Chapter 47

A few coughs came from inside the room; after a long while, a thin, pale-faced middle-aged man finally opened the door and stepped out.

He paused at the threshold, squinting to make out the visitor, then walked forward to open the half-closed wooden fence.

The wooden fence stood only halfway up a person's waist, and the courtyard wall was very low—anyone outside could turn their head and see inside.

The Minxin Bureau clerk clearly recognized him and grinned as he approached, "Master Pan, you've got another letter—this one's from Guangxin Prefecture in Jiangxi."

Pan Hong thanked him, took the letter, and strained to recall: who among his relatives or friends lived in Guangxin Prefecture?

He corrected the clerk as usual, "Call me by my name from now on—don't call me 'Master.' If you don't mind, call me Uncle Pan."

The clerk smiled and replied cheerfully, but would still call him that next time.

Their Shopkeeper had specifically instructed them: be courteous to clients, especially those in the exile village—though most were disgraced officials and their families, who knew when they might be recalled and reinstated?

So better to smile more, bow more, than offend someone and lose your business—or even your head—without reason.

After seeing off the clerk, Pan Hong returned inside, carefully examining the envelope in his hand.

His brow furrowed tightly; the handwriting on the envelope felt eerily familiar—wasn't it his youngest daughter's?

Pan Hong wasn't sure; as he opened the letter, he reassured himself: perhaps it was just similar handwriting—it couldn't be his little daughter.

As he unfolded the letter, a thin silver draft slipped out—he glanced at it and saw it was for one hundred taels.

He didn't pause to examine it further, but hurried to read the letter.

As more words came into view, his heart sank—he scanned the opening, then flipped straight to the signature at the end.

His heart dropped—it was truly Yun'er.

When he finished reading, tears nearly spilled from Pan Hong's eyes: "How did she go to Guangxin Prefecture alone? And take up the Dao… What of Ershu's family? Did my case drag them down too? Then Mother—"

Pan Hong couldn't help stamping his foot with a cry of "Oh no!" and paced frantically in circles.

But his youngest daughter was officially dead—otherwise he could have written back openly, or inquired through other relatives.

Did her use of metaphors in the letter stem from this very concern?

With no knowledge of Ershu's condition, who could he ask?

"Mount Sanqing? Could she have followed the two Daoist Priests she met there?" Various possibilities flashed through Pan Hong's mind.

Had my case dragged down Ershu's family, and my daughter escaped, only to be taken by those two Daoist Priests?

Or had Ershu's family, fearing exposure of his daughter's situation, handed her over to the two Daoist Priests to be taken away?

Could it possibly be that his daughter had a natural talent for cultivation, and the two Daoist Priests spotted her at once and took her?

But back then, I only asked them to watch over the Pan family and ideally escort them back to Changzhou—I never asked them to turn my daughter into a Daoist!

Pan Hong's heart ached: he feared his daughter had truly become a Daoist, yet hoped it was the third possibility—because then Pan Yun's situation wasn't the worst, at least implying Ershu's family still stood behind her.

He reread her letter carefully, then examined the draft again, thinking more: how could a child like her have so much money?

And she said if she had trouble, to write to her—she'd find a way.

For a moment, Pan Hong's mind swirled with more thoughts.

"Father—Uncle Ershu sent us a letter and some things!" Pan Yu, dressed in a short tunic, rushed in carrying a bundle, followed by Pan Yue, shouldering a large sack.

Pan Hong stood up quickly, "Where's the letter?"

Pan Yue set down the burlap sack and pulled out the letter from his robe, handing it over.

As soon as Pan Hong touched it, he knew the letter had been opened.

His expression shifted slightly, but he said nothing.

Disgraced officials were like this—especially those who had angered the Embroidered Uniform Guard; they often secretly inspected letters and packages sent to them.

Though they were discreet, what could he do? He'd once been a Censorial Inspector himself—he knew how they operated.

Pan Tao had returned to their ancestral home in Changzhou.

His first act after settling in was to write Pan Hong, omitting Pan Yun entirely—he detailed all major events of the past month, without hiding anything from the Embroidered Uniform Guard's surveillance.

These matters could be easily verified; he was merely informing his elder brother truthfully—the Embroidered Uniform Guard couldn't punish him for it.

The letter said that after Pan Hong's exile, their family had struggled to survive in Jingcheng, and had already decided to return to their hometown.

Recently, the Embroidered Uniform Guard stormed their home under the pretext of searching for hidden fugitives and family members—Jingcheng had become unbearable, so Pan Tao decided to take their elderly mother back to Changzhou.

Pan Tao didn't know how to tell Pan Hong that his niece had vanished after leaving, and whether she was alive or dead, let alone how to explain her supernatural abilities.

Fearing his brother's anxiety in Daitong, he had lied: everything at home was fine, though bumpy, but all arrangements were made—no need to worry. After reading the letter, Pan Hong had calmed down; he opened the draft and saw: such a large sum—even Ershu would find it hard to raise.

How could a child like Yun'er, alone and away from home, have so much money?

Pan Hong told his two sons, "Bring me ink and brush—I'm writing a letter."

Pan Yu's eyes lit up at the draft; he leaned in and asked, "Father, who sent this? So rich!"

Pan Hong had planned to hold onto the draft temporarily, waiting for Pan Yun's reply—but when he looked up and saw his second son's emaciated face, his throat tightened as if sealed with cement; it took him a long while to find his voice.

"It's… a friend who sent it. I'll tell you later—don't go calling anyone 'uncle' yet," he handed the draft to his eldest son, "Take Yu'er with you again—go to the bank and withdraw ninety taels in small-denomination drafts. Turn the rest into silver fragments or copper coins. Bring the money back first; we'll buy things later when we have time."

Pan Yue agreed, took the draft, and tucked it away.

"The withdrawal password is 'Fen Jie Shuang Yun Man Sui Han.' Hurry—before the Village Head comes knocking."

Pan Yue was startled by the password; Pan Yu blurted out, "Father, isn't that our little sister's name?"

Pan Hong waved them off, "No more questions—go now."

Pan Yue pulled Pan Yu out; Pan Yu still felt something was off and tugged his brother's sleeve, "Who is this? Why use our little sister's name as the password?"

! 。Read

"Say less once you're outside."

This exile village is full of all kinds—your sister's situation is delicate; better not mention her at all.

Pan Yu swallowed his questions and kept them inside.

The two carried the draft and password to the bank to withdraw the money—this was the largest sum they'd ever received.

Even Ershu's first remittance hadn't been this much.

Sigh, but unfortunately they didn't get that money either—it all went to someone else. In the end, they could only tell Pan Ershu to send only goods, not money.

Even after such a warning, when Pan Tao sent them letters and goods, he would still tuck in a few small-denomination money orders or bank notes, hoping one or two might fall into their hands.

The people inspecting the mail seemed to know they couldn't drain the pond to catch all the fish, and would always let one or two slip through to them, so as to lure their old acquaintances into continuing to send money.

They and Pan Ershu both knew perfectly well that the money had been "lost" after the government office runners inspected it. Though angry, they couldn't really stop sending anything at all.

Exiled officials had even their channels of complaint completely sealed off. If they reported upward, they'd have to endure the killing-stick.

Neither their father nor the two brothers could withstand it in their current physical condition.

But when it came to a matter touching their own small interests, the father and sons could still bear it.

Pan Yu felt that whoever could send them such a large-denomination money order and still have it reach their hands must have considerable reach.

"Father actually has connections like this—amazing, truly amazing…"

Pan Yue: "Why don't you talk a little less? Aren't you hungry?"

"Hungry, big brother. Once we get the money in a bit, let's buy some baozi to eat, and bring some back for father, and buy a lot more rice and flour…"

They were escorted all the way to Datong, and the moment they arrived, they collapsed ill. But there was no time given them to recover—they were immediately hauled off to the fields and the army to do hard labor.

All the hardships Pan Yu had never tasted in his first fourteen years of life, he ate in one go this year.

He had never known that garrison farming was so grueling, nor that military service was not only grueling but also humiliating.

In less than three months, the once sturdy and lively young man was now thin to a bag of bones; the once chubby face had become sharply angular—touch it and it was all bone.

Pan Yue also felt for his younger brother. After withdrawing the money as their father had instructed, he took him to buy baozi, and bought back quite a lot of rice, flour, grain, and oil as well.

Although their father said to come back tomorrow, they were under close surveillance now, and could be called up for army service or sent to the fields to work at any moment—time simply wasn't free. Better to buy everything now while they had the chance.

The two of them hauled the goods back in big and small bundles, while Pan Hong had also finished writing two reply letters.

Pan Yu immediately stepped forward eagerly. "Father, let me go post the letters for you."

The lucky number is the one ending in 6—screenshot as proof.

(End of chapter)