Ever since Dabao and Erbao were expelled for fighting, the He family had become like an overfilled leather raft—ready to burst at any moment.
Xiao Wanshi initially had eighty taels of silver, enough to live comfortably in the countryside. But after giving ten taels to He Zifeng during the family split, spending twenty taels on his house, five taels on hiring Liangzi to commit arson, losing two taels, and spending five taels on medical bills, they were left with just eighteen taels after refunding the sauce deposit. The money drained away, and He Donglai now cursed at everyone in the house daily.
Xiao Wanshi didn’t dare retaliate. With Dabao and Erbao expelled from school after the family had spent at least twenty taels on their education, everyone was furious.
The family refused to spend any more money to restore the boys’ place at school. Xu Li, helpless, offered the ten taels he had saved over the years as a gift to the teacher, hoping to secure their return. The teacher accepted but only said to wait.
Then they heard that He Zifeng had sent his son to school, which enraged Wan Hai.
Xu Li tried to console him, “He sends his child to his school; we send ours to ours. What’s the issue?”
Their children had been admitted to the renowned Jiming Private School, which had strict admission standards. Thanks to their talent, the boys had been accepted under special circumstances. He Zifeng’s son likely went to an ordinary school, nothing worth comparing.
Wan Hai snapped, “You don’t understand. He’s always trying to compete with me. Whatever I do, he copies.”
In the past, He Zifeng could never outshine him, often becoming the village’s laughingstock. But now that He Zifeng had left the household and was living freely, Wan Hai felt like he was losing ground, made worse by constant scoldings at home.
Strangely, He Donglai hadn’t changed—he used to curse at He Zifeng, and Wan Hai never minded. But now that the scolding was directed at him, he realized he couldn’t endure it for even a day.
Hearing the endless berating outside, Wan Hai stewed with anger, unsure where to vent it. Once calm and composed, he now had a volatile temper, and even his three children feared speaking to him.
He called Dabao and Erbao over. “It’s not easy for me to send you to school. You must succeed and make a name for yourselves. Don’t let anyone look down on you.”
The boys, already regretful, nodded. They hadn’t expected their grandparents to stop doting on them and spend their days shouting. If they had known this would happen, they never would have returned home.
“Don’t worry, Father. We’ll study hard,” they promised, eager to return to school, where life was simpler.
Wan Hai sternly warned them, “If you don’t, you’ll end up like your Second Uncle.”
Xu Li frowned. Their family drama was already a hot topic in the village, and he hated giving people more to gossip about. He was tired of being dragged into the He family’s messes, despite his standing as the village chief’s youngest son.
Wan Hai added, “Pack your things and go back to school now. If the teacher doesn’t take you in, kneel outside until he does. One day, one year—however long it takes.”
With that, he waved them off.
Xu Li frowned deeply, but Wan Hai dismissed his concern. “If He Zifeng wants to compete, let’s compete.” Wan Hai hadn’t cared about He Zifeng before, but seeing him send his son to school made him feel threatened and obsessive.
—
The next morning, Qiu Yu bought some peach pastries and other snacks to take to Master Lin, along with a little for Ranran.
Seeing that Ranran had settled in well, Qiu Yu felt reassured. “Share your treats with your friends and listen to your teacher,” he reminded his son.
Ranran was thrilled to see Qiu Yu again so soon. “I want you to hold me, but it’s not convenient now. When I come home, will you hold me then?” he asked earnestly, aware that being carried might make him seem childish.
Qiu Yu gently stroked his son’s face. “Of course.”
Ranran winked playfully. “Don’t forget to pick me up during the holidays.”
Relieved to see Ranran adjusting well, Qiu Yu returned home, where He Zifeng was busy making pancakes. Their pancakes had become so popular that regular customers often came early to buy them.
“You’re back just in time,” He Zifeng said, grateful for the help during the rush.
A regular customer remarked, “Ever since my wife tasted your pancakes, she refuses to make her own. She says she’ll just buy from you.”
“Why don’t you make more? I missed out yesterday,” another chimed in.
“We’ll make more tomorrow,” Qiu Yu assured them.
The customers were delighted. “Great! Sometimes I crave your pancakes at noon but can’t get any.”
“Exactly! I’m buying extra today so I won’t have to worry about lunch.”
By midday, they had sold out, finishing even earlier than the day before. He Zifeng packed up their stall, storing the heavier tools in their rented backyard before heading home.
“Did you see Ranran?” he asked Qiu Yu on the way back.
“Yes,” Qiu Yu replied, relieved that their son seemed even braver than him. “I think he’s wanted to go ever since he saw Dabao and Erbao with their bookbags. He just never said anything. Since he wants to learn, we’ll do everything we can to support him.”
Stopping by a stationery shop, they spent another 300 wen on ink, brushes, and paper, realizing how costly education would be in the long run.
Their pancake business was profitable, but expenses piled up with buying land, building a house, and sending their son to school. They needed to save more.
Later, Qiu Yu purchased sixty pounds of sauce from Uncle Que.
“Can you use that much so quickly?” Uncle Que asked, astonished at the demand.
Qiu Yu reassured him, “Keep making more. I’ll always come to you for sauce.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got two big vats and plan to start five more this year. You won’t run out,” Uncle Que promised.
Reassured, Qiu Yu then ordered a hundred small jars for their spicy sauce. These jars, with spiral-sealed lids, could keep contents fresh for a month. Though they cost two wen each, the investment seemed worthwhile.
Back in the village, their growing success caught attention. Some gossiped to He Donglai, whose forty vats of unsold sauce remained a sore point. Furious, he ordered Wan Hai to sell the sauce to He Zifeng.
Wan Hai refused. “It’s just a few vats. I can sell them elsewhere.”
He Donglai exploded, “Then go sell them! You talk big but do nothing. If you don’t sell a vat today, you won’t eat!”
Feeling humiliated but hiding it well, Wan Hai reluctantly agreed.
Just then, they heard a commotion. Liangzi, missing for days, had somehow sneaked into the courtyard.
Fearful, Xiao Wanshi froze.
Liangzi boldly declared, “It was Xiao Wanshi who hired me to burn He Zifeng’s house. She still owes me money.”
“You’re lying!” Xiao Wanshi retorted, though her panic was evident.
Liangzi sneered, “If you paid me, where’s the proof?”
Knowing she had no witnesses, Xiao Wanshi felt trapped. Liangzi, emboldened, threatened, “If you don’t pay up, I’ll tell everyone. We’ll all go down together.”
He Donglai trembled with rage.
Wan Hai realized they were being blackmailed. With his son’s reputation at stake, he felt like throttling his mother for ruining everything.
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