Chapter 10
With a sharp splash, the wooden bucket plunged into the well. The rope clattered as the bucket swayed, lifting water upward.
“Quick, wash your face to freshen up. We’ll talk about everything else later,” Zhuo Fenglian said briskly. She drew water, took the basin and ladle, and beckoned Liu Xiaoping to wash her face, washing her own as well.
Drenched in clear water, Liu Xiaoping’s face appeared even paler and more translucent. Glancing at Wang Chan, she felt a twinge of embarrassment.
“Auntie is so happy—did it scare you, Chan?”
Wang Chan shook her head.
Liu Xiaoping clenched the handkerchief in her hand tightly. It was damp and grimy; looking down, a blush of shame crept over her face.
“This handkerchief’s dirty. I’ll take it back and wash it, then embroider a new one for you later.”
“Why bother taking it back? Just stuffing it in your pocket won’t make it any cleaner,” Zhuo Fenglian chided lightly, snatching the handkerchief from Liu Xiaoping’s hand. Without a word, she fetched another bucket of well water and scrubbed the soapberry vigorously. In no time, several fresh handkerchiefs adorned the wooden rack.
“Chan, don’t be so polite with Auntie Ping. She’s not only beautiful but also skilled with her hands. Her embroidery is far prettier than mine. Let her stitch a few more for our little Chan.”
“Yes, my skills were good before. Though I haven’t touched needlework in years, the basics remain. I just need to pick it up again,” Liu Xiaoping said cheerfully.
After crying, Liu Xiaoping’s mood brightened. A smile lingered around her lips as her autumn-like eyes glanced at Wang Chan with a hint of disapproval.
Such a lovely girl shouldn’t be dressed so shabbily.
“I’ll make you a few more sets of clothes later,” she promised.
Wang Chan looked down at herself, wearing Zhuo Fenglian’s old clothes.
Her previous outfit was stained with blood, dried and crusted with brownish residue, ragged and dirty from the coffin and wood splinters. After the doctor’s examination, Zhuo Fenglian had helped her change.
Since Zhuo Fenglian’s family had no daughters, naturally, there were no children’s clothes. Fortunately, her mother was sentimental and had kept some of her childhood clothes, washed and stored away in a chest.
On sunny summer days, they would be washed and dried again to bask in the sun.
But no matter how well preserved, these were still old clothes from over a decade ago, the fabric slightly yellowed.
Wang Chan didn’t mind. The old garments were soft, not bright but comfortable. The fine cotton was breathable and absorbent, making them pleasant to wear.
Still—
Keeping busy was good, it helped distract her mind.
“Thank you, Auntie Ping,” Wang Chan smiled sweetly.
...
Everyone had their suspicions about who had harmed Liu Xiaoping’s eyes.
“It must be that scoundrel Bai Shimao!” the old lady said, teeth clenched in fury, clutching a carrying pole beside her.
If her former son-in-law were here, she’d surely leap up and strike the green turtle on the head with it.
“He couldn’t bear that I brought Ping home, cutting off his wealth. That’s why he secretly harmed my Ping—he wants to see us suffer, to see our family split. Even if he gains nothing, he’d be delighted!”
When a married sister returns home, the elder brother and sister-in-law naturally find it difficult to accept—especially if the sister is blind. Who wouldn’t make a fuss?
...
The two families were already estranged, their past ties severed. Was there really any need for such a vicious act?
What was to be gained?
Zhuo Congyun twirled his mustache and frowned in disagreement.
Upon hearing “cutting off wealth,” his twirling paused.
Indeed, any beast who could pawn off his own wife could be capable of anything!
If Bai Shimao truly viewed Sister Ping as a financial resource, bringing her back would be like cutting off his own income—a grudge as grave as killing one’s parents in the eyes of a gambler blinded by rage!
But—
Zhuo Congyun raised a question.
“Bai Shimao lives far away in Qulan Town. Since you brought Ping back, there’s been no word of him coming to our town of Yanzhi. How could he have poisoned her secretly?”
Yanzhi Town was remote; outsiders had to travel by water. Such a small place, if anything stirred, news would spread quickly—everyone would know in no time.
If Bai Shimao had come, it would be impossible for no one to notice.
He was still Liu Xiaoping’s previous husband. If he had come, wouldn’t that have given people more to talk about? Everyone would be thrilled, peering intently like children watching ants, eager to find any clue!
Aunt Cui was silent for a moment.
Indeed, how was she harmed?
Her gaze swept over Wang Chan, and the old lady suddenly had an idea.
“Oh! Could it have been some unknown magic, like stabbing a voodoo doll’s eye, or casting daily curses... Chan, do you know any such spells?”
One could nurture stones, so knowing some incantations wouldn’t be strange.
Wang Chan thought carefully, then shook her head honestly.
“Grandma, I don’t know.”
“Alright then,” Granny Cui clicked her tongue in regret.
...
Zhuo Congyun: ...
What is the old lady regretting?
“If he were really capable of such magic, he wouldn’t have acted the way he did back then.”
If Bai Shimao could curse, Zhuo Congyun believed the first target would have been Granny Cui.
After all, when the old lady had held a knife to his neck, Bai Shimao had made a huge fool of himself. After signing the divorce papers, he left, even wetting himself, causing much laughter and gossip at the tavern for days.
Liu Xiaoping hesitated, fingers twisting her hair as she lowered her head.
By her own reckoning, many harbored hatred toward her.
Though she had been pawned off, beyond her control, she had truly hurt the hearts of several households.
She was just a woman, not a saint. She wanted to live, to settle peacefully somewhere.
To have a home of her own, to be with her child—even if the child couldn’t call her mother—just to be under the same roof, to see from afar that the child was neither cold nor hungry... to watch the child grow up safely—that was enough.
For such a wish, at the start, she clung to every household like a lifeline, using all her cunning, even making foolish mistakes. What was dignity? At this point, it meant nothing.
Liu Xiaoping glanced at her fierce mother, her nose tingling, quickly raising her head to stop the tears.
But every man spoke sweet words and made solemn promises... only to lead the donkey away and return the reins to Bai Shimao.
She sat on the donkey, weeping with tear-streaked cheeks, looking back every few steps—from initial hope to eventual numbness.
Only her mother—
Her mother had come wielding a cleaver.
...
Beneath the eaves, the upturned corners of the roof reached skyward. The autumn sun slowly shifted. On the ground, shadows of the eaves moved gently.
The courtyard’s clutter was pushed aside, clearing space for several large bamboo mats spread out, golden rice piled atop.
Sunlight warmed the grain, releasing the fragrant scent of rice husks.
Wang Chan held a wooden paddle, pant legs tied snugly, stirring the grain occasionally, nose inhaling the delightful aroma. The work felt light, not tiresome.
“Chan, come here,” Zhuo Congyun called.
“Uncle,” Wang Chan ran over eagerly, eyeing the bowl he handed her with delight, “Is this for me?”
“Serve yourself. Your Auntie Zhuo brewed this herbal tea, worried you might get heatstroke. Tsk, this autumn tiger sun is scorching.”
Wang Chan looked toward the kitchen, spotting the old lady peeking through the window lattice, watching them.
Aunt Zhuo was a plump, kindly old woman. Though wrinkles marked her face, her features were gentle and serene. Her white hair was neatly pinned up, with leaf-shaped silver earrings dangling from her thick earlobes. Her eyes were round and warm.
Catching Wang Chan’s gaze, she smiled broadly.
Wang Chan liked Aunt Zhuo. She had big eyes too, just like hers.
“Aunt Zhuo made it? Then I must drink an extra bowl,” Wang Chan said, squatting down to fill a bamboo basket with the clear, lightly brown tea. It was warm with a hint of herbs.
Slightly bitter at first, but leaving a lingering sweetness after swallowing.
“Aunt Zhuo added sugar too?” Wang Chan’s eyes lit up as she took several sips.
One bowl down, the autumn heat seemed to dissipate, and she felt refreshed.
“Sweet and delicious. Aunt Zhuo is so kind.”
Zhuo Congyun fanned himself gently, glancing toward the kitchen. Seeing the old lady wasn’t paying attention, he whispered:
“Good, isn’t it? But it’s not Aunt Zhuo’s doing. While she wasn’t looking, I secretly added two spoonfuls of sugar.”
He demonstrated, showing two generous spoonfuls—no exaggeration—the hallmark generosity of the old stone mason Zhuo!
Wang Chan’s eyes widened sharply.
“Shh! Don’t say that out loud!” Zhuo Congyun hushed her. “Aunt Zhuo will scold me for messing things up.”
Adding sugar to herbal tea is heating! The tea’s meant to cool, but sugar cancels that effect. What a waste!
“The old man just said something? The wind’s strong, and the birds are noisy. I couldn’t hear,” Wang Chan asked, holding the bowl, her big eyes rolling twice.
She really didn’t know the sugar was a secret addition!
Zhuo Congyun paused, then laughed and scolded, “You sly one!”
...
After finishing the tea, Wang Chan wanted to pick up the wooden paddle to stir the rice again, but Zhuo Congyun stopped her.
“Sit here a while longer, girl.” He brought a bamboo stool over, placing it in the shade beneath the eaves.
Wang Chan sat down, and together they gazed at the bright sun outside.
The shadow shifted slowly, unnoticed, becoming the westward light.
“Chan, do you know something? Is that why you left the Xiezhi stone with Sister Ping?” Zhuo Congyun asked, tilting his head toward the little girl.
That morning, when everyone speculated on who the villain was, Chan had said little. Later, she tugged her sleeve and asked if the small Xiezhi stone statue could stay with Sister Ping for a while, so she wouldn’t have to return to the Liu family.
Zhuo Congyun was surprised but agreed.
Passing the stone to Wang Chan meant the legacy of stone nurturing was now in her hands; naturally, she could decide.
Though the stone was originally sought and nurtured by their ancestor, after so many years without a master, it had become no different from ordinary stone carvings.
“When you become skilled and find more stones, you’ll nurture many types of stone sculptures. Then, not just lending, but even gifting them will be possible.”
At that time, Zhuo Congyun smiled reassuringly, sensing Wang Chan’s apprehension that he might have overstepped.
“Stone nurturers nurture stones, and stones become magical tools. Giving them to those destined is like monks and Taoist priests in small temples—they are compassionate and offer talismans to those in need.”
“As for stone nurturers, the process involves understanding the qi field. From the small to the great—even without stone tools—one day you could use your hands as blades and the world as stone, carving a stone formation like a spirit symbol from the void. As I told you before, talismans have no fixed shape, and qi is the soul—that’s the principle.”
Wang Chan pondered deeply, recalling how she had traced the line at Liu Xiaoping’s eyelid.
When she continued her stone nurturing, one day, she wouldn’t need the Xiezhi carving; she could summon a Xiezhi itself.
...
Under the Zhuo family eaves.
Hearing Zhuo Congyun’s question, Wang Chan was silent for a moment.
After a while, she pointed to the courtyard ahead, where a flock of sparrows fluttered in midair, their small black eyes bright and alert. When people approached, their wings flapped rapidly as they hurried away.
Once the humans left, they landed again, flapping their wings, stretching their necks, pecking at the grains on the ground.
“My father reads in his study. When the sun is good, he reads and works at the same time... He dries grain, but he’s kind-hearted and doesn’t chase away the little creatures.”
The wooden window was propped open with a stick. The scholar in a blue robe bent over his desk, frowning and shaking his head, yet occasionally glancing out at his silly daughter watching ants with fascination.
The scholar sighed repeatedly.
Foolish girl! What’s so interesting about ants moving house? She’s been watching for years, neglecting her studies!
His old father’s heart was broken; how could he care about sparrows?
Besides, a few tiny creatures eating a bit—how much grain could they possibly consume? A stingy scholar wouldn’t do.
He was generous—he permitted it!
Wang Chan seemed to recall something, a mischievous smile playing in her eyes.
“After a few days, he realized the problem.”
...
Wang Boyuan increasingly sensed something was amiss. When collecting grain that day, he weighed the bags carefully, pondering, then went to the neighbor’s to borrow a scale and weights.
Upon weighing—
He jumped up and down on the spot!
Wang Chan recalled her father’s foolishness and chuckled. But when she remembered her father was about to remarry, her smile shattered instantly.
...
“Uncle,” Wang Chan looked at Zhuo Congyun, “Do you know what Dad calls the sparrows?”
Zhuo Congyun blinked. “What?”
Wang Chan: “Old home thieves.”
“Dad calls them old home thieves.”
Though small and unremarkable, they managed to steal so much, coming and going around people, and yet seeming so tame! Without paying attention, one would never notice.
“All the people who dislike Auntie Ping live outside Yanzhi Town. They think of one suspect, then deny it—nothing is certain.”
“I’m afraid the culprit is like these little sparrows—in the end, the true villain is a thief in the home.”
Wang Chan meant that family betrayals are the most shameful. They say even the wisest judge can’t settle domestic disputes. She couldn’t even match a wise judge—better to just dry grain at home.
Zhuo Congyun was startled.
...