The black‑clad youth was about to scold the insolent Wang Qiao when the Fourth Young Master spoke: “Qingyan, instruct the steward at the old estate to give this woman a position.”
Qingyan was reluctant—why was his master suddenly so accommodating? But he dared not delay their journey. He pulled out a waist token and tossed it to the pair, saying coldly: “Take this to Steward Cheng at the Cheng family’s old estate. He will assign you work.”
By now, villagers had recognized the emblem on the horses and whispered among themselves.
Wang Qiao ignored the token at first, yanking the girl aside and fawning as she watched the three horses ride away. Once they were gone, she pinched the girl’s face viciously: “Useless brat! Usually you’re mute, but today you talked too much. Nearly made me offend the Cheng family—do you want our household destroyed?”
The girl lowered her head, enduring the blows. When Wang Qiao paused, she said slowly: “Yesterday at the well, didn’t you hear someone say the Cheng family’s young master was returning to the capital? Such nobles don’t come every year. Even if he did, he wouldn’t remember us. But the shrine repairs happen annually. Don’t forget to pick up the token and try. If you succeed, won’t I also have new clothes to wear?” She tugged at her ragged garments with a wistful look.
Wang Qiao found sense in her words, picked up the token, and admired the large golden “Cheng” character stamped on it. Thinking of the generous wages others earned from such work, she hurried home, eager to seize the opportunity.
Meanwhile, the Fourth Young Master glanced back at the girl on the ox cart.
Qingyan noticed and offered: “Fourth Young Master, if you’re displeased, I’ll take a shortcut back and have the steward punish that shrew.”
But the youth shook his head: “No need. Return with me.”
The black‑clad companion asked: “Tianfu, why go back? Isn’t your uncle urging you to hurry?”
The youth avoided explanation, simply saying: “Please, my lord, ride ahead. I’ll follow shortly.”
…
Back at home, Wang Qiao dressed her husband, Xue Sheng, neatly, and together they carried the token to the Cheng family’s old estate, three li away. Before leaving, she chained the girl’s ankle with the dog’s iron chain, fastening it to a stone pillar, pocketing the key. Only then did she feel secure enough to leave her foolish son and the child bride at home.
As soon as they departed, the simple‑minded Xue Dabao bounded over with a bowl, calling to the girl washing clothes in the courtyard: “Fairy sister, drink water!”
The girl had washed her face clean. Her long black hair was wrapped in a blue scarf, her forehead bright, eyes dark and luminous—already a budding beauty despite her youth. She smiled bitterly at his words: “Why call me fairy sister?”
Xue Dabao tilted his head: “Because you look like the fairies in paintings! Why do father and mother chain you? You’re not a dog!”
The girl set down the laundry, gazed at the setting sun, and sighed softly:
“You say I’ve fallen into the mortal world, hiding from heavenly trials. But earthly trials are harder to escape. If your parents worked outside during the day, wouldn’t they stop beating you? Life would be easier.”
Xue Dabao didn’t understand much, but he caught the part about his mother not scolding him. He beamed: “Father and mother gone—good! Very good! But mother doesn’t scold Dabao, only father and fairy sister!”
The little girl smiled faintly, reaching for Xue Dabao’s bowl. But suddenly he flicked his wrist, splashing the still‑hot water all over her. She couldn’t dodge in time. Her arm shielded her face, but her sleeve was soaked and her skin burned red.
Xue Dabao, delighted with his prank, rolled on the ground laughing, shouting like the village boys: “Wet chicken! Wet chicken!”
Dripping and bedraggled, the girl shook off the water, staring coldly at him. Unless fate changed, this fool was to be her future husband. Foolish though he was, he had learned enough mischief to torment her, sometimes even slapping her like Wang Qiao did. When Wang Qiao was present, she had to endure it. Alone, she found ways to coax him away.
She gently persuaded him to fetch eggs from the chicken coop. Then, rinsing her burned arm with cool water, she gazed at the geese flying overhead. How she longed for wings to escape across mountains and rivers. But escape was impossible. The couple watched her closely, and her household registration was still incomplete.
Bought from traffickers, she was being given a false identity. In these poor villages, officials turned a blind eye, stamping fake papers to ease census checks. If she fled, Wang Qiao and her husband could not report her openly. With forged documents, she might one day slip past checkpoints.
