After San Yitai’s son was born, the Shi Mansion enjoyed a brief period of peace.

During San Yitai’s postpartum confinement, she rarely left her quarters. Qian Lan, however, visited Xuehua Garden every single day.

Not only that, but Qian Lan personally designed and commissioned an expensive set of gold jewelry for the baby, and with her own hands sewed several little outfits. Word was that she had strained her eyes rushing to finish the garments, and the Marshal had been deeply concerned for her wellbeing.

“These days, anyone in the Shi Mansion who mentions the new Madam can only praise her virtue, grace, and dignified bearing,” Yan Qing said, ladling white congee for Shi Ting. “In terms of conducting herself, Qian Lan truly gives no one anything to fault.”

If Yan Qing were not so perceptive by nature, she too might have taken Qian Lan for a woman of genuinely warm and generous character. But she and Shi Ting both had a tendency to look beneath the surface of simple things, and they possessed an innate sensitivity for exactly this sort of situation.

“Not just within the Shi Mansion — word has spread to every great and powerful household in the city that the mistress of Shi Mansion is remarkable in every way,” Shi Ting said, lifting his spoon to drink a mouthful of congee. “Even the Old Madam holds her in very high regard.”

The Old Madam had never taken to Meng Qiu, yet she thought exceedingly well of this new daughter-in-law.

Qian Lan not only visited the Old Madam in the South Courtyard every day, but because she had spent a period of time at Baiyun Nunnery, she and the Old Madam also shared common topics of conversation. The two got along remarkably well.

Word was that Qian Lan had also been hand-copying Buddhist scriptures for the Old Madam, day and night without pause.

In just half a month, Qian Lan had put all of the Shi Mansion’s affairs in perfect order from top to bottom, and had firmly won over the hearts of everyone from the greatest to the smallest. Anyone who said this was not an impressive feat simply would not be believed.

Yan Qing admitted to herself that she could not match Qian Lan’s effortless ease. For one thing, she only knew how to please people she genuinely cherished and respected — like the former Shi Madam and the current Old Madam. Even when someone occupied a position of the highest status, Yan Qing would only maintain a proper distance from them; deliberate fawning was simply not in her nature.

“Let’s not talk about her.” Yan Qing had kept someone watching Zhuo Xin Garden’s every movement, and Qian Lan’s daily routines — food, clothing, shelter, travel — were all perfectly ordinary, with nothing remarkable to note.

Either there was truly nothing wrong with Qian Lan, or she was far too clever and too skilled at concealment.

Yan Qing was more inclined to believe the latter.

“Do you have any free time today to keep your wife company?” Yan Qing asked, adding pickled vegetables to his bowl. “Try this — I pickled it myself. The cucumbers are from my own garden.”

“When did you plant those?” Shi Ting looked surprised.

“There was a patch of wasteland beside the flower beds in the back courtyard. Jing Zhi and I cleared it and planted some vegetables. Only our experience was lacking — apart from the cucumbers, everything else died.”

Seeing the look of vexation on her face, Shi Ting burst out laughing. “Growing vegetables takes knowledge. Some things won’t grow just because you want them to — you have to follow the seasons. Take cabbage, for example: it needs to be planted during the second hottest period of summer to grow well.”

“My husband truly knows a great deal,” Yan Qing said with a grin. “You can hold your own in the parlor, hold your own in the kitchen, grow vegetables, and brawl with ruffians.”

Shi Ting was caught between laughter and exasperation. What kind of rhyme was that supposed to be?

“My poor little cucumbers barely grew thicker than a finger,” Yan Qing said, pouting. “So I had to pickle them and then dry them out — half-dried, then packed into jars with seasonings and left to pickle for two days.”

Shi Ting took a bite. The cucumbers were unassuming in appearance, but the moment they hit his tongue they were crisp, sweet, salty, savory, and carried just a faint hint of heat — wonderfully refreshing.

“Delicious,” Shi Ting said, his eyebrows lifting slightly. “My lady’s culinary skills are truly growing more refined by the day. Even a simple side dish can be made this exquisite.”

Yan Qing smiled happily. “I also pickled some Laba garlic. It’ll be ready to eat in a little while.”

“Your husband is truly blessed at the table.” Shi Ting ate heartily — a whole plate of crispy pan-fried steamed bread slices, a large bowl of congee, and the entire dish of small cucumbers Yan Qing had served him.

Yan Qing watched him eat with a smile. Whatever she made, she only hoped he would enjoy it. Seeing him eat with such pleasure was satisfaction enough for her.

“I have half a day free to spend with my wife this afternoon,” Shi Ting said, flicking a finger lightly against her cheek. “Is there anywhere you’d like to go?”

Yan Qing thought for a moment. “Then come with me to one particular place — today happens to be the agreed-upon deadline.”

“Where are we going?” Shi Ting was curious.

“Why don’t you guess, husband?”

Shi Ting shook his head. “I can’t guess.”

“Oh? Is there truly something the great Director Shi cannot figure out?”

“My lady is so clever her ideas are one more peculiar than the last — they are not something this limited mind of mine can easily divine.”

Knowing it was flattery, Yan Qing still found it entirely effective. “To the shop.”

“The medicine shops your father gave you as part of your dowry?”

Yan Qing gave a sound of confirmation. “I made a verbal agreement with them — whichever shop achieves the highest sales within three months earns the title of flagship store, and its manager will be promoted to head manager.”

“I didn’t know my lady also had a head for business.”

“Not at all — it’s just a small trick.”

“Very well then, I’ll accompany you. Now that you’ve described it, I’ve grown rather curious myself.”

The two finished their meal and, rather than taking a car, chose to walk to Changle Street.

Changle Street was one of Shun Cheng’s more prosperous thoroughfares, with shops lining both sides of the road and signs everywhere the eye could see.

Yan Qing had not been able to stroll about so freely in a long time — and especially not with Shi Ting by her side.

The two walked shoulder to shoulder along the lively street. On either side stretched endless bustle and vitality. If it were possible, Yan Qing wished this peace could accompany them as they grew old together.

“Are you tired? Shall we go to a teahouse for a drink?”

Yan Qing laughed. “How far have we even walked? First you worry I’m thirsty, then you worry I’m hungry — we haven’t even reached the shop yet and you’ve already asked me to rest several times. Am I really so fragile?”

Shi Ting said quietly, “Is my lady not fragile? Was it not my lady who was begging for mercy just last night?”

Yan Qing shot him a glare, which only earned her his booming laughter.

Unable to refuse him, the two settled into a teahouse by the roadside. A server brought a pot of tea and set out several kinds of pastries.

In the center of the teahouse there was a raised platform, and on it stood a man performing a storytelling act.

“That man is impressive,” Shi Ting said, taking a sip of tea and looking toward the storyteller at the center of the platform.

The man was roughly forty or fifty years of age, with a pair of keen, bright eyes. As he told his stories, his speech was sharp and his articulation precise — fast-paced yet every word came through clearly.

“We often come here to get information from him.”

Yan Qing looked at the man — unremarkable in appearance, yet apparently a walking encyclopedia of the world.

“He reads people very well. He can spot someone with a guilty conscience at a glance.”

“That impressive,” Yan Qing said, looking at him with renewed interest. “A talent like that — Director Shi could recruit him for the Military Police Bureau.”

Shi Ting smiled. “We have something of an acquaintance, and he’s useful enough for gathering information, but joining the Military Police Bureau is out of the question. Some people have lived this kind of life for so long they cannot bear to be constrained again.”

“That’s true enough. Look at him — free and easy, doing what he loves. That’s the greatest happiness.”

As the two spoke, a commotion suddenly broke out outside.

Yan Qing looked in the direction of the noise and saw a young man in a dispute with one of the shop’s attendants. The young man was of medium height, with a refined and scholarly appearance; on the left side of his brow there was a black mole, and his gray Western-style suit had been washed so many times it had faded pale.

“Look at this man — coming into a teahouse to peddle medicine. What a joke!” the attendant called out, his voice raised with unmistakable sarcasm. “I try to send him away and he claims I’m blocking everyone’s fortune.”

Just at that moment the storyteller had finished a segment. Noticing the commotion, he called out in a resonant voice: “Young man, this is a teahouse. Do you honestly believe you can sell medicine here?”

The young man, unperturbed, replied in an equally loud voice: “I’m not selling medicine. I want everyone to get rich together.”

Those who heard this couldn’t help but laugh. They thought to themselves: was this young man out of his mind? Buy medicine and profit from it? What sort of logic was that?

The storyteller was clearly intrigued. He stepped down from the platform with measured strides and walked over to stand before the young man. “You say you want all of us to get rich. Rich from what?”

“As long as you buy my medicine, you’ll naturally get rich.”

“But that’s still selling medicine, isn’t it? We’re not sick and we’re not suffering — why would we buy medicine?”

“Exactly. None of us are ill. Why should we buy your medicine?”

The young man replied with unhurried composure: “I said it’s not about selling medicine — it’s about investing.”

The storyteller chuckled. “Investing?”

The young man continued: “Winter is nearly here, and each year the cold comes harder than the last. Every year, countless people suffer from chilblains. Chilblains may seem like a minor ailment, but left untreated, they can cause hands and feet to rot. I’m sure many of you carry scars on your bodies from old chilblains.”

“Young man, even if people get chilblains in winter, we can buy the medicine when winter actually comes. Isn’t it a bit early to be promoting it now?”

The young man shook his head. “Do you know what the main ingredient in chilblain medicine is? There is an herb called safflower, which is grown only in the distant land of Yun Dian.”

The storyteller, who had seen much of the world, nodded at this. “It’s true that safflower is only cultivated in Yun Dian.”

“So what?” someone asked. “Even if safflower only grows in Yun Dian, supply has always exceeded demand. What is there to worry about?”

“Not at all, not at all,” the storyteller said, waving his hand. “Yun Dian suffered a pest infestation this autumn. Vast tracts of safflower fields were destroyed. The yield of safflower now is practically negligible.”

Everyone who heard this was shaken.

“I seem to have heard something about that.”

“Yes — I knew there was a pest infestation, but I didn’t know it was the safflower that was damaged.”

The young man listened to the murmuring around him and then said: “With safflower production reduced, the supply of chilblain medicine will drop accordingly. This winter, the price of chilblain medicine is certain to more than triple compared to last year.”

He held up three fingers. “Think about it: buy ten packets now, and when winter comes you can sell them for the price of thirty. A deal this good — isn’t it practically money coming to you while you sit at home?”

“Young man, if the opportunity is this good, why don’t you keep it for yourself?” someone raised the question.

—