Lin Su’s eyes felt a little sore.
Feng Xiuhua eventually did feel a bit afraid of this new son-in-law. After all, she didn’t know him well, and judging by how he got angry, he wasn’t someone an old woman like her could easily handle.
In the Lin family, she had always been at the very bottom of the hierarchy—raised in a poor household that favored sons over daughters, she later became exactly the same kind of person herself, a willing accomplice to that system, exploiting her own daughter.
But she had a streak of lower-class cunning. She could tell Qin Zhoucheng wasn’t someone to mess with. With a reluctant grunt, she finally left.
Lin Su sat on the wooden stool, her eyes still a little red, silently brooding.
The moment she saw Feng Xiuhua, the original owner’s emotions seemed to bleed into her. What good people were there in the Lin family anyway?
They had stolen someone else’s life, taken away everything that should have belonged to her. If there had been no baby swap, the original Lin Su—who was supposed to be named Xu Yiyan—would have been a high-ranking official’s daughter, learning ballet, going to university, growing into a beautiful and elegant woman, and eventually marrying someone she loved and living a life full of affection and privilege.
Instead, they took her entire life and still squeezed out the last bit of value from her.
Thinking of the original story’s ending, Lin Su even felt like crying.
And yet, on her very first day after transmigrating, she had calmly divorced, nearly drowned, and even argued with someone like Old Madam Sun over property—she hadn’t shed a single tear then.
A large, tanned hand appeared in front of her, holding a brown handkerchief.
Lin Su paused and looked up.
Qin Zhoucheng was watching her. His usually stern face had softened slightly.
“Wipe your tears,” he said.
“I’m not crying,” Lin Su bit her lip stubbornly.
“If you’re not crying, why are your eyes red?” He pressed the handkerchief into her hand.
It was rare enough in this era for a man to carry a handkerchief. Disposable tissues didn’t exist yet, only rough, pinkish paper, and most men didn’t bother carrying anything at all.
Yet this man, who looked rough and strong, had unexpectedly refined habits.
The handkerchief carried a faint scent of soap, just like him.
“I said I didn’t cry. I would never cry over something like this,” she insisted, still trying to argue, even tilting her face up as if to prove there wasn’t a single tear.
“Why did you still give them money?”
“They came all the way here. It wasn’t easy. They are still your family,” Qin Zhoucheng said calmly.
He understood now—Lin Su’s family treated her poorly, exploiting the daughter to support the son. Many rural families were like that, and even some urban ones too.
But blood ties still existed. Cutting everything off completely didn’t feel appropriate.
More importantly, he didn’t want her to end up completely alone in the future.
If her mother could still show her some care because of money, then after his mission ended and they divorced, at least she wouldn’t be left with no one at all.
“They are NOT my family!” Lin Su’s voice sharpened. “Have you ever seen parents send their twelve-year-old child off to be a child bride?”
Qin Zhoucheng looked at her quietly. Lin Su quickly realized her tone had been too harsh.
“I’m sorry,” she said immediately. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. You were just helping me.”
The faster she apologized, the more Qin Zhoucheng felt something subtle twist in his chest.
People only lose control like that with someone they’re close to.
“Things like this happen even outside rural families,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.
“But you can’t give them money,” Lin Su said firmly. “That whole family are parasites. Do you think your money grows on trees? If you give them twenty today, they’ll come back for more tomorrow.”
She wasn’t going to let herself become the Lin family’s cash cow. And she wouldn’t let Qin Zhoucheng be dragged into it either.
“Take your own money back,” she said, forcing the two large notes back into his hands.
“And the bride price? You don’t want it?” he asked.
“I don’t want it! I already said I don’t want to take advantage of you. I can earn my own money.”
Qin Zhoucheng nodded thoughtfully. “If the Lin family comes to ask me for bride price, I’ll give it to them instead.”
Lin Su panicked immediately. “No! Absolutely not! That’s just throwing money into a pit—you’ll never get it back!”
“Then take it yourself,” he said calmly, pulling out a thick cloth bundle from his pