Time flew by, and in the blink of an eye, ten days had passed.
Tai Ping Residence had long returned to normal. When Xu Maoxiu and the others were arrested and thrown into prison, Manager Wu had managed to keep things going on his own, only closing for three days, which didn’t draw much attention.
Now, horses and carriages came and went in an endless stream at the front door, the main hall was full of guests, and those waiting either sat or stood under the awning outside—some eating the complimentary refreshments, others chatting and joking about the characters on the signboard. No one had the slightest clue about the events that had unfolded around Tai Ping Residence over the past few days.
Xu Maoxiu withdrew his gaze from the window with a hint of relief, but when his eyes turned back to the room, a trace of worry crept into them.
A trembling hand grasped a pair of chopsticks and reached for the food on the plate, but with a clatter, the chopsticks fell to the floor. The hand, wrapped in white cloth, froze midair, stiff.
Beside them, Ah-Song knelt and covered her face, choking back sobs.
“Again,” said Cheng Jiao-niang.
“Yes,” answered Li Dashao, reaching out once more.
The sound of chopsticks hitting the floor rang out again and again. Outside the door, Manager Wu couldn’t help but sigh. Footsteps sounded behind him, and as he turned his head, he saw Fan Jianglin hurrying over.
Fan Jianglin pointed inside and gave Manager Wu a questioning look. Manager Wu nodded and waved his hand.
The two of them stepped aside a few paces.
“Did you tell her about that matter?” Fan Jianglin asked.
Manager Wu shook his head.
“As soon as she arrived, she asked about Li Dashao. The Third Master is in there too—I haven’t had a chance to bring it up,” he said.
At the mention of Li Dashao, both their expressions turned somber, and they sighed in unison.
Although the hand had been set properly, it still couldn’t grip anything, let alone hold a knife to chop or cook in the future.
For anyone else, having a hand—even if just for show—might have been enough. But for Li Dashao, a decorative hand was no different from having none at all.
As the sound of chopsticks falling echoed once again, Li Dashao’s hand dropped heavily to the floor, his head bowing over it.
A man’s sobs rose from inside the room.
Xu Maoxiu couldn’t bear to watch any longer and turned his gaze back toward the window.
“Miss, didn’t you say he could be cured?”
Ah-Song sobbed as she knelt and crawled a few steps forward, bowing before Cheng Jiao-niang, unable to speak clearly through her tears.
“Sister Ah-Song, what do you mean by that?” the maid said with displeasure.
“She doesn’t mean anything by it,” Cheng Jiao-niang took over gently. “There’s no need to be anxious.”
The maid acknowledged softly and stepped back, saying no more.
“Although the hand has been reattached, I can’t guarantee how well it will recover,” Cheng Jiao-niang said. “It’ll just have to be nursed slowly.”
But what if it doesn’t heal properly? As things stood now, even if he eventually regained the ability to grip, it would likely be extremely difficult for him to return to the fine knife work he once did.
The room fell into silence, broken only by Ah-Song’s quiet sobbing.
“Li Dashao, how old were you when you started learning to cook?” Cheng Jiao-niang suddenly asked.
The sobbing Li Dashao paused.
How old?
He was a little dazed.
So hungry…
A small, thin child stood in the corner of a kitchen, sucking on his fingers, eyes wide as he watched the people bustling around the stove. The rich aroma filled the air, and drool kept dripping from his mouth.
If I learn to cook, I’ll have food to eat…
I want to learn to cook. That way, I’ll never go hungry again…
But after growing up, he realized—it wasn’t actually like that.
” Those robed in silks from head to toe
Are not the hands that made them so,” Cheng Jiao-niang said.
The maid let out a surprised sound.
“Miss, you always say you can’t write poetry, but this is truly a beautiful verse,” she said.
“It’s not mine,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied.
“Then who wrote it?” the maid asked.
Cheng Jiao-niang fell silent for a moment.
“I don’t know. I can’t remember,” she said, turning to the maid.
Why are they talking about poetry? Fan Jianglin and Manager Wu exchanged glances outside the door—fortunately, the conversation inside soon shifted back.
“You started helping out in the kitchen at age six,” Cheng Jiao-niang said. “How many years did it take before you became a full-fledged chef?”
Perhaps because he had just lost his former life, Li Dashao found it easy to slip into memories of the past.
“I was slow and not very good at learning,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t get to take charge of the kitchen until I was twenty-three—and only because Old Master Dou saw something in me…”
At this point, the pain in his voice was unmistakable.
It had been someone from the Dou family who first recognized his talent—and now, it was someone from the Dou family who had destroyed it.
He owed his success to the Dous, and his downfall to them too. If you looked at it that way, maybe everything he had gained was nothing more than an illusion.
“It took you seventeen years,” Cheng Jiao-niang said. “To hone your craft to what it is today. Did it feel like a long time?”
Li Dashao shook his head.
“You trained using your right hand, didn’t you?” Cheng Jiao-niang asked.
Li Dashao froze for a moment—of course he had.
“Your right hand may no longer be what it once was, but you still have your left,” Cheng Jiao-niang said, looking straight at him. “I’ll give you another seventeen years. Start over—how about that?”
Left hand? Start over?
Li Dashao stared blankly at Cheng Jiao-niang. The others also turned to look at her.
“Manager Wu, Brother,” Cheng Jiao-niang called out instead of continuing, turning her gaze toward the door.
Manager Wu and Fan Jianglin quickly responded and stepped inside.
“Third Brother said you had something to discuss with me,” Cheng Jiao-niang said.
The topic changed just like that?
Li Dashao sat there in a daze. Manager Wu exchanged a glance with Xu Maoxiu, who gave him a small nod.
“Yes. Dou Qi has come looking for me several times,” Manager Wu began, sitting down. “He sent people, came in person, even knelt and cried in front of the masters—he insists on giving Immortal’s Abode to us.”
“Tai Ping Residence is ours, and taking it back is only fair. But Immortal’s Abode isn’t ours—why would we accept it for no reason?” Cheng Jiao-niang replied.
“He said it was built in honor of the ‘passing immortal’—you, Miss—so now it’s just returning to its rightful owner,” Manager Wu said with a faint smile. “Miss, he’s terrified. Says he asks for nothing else, only to be spared.”
“How ridiculous. No one would take his life for no reason,” Cheng Jiao-niang said with a shake of her head, then paused in thought.
But with reason… that’s another matter.
Everyone present thought the same thing in their hearts.
“Of course it’s not being given away for free,” Manager Wu said. “It’s a sale.”
Xu Maoxiu smiled quietly from the side.
“It’s only a matter of time,” he said.
With Secretariat Editor Liu’s backing gone, does Dou Qi really think Immortal’s Abode can keep running?
Sooner or later it would have to be sold off cheap. Now, coming under the guise of apologizing and making amends—trying to curry favor—is seriously underestimating people.
“Since it’s a business deal, then let the manager decide,” Cheng Jiao-niang said.
So it’s settled? That meant they were going to let Dou Qi off the hook. Xu Maoxiu looked surprised.
“Sister, isn’t that letting Dou Qi off too easily?” he frowned. “He’s the one who caused all this trouble!”
Xu Bangchui and the others were already prepared to bag Dou Qi in the dead of night and toss him into the river.
“To acknowledge one’s mistakes and improve is the greatest virtue,” Cheng Jiao-niang said.
These words, gentle and comforting regardless of gender, felt oddly strange to everyone in the room at this moment.
So this girl really does have a bodhisattva’s heart? Yet she often carried out ruthless deeds.
Though he couldn’t understand why, Xu Maoxiu didn’t question further and simply nodded.
“Alright, then we’ll follow your decision,” he said.
Manager Wu responded happily. To him, the bigger the business the better—besides, this was the compensation they deserved after all the trouble they’d been through.
Cheng Jiao-niang looked at Li Dashao again, but he still appeared lost in thought.
“See, I now have another eatery,” Cheng Jiao-niang said. “The Dou family’s Druken Phoenix Pavilion gave you seventeen years—naturally, my two shops can do the same. It just depends on whether you dare to try.”
Why didn’t she ask if he was willing?
That thought flashed through the minds of those in the room, tinged with some confusion.
Li Dashao looked at Cheng Jiao-niang, his lips moved twice but he said nothing.
“You endured a lot of hardship during those seventeen years. But the next seventeen years will be even harder,” Cheng Jiao-niang said, looking at him. “And this suffering will be different from before. Those seventeen years were filled with external hardships—lack of food and clothing, a difficult life. For the next seventeen years, you won’t need to worry about food, drink, or your wife, children, and elderly mother. But you will suffer even more than before. This suffering will be in your heart. You’ll have to bear pressure, despair, others’ ridicule, doubt, discrimination, and the complacency and decay that come from a worry-free life…”
That’s right—getting paid wages, eating food others give you, but unable to work, unable to provide equal labor. No one complains after a day or two, but after a year or two? Three or four years?
That kind of pressure could drive a person mad or break them.
Li Dashao’s body trembled slightly.
“This kind of suffering is harder to endure and more painful than hardship caused by poverty. So, do you dare to endure it?” Cheng Jiao-niang asked.
The room fell silent. Everyone seemed to be considering—if it were themselves, would they dare to endure such suffering? Could they?
“Illness may be incurable, and life may be beyond medicine,” Cheng Jiao-niang continued, slowly standing up. “But in truth, it all depends on yourself. Whatever you want, I will give you. So the most important and crucial thing is—what do you want?”
Li Dashao took a deep breath and looked at Cheng Jiao-niang.
“Thank you, Miss,” he said, bowing respectfully. “I am willing.”
He had fallen twice and risen twice. He refused to believe that his fate could not be changed or healed. Seventeen years? Then seventeen more!
Ah-Song covered her mouth and wept again, but this time her eyes held not despair or sorrow, but joy.
In the afternoon, Cheng Jiao-niang rose to take her leave, and Xu Maoxiu accompanied her.
“From now on, it will be a bit closer for you to come home,” Cheng Jiao-niang said.
They had just briefly discussed the future management arrangements for Immortal’s Abode. Fan Jianglin and Xu Maoxiu would each take charge of one location, each with several brothers assisting them.
Because Tai Ping Residence had a tofu workshop, more staff were needed there, so Xu Maoxiu brought two men to the Immortal’s Abode in the city.
“Understood,” Xu Maoxiu nodded with a smile.
“How are the brothers’ injuries? Are they okay?” Cheng Jiao-niang asked.
“No problem. Just some flesh wounds; they look worse than they are,” Xu Maoxiu laughed.
“Were you afraid?” Cheng Jiao-niang looked at him and asked.
Xu Maoxiu smiled.
“Didn’t you say it yourself?” he replied. “The pain in the heart far outweighs the hardship outside. Likewise, the dangers of the outside world are nothing compared to the fears within. With you here, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”
Cheng Jiao-niang smiled and returned the gesture.
“Go quickly, don’t overthink it,” Xu Maoxiu said with a smile as he reached out to pull down the carriage curtain.
The carriage slowly made its way through the streets as the sun sank lower in the west. The streets remained bustling, but as they neared the magistrate, the road was blocked by a crowd.
“What’s going on?”
The maid leaned out to ask.
“What’s going on?” the coachman also loudly inquired of the passersby.
The bystanders wore excited expressions.
“Lady Zhu is kneeling at the gates of the magistrate, crying injustice!”
Lady Zhu?
The maid was familiar with the city but didn’t recognize that name.
“The courtesan selected two years ago as the Queen of the Flowers of Desheng Pavilion!” the coachman exclaimed excitedly. “Beautiful and talented — a rare lady of high status! Yet she’s kneeling in public, crying injustice! What grievance does she have?”
The so-called flower queen was certainly not one of the common prostitutes but a courtesan. Most courtesans belonged to the Music Bureau; few joined voluntarily — most were sent there as punishment.
If her family had committed crimes and the entire clan was implicated, such a woman would naturally harbor grievances.
The maid sat back down, telling the coachman, who was itching to leave the carriage and see the commotion, to take a detour.
“This has nothing to do with us,” she said.
But this time, the maid was wrong—this matter truly concerned them.
Five days later, Master Zhou came to visit again, his demeanor as respectful as before, but now with a hint of pride.
Once seated in the room, he didn’t say a word but pushed over a deed.
“What’s this?” Cheng Jiao-niang asked.
“This is your Yichun Hall,” Master Zhou said with a smile.
Cheng Jiao-niang reached out and took the deed, examining it closely.
“So soon?” she said, her face calm but her voice tinged with surprise. Clearly, this was something she hadn’t expected. “So quickly someone started tearing down the walls? And they actually managed to bring it down?”
“This belongs to the family of an official who was framed by Secretariat Editor Liu back then,” Master Zhou explained proudly, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “That official was accused falsely, sent away to the southern province, and died on the way. Then, uh… forced his wife to death—cough cough—and left behind a young daughter, about eight years old, who was sold to the music bureau. When the official’s wife took her own life by biting her tongue, she hid a blood-stained letter of grievance and evidence in that girl’s arms. Liu was careless and didn’t finish the job back then. All these years, the girl has harbored deep hatred. Now that the opportunity came, she drummed up a public appeal. Although His Majesty sympathizes with Liu’s illness, the Censorate won’t let go.”
“Oh, I see now. That day on the street when people talked about Lady Zhu, the top courtesan of Desheng Pavilion—that was her,” the maid said, suddenly understanding, recalling what she had heard.
“Yes. Lady Zhu was always obedient and well-behaved at the music bureau. She worked harder than others at music, chess, calligraphy, painting, singing, and dancing. She cried out in court that day, saying she stayed in the music bureau wasn’t for anything else but to gain fame, hoping to use her body to gain powerful allies who could help avenge her parents,” Master Zhou said with some admiration. “A truly resolute lady.”
“But being resolute alone isn’t enough, right?” Cheng Jiao-niang said. “You must have played a part too?”
Being the disgraced official’s family while bearing the name of a top courtesan might draw attention, but it wasn’t enough to sway the emperor’s compassion.
Master Zhou chuckled smugly, more pleased with himself.
“If Liu can scheme behind the scenes, why can’t I? Everyone has their own people pushing their agenda, finding crimes the emperor fears most. Besides, a man crippled by wind stroke is no longer needed by anyone. From now on, no one will use him anymore,” he said.
Cheng Jiao-niang smiled quietly without replying.
“Although His Majesty feels pity and, since he is ill, cannot punish him, several of Secretariat Editor Liu’s sons have been imprisoned for investigation, and the family assets have been thoroughly examined. Oh, I didn’t expect this fellow to have so many hidden properties and farmlands…” Master Zhou continued, his eyes shining brightly.
With so much property and wealth involved, naturally, many who heard this had shining eyes like him.
And these people would surely make Secretariat Editor Liu’s situation even worse.
“However, I am of low rank and it’s not my place to act directly. Still, I managed to secure Yichun Hall for you,” Master Zhou added, a bit ashamed.
Cheng Jiao-niang nodded.
“In that case, thank you very much, Uncle, for your trouble,” she said, bowing politely.
“Not at all, not at all, it’s my duty,” Master Zhou hurriedly returned the bow. “You holding this is most fitting.”
Cheng Jiao-niang bowed again and handed the deed to her maid, who happily put it away.
“This time, it really turned out well. We gave away one Tai Ping Residence, and ended up getting a Immortal’s Abode plus a pharmacy,” she said joyfully, tilting her head thoughtfully. “I wonder if anyone else still wants our Tai Ping Residence. Maybe we can get something good in return.”
Master Zhou’s heart twitched as he listened. Stepping out of Cheng Jiao-niang’s house, he lifted the carriage curtain and looked back at the slowly closing gate. The girl’s graceful silhouette was visible, and the maid was happily chatting and laughing nearby—a scene of ease and tranquility.
Truly effortless—people who are relaxed and at ease unconsciously accomplish all this.
Not just one Immortal’s Abode and one pharmacy, but also the decades-old career and prospects of a capital official were utterly ruined. It’s almost like wiping out a family, if not exactly so, it’s very close.
Who would believe all this was orchestrated behind the scenes by this “Jiang-zhou fool”?
That Jiang-zhou fool!