Thinking of this, she fetched a jar of bean paste, smeared some on the burn, sniffled, and began cooking for Xue Dabao. If he went hungry, he would throw tantrums, and she would be beaten. Yet with his parents gone during the day, she could plan her own future more freely. A faint smile of hope touched her face.
That evening, Wang Qiao and Xue Sheng returned cheerful. Though the shrine had no need of more men, Wang Qiao was hired to cook. Women’s wages were less than men’s, but thanks to the Fourth Young Master’s token, the steward granted her one tael a month—enough to make other women envious.
When the Cheng family announced plans to expand their ancestral shrine, excitement swept the countryside. Families schemed to secure positions.
As Wang Qiao and Xue Sheng carried home wine and meat, gossip buzzed at the village well.
“Qiao‑niang, I hear you got work with the Chengs. That’s rich pickings! Don’t forget to share some cakes with us,” one woman said enviously.
Others joined in, hoping for treats.
But Wang Qiao rolled her eyes: “When your families had good fortune, did you share soup with me? Now you want cakes and favors? Do you take me for a fool?”
Her sharp words killed the mood. The women dispersed, muttering excuses.
Perhaps grateful for the girl’s unwitting role in their luck, Wang Qiao showed rare kindness, even letting her eat a few pieces of braised pork at dinner. The girl, tactful, ate only what was offered and reached for no more.
The next morning, Wang Qiao dressed neatly and joined other women on a hired ox cart bound for the Cheng shrine to work.
Xue Sheng, relieved after his wife left, felt lighter at the forge without her constant nagging. Though busy in the back courtyard, he did not chain the girl as Wang Qiao had ordered. Instead, he sent her to the village edge to dig turnips for his drinking dish. As she left, he warned harshly: “Don’t get any ideas about running away. The last woman who tried was torn apart by wolves outside the village!”
In these villages, many wives were bought. Officials and neighbors turned a blind eye. A young girl could never escape far, and with chores to do, chains seemed unnecessary.
Without Wang Qiao, the girl suffered fewer beatings. After Xue Sheng drank, he would nap for hours. She led Xue Dabao to the flower‑strewn ridges to dig wild greens. For once, her face showed a trace of peace. She gazed north at the distant mountains, lost in thought, unaware of eyes watching from the woods.
Qingyan finally saw her clearly and exclaimed: “Master… she looks too much like—”
The Fourth Young Master cut him off coldly: “Silence. Prepare the horses. We ride for the capital at once.”
Qingyan obeyed, and they departed swiftly.
The skies over Jiancheng were bright, but in the Cheng family’s mansion at the capital, dark clouds gathered.
“Brother, this matter cannot be hidden. We must find a way to cover it.”
In the eldest master’s study, gloom replaced former splendor. Cheng Peinian, the second master, sighed, waiting for his elder brother Cheng Peifeng to speak.
Half‑reclining, Cheng Peifeng drew on his water pipe, then struck it against the spittoon and said: “The Sheng family’s scandal is not ours to bear. Their daughter ran off with a man, disgracing her betrothal to Prince Cining. We cannot let our children be dragged down. Younger brother, tomorrow you must write a divorce letter and send Guiniang back. The Chengs must cut ties with the Shengs.”
Cheng Peinian rose, face flushed: “Brother… be reasonable! Even if their girl eloped, why should my wife be cast off? Must my family be torn apart?”
Cheng Peifeng sat up with the help of maids, sighing: “I know you and Guiniang were childhood sweethearts, a golden match. She has been dutiful, bore you children. I pity her. But the Shengs face disaster. The court will not spare them, nor us if we remain tied. Sheng Xiangqiao dared to defy the prince’s betrothal—she shamed the royal house. If you divorce Guiniang, the calamity will not touch us.”
His words were gentle but firm.
Cheng Peinian understood. If he kept his wife, the Chengs would share the Shengs’ punishment. His brother would sacrifice him to protect the family legacy. He slumped into his chair, murmuring: “There must be a proper excuse. My niece eloped—why should her aunt be divorced?”
Seeing his brother’s wavering, Cheng Peifeng pressed on: “We will give the Shengs some face. Explain the danger to Guiniang. For her children and your future, she should agree to separate willingly.”