaze drifting lazily: “Oh? So you’ve got such ‘filial piety’?” But her slender finger tapped the bag: “With this thought in mind, your mother is satisfied—the money isn’t needed.”

“I earned it, so I ought to…”

Lin Wan waved her small white hand: “Enough. I’m not dead yet—I can still support you.”

Xu Yuan grinned mischievously: “You really won’t take it?”

“No.”

“Aren’t you even going to see how much I made?”

“Qiao Ziaolang is so stingy—he couldn’t have given you much.”

Xu Yuan opened the bundle. Lin Wan’s words were cut clean in half.

Golden little ingots!

Like the delicate, rosy toes of a young maiden.

Silver large ingots!

Like the full, rounded rump of a woman after childbirth.

Crisp, brand-new silver notes!

Like the bright red veil of a bride just carried through the door.

Xu Yuan tapped the table: “Wipe your drool.”

Lin Wan shot him a scolding glance, then secretly touched her lip—damn, she’d actually drooled. How embarrassing.

She smiled brightly, beautifully, and slid the bundle into her lap without a word: “Your mother doesn’t want your money—I’m just saving it for you.”

“You’re not young anymore—you need to find a bride. Matchmaking, dowry payments—all cost money. When you marry and establish your household, when Xu family spreads its branches, I’ll have face to meet your father in the netherworld.”

“Stop it!” Xu Yuan cried: “Netherworld? You make it sound real. How much older are you than me?”

“Still, I must get you a wife,” his stepmother insisted.

“I won’t marry!”

“Nonsense. Are you shy?”

“Shy? What’s to be shy about?” Xu Yuan didn’t care: “I brought the money home because it belongs to the family—but give me some pocket money.”

Lin Wan thought, bit her lip, then pulled out one ten-tael ingot and some loose silver.

Xu Yuan was dissatisfied: "This is too little—it won’t even cover a drink at Chunxiang Pavilion in Wangjing Alley."

His stepmother’s face turned cold, teeth gritted: “What did you say?! You even know the price?!”

“I…” Xu Yuan thought fast: “Zheng Rongkui told me.”

Lin Wan’s bright eyes flickered—young boys carrying too much silver will surely go astray—they already know about Chunxiang Pavilion.

She took back half the silver again!

“Hey hey hey…” Xu Yuan slumped, what could he do—he’d spoken foolishly.

Regardless of the squabbling, now that Xu Yuan had handed over the money, it was hers to manage—how much she left him didn’t truly matter.

Because Xu Yuan saw it as “food money.”

Lin Wan counted the gold and silver—altogether over seven hundred taels! She was stunned—this boy… was he a bixiu? One outing, and he brought back so much.

She’d never seen so much money in her life.

The Xu family had a rule: never sell any crafted item made by their own craftsmen.

Xu Yuan didn’t know why this rule existed, but it had been so since his grandfather’s time.

Without this rule, his stepmother’s one crafted item would fetch at least five hundred taels.

Xu Yuan tucked the silver into his robe, then grabbed a meat-filled baked bun to eat, when Lin Wan suddenly asked seriously: “Be honest—have you set your eyes on any girl?”

“No!”

“What about the third daughter of Old Yu’s family at the west end of Tiaoshi Street? You grew up together—if you’re interested, we should start arranging things soon…”

If this money wasn’t for a bride, his stepmother planned to use it to buy him two “Celestial Iron Ingots.”

Before she could finish, her voice cut off—Xu Yuan’s expression changed too.

Night had fallen, but a chilling aura, like wind-blown fog, now enveloped the entire courtyard.

Lin Wan moved swiftly, darting to Xu Yuan’s side, shoving something into his hand, then leaping like a cat to the window, her pale palm opening to release several delicate bamboo dragonflies.

Xu Yuan looked down—it was an umbrella.

A craftsman’s artifact, exquisitely new—clearly made by his stepmother in the past two days.

Heavy in his grip, he tested it a few times and understood—it was a fine tool, capable of both offense and defense.

The materials were expensive; just this one item, if sold, wouldn’t be worth less than a thousand taels.

The bamboo dragonflies flew out to scout.

Xu Yuan crouched beside his stepmother, but she glared at him: “Go behind me!”

“I can help.”

“I’m not dead yet—I can protect you!” His stepmother brooked no argument.

Xu Yuan scowled, but obediently stepped back.

…

Lao Qian stood outside the small courtyard, moving like an old man near death—slow, stiff, deliberate.

He opened a bone ash urn and poured its contents into the yard.

Black-gray ashes spilled out, yet before touching the ground, they dispersed into thick, clinging yin energy, shrouding the entire courtyard.

Night was already suited for yin spirits, but now the yin energy had grown so dense it was almost viscous—perfect for Lao Qian’s ghosts.

He set down the urn, took down his satchel from his shoulder, and pulled out cloth pouches one by one.

Each pouch was tightly tied; he untied them, and the hanging corpses burst forth—clad in white robes, their bodies and necks stretched thin, hair wild, long crimson tongues dragging to their chests.

They floated midair, hands dangling at their sides, claws purple-black, half a foot long.

Lao Qian pointed at the house—five hanging corpses drifted toward it together.

They rose first, clearing the courtyard wall, then dove straight for the house—simultaneously letting out a piercing wail.

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(End of Chapter)