Hongguo was surprised. There was still a sum of money—Grandma’s intricate planning had one more layer.
Technically, they didn’t need to sell the property—they were doing well selling flatbreads, with a few hundred yuan saved, far from needing to sell a house.
Yet Hongguo considered that the step-grandfather’s family might still suspect hidden inheritance. Selling the house would remove their doubt.
8,000 yuan could buy a far better house than the dilapidated one. The sale was reasonable, also a reward Grandma left for the fair-minded. In this way, the division remained equally valuable.
Jiang Hongguo asked Gu Changzong if they could sell the house. Changzong, without any psychological burden, said that as long as Hongguo wasn’t hung up on the possibility of treasures hidden inside, they could sell it.
So they did—they stayed a couple more days, then sold the house to the lawyer.
After ten years of the lawyer holding the house for free, Hongguo and Changzong came to the provincial city and inherited 8,000 yuan. The amount left Hongguo a little flustered.
The step-grandfather’s family, once they learned this, regretted their scheming. Now they knew there was no other hidden inheritance—otherwise, Hongguo and Changzong wouldn’t have sold the dilapidated house.
That 8,000 yuan, while representing a decent house, was still very valuable in this time—2,000 could buy a flat, leaving 6,000 to earn interest for daily expenses.
Meanwhile, the step-grandfather’s children were all crammed into one house, constantly quarreling over kitchens, toilets, and sunny rooms, which was making the step-grandfather ill.
Hongguo and Changzong, unsure how to spend the 8,000 yuan, decided to deposit it and earn interest. At a bank, the annual rate was around 5%, giving them several hundred yuan in interest per year.
After saving the money, they bought train tickets home. By the time they arrived, it was past the Lantern Festival, and the street vendors outside the station were already set up.
Aunt Liu was selling fried dough sticks at Hongguo’s stall. Seeing the couple, she waved excitedly and explained she’d kept the spot reserved so nobody would dispute it.
“Hongguo, when are you going to set up your stall? I can make way for you.”
Last year, Hongguo had hesitated to sell pancakes, wanting the money to have a clear, legitimate source. Now, having inherited a sum, she wasn’t in a rush: “Liu, stay a few more days. I just got back and am tired—no hurry.”
Aunt Liu was pleased. Hongguo’s stall had a prime location, and it was thanks to Changzong’s good relations with the management that they could hold it without being squeezed out.
Hongguo accepted some freshly fried dough sticks, crispy and aromatic, and bought a few more to take home.
….
Because there was no rush, the couple rested for weeks. Snow melted, grass sprouted, willow branches budded, peach trees bloomed on the hillside, and they even made two batches of locust-flower dumplings. By the time they finished, the rapeseed flowers were about to bloom.
After a meal, Gu Changzong went out and returned with two ginseng roots—one slightly thinner, the other even thicker than the previous thumb-sized root. He intended to sell them himself.
At home that night, he disguised himself with makeup, white-faced, white eyebrows, a hat pulled low, droopy eyes—so Hongguo wouldn’t recognize him. She agreed he could go.
Before leaving, Changzong invited Aunt Liu to stay with Hongguo for a couple of nights.
“What is Changzong going out for this time?” Aunt Liu asked nervously under the kerosene lamp while darning shoes.
The couple had rented out most of their fields for the season, keeping only a small vegetable garden and half an acre near the house. When not working, they fished or gathered wild mushrooms, leaving stall business aside.
Hongguo replied, “Changzong said he’s going out to see if there are better business opportunities.”
Aunt Liu wondered how much capital was needed. She tried discreetly to ask how much they earned from selling the house—but got no answer.
That night, Aunt Liu’s big yellow dog barked furiously at the courtyard wall. Some local troublemakers must have been testing the waters.
She shouted: “Which unthinking rascal dares? Wait until Changzong’s back!”
Uncle Yang came to check, then patrolled with the dog—nothing found.
Hongguo petted the dog, promising, “Tomorrow I’ll buy you some bones.” She boiled two pounds of pork ribs, giving half to the dog.
Aunt Liu was touched: “Hongguo even buys ribs for the dog. It seems you’ve really come into some fortune—those houses from Changzong’s grandma, even if broken, could fetch two or three thousand each. No wonder the couple isn’t in a hurry.”
….
The next day, Changzong returned, freshly washed and smelling clean, and handed Hongguo a stack of money.
“The good ginseng sold for 600, the lesser one for 300. We sold both. Ginseng traders have their channels—let’s not sell ginseng for a year or two.”
Selling directly this time, they made more than last time when inexperienced, earning 900 yuan, though in hand it didn’t feel thick—less than half of that.
Hongguo asked, “Changzong, this is only about three or four hundred. Where’s the rest?”
He had been waiting for her to ask, then produced a previously hidden box: “Hongguo, I bought you a gift—cost 600.”
Her first reaction: he spent recklessly again. She wanted to scold him, but the ginseng was his effort, and he hadn’t bought anything for himself. Spending 600 on her, she couldn’t complain—would hurt his feelings. Instead, she praised him first, then would explain later.
She kissed him: “What’s so expensive? Let me see.”
Opening the box, she lifted a string of purple-red grapes made of jade. Feeling the texture, it was unmistakably jade, not real fruit.
Beautiful, but inedible, unwearable, and not a recognized antique—no way to sell. Knowing it cost 600, Hongguo’s smile was strained.
Changzong saw her expression and worried: did he buy the wrong thing?
“Hongguo, if you don’t like it… I bought it because the red berries matched your name,” he explained cautiously.
Hongguo laughed. Her nickname was Red Fruit, not grape. Looking at the purple jade grapes, she realized they were lovely and decided to enjoy them, thinking of it as losing only one ginseng root.
She hugged him: “I like it very much. But since it cost 600, it feels expensive. From now on, any gift you give me must not exceed half of what you earn at the time.”
This time, selling ginseng earned 900, and he spent 600—more than half. Changzong pressed his lips; no reward this time.
Hongguo kissed him repeatedly: “This time doesn’t count, from next time onwards.”
Changzong brightened: “You’re wonderful.”
Hongguo blushed—she was the recipient, not the giver. Her heart softened and she didn’t say anything more, touching his face: “This time, no one recognized you, right?”
“Right. In disguise, the ginseng trader even offered to introduce me to a doctor, ask for my home address—I didn’t fall for it. By the way, Hongguo, this purple jade…”
“It’s called purple jade grapes,” she corrected. “In summer, I’ll take you to the village where Aunt Liu’s husband is—they grow a lot of grapes there.”
Changzong trusted her completely, asking if the grapes were sweet or sour. Hongguo felt a pang of affection for his childlike trust.
Changzong sat back on the sofa: “Originally, we could’ve sold the two ginseng roots for more. I haggled with the main trader. The lawyer who handled Grandma’s will and sold the house’s purple jade grapes, to repair the office, reluctantly released them. I disguised myself, negotiated from 1,000 down to 600, and completed the sale.”
Even though it was Grandma’s old possession given to the lawyer’s student, Changzong bought it—what a fateful coincidence. Hongguo felt lucky they hadn’t lost out.
Fine objects were said to ward off evil and bring good fortune—perfect for the bedside, giving peace of mind.
“Changzong, I really like it,” she said, letting go of any concern about the money, and kissed him firmly.
That afternoon, Changzong stayed home. The couple lazed around, cooked, and Hongguo, five months pregnant, noticed little change in her belly. She avoided asking Aunt Liu, not wanting to be urged to go to the hospital.
A few days later, in line with urban crackdowns, a few local idlers and troublemakers were caught gambling in the city, and the village held a meeting to warn everyone.
Aunt Liu stayed behind Hongguo, saying, “With a few troublemakers gone, even if Changzong goes out, no one will bang on the doors.”
Indeed, a brief period of peace returned.
With fewer disruptions, Hongguo’s spirits lifted. She took out the purple jade grapes to admire. Changzong had cleaned them thoroughly beforehand, and she felt completely safe handling them.
Who had carved this piece? How many owners did it pass through? Finally, it reached Changzong’s grandmother.
The lawyer had once said that all of these were Grandma’s dowry pieces. Back in her day, her family had truly been wealthy.
The more Jiang Hongguo admired them, the more entranced she became.
Suddenly, something kicked from inside her belly.
The baby moved—interacting with her.
She was just smiling in delight when a crisp, silver-bell laugh rang out behind her.
So late at night… who had come?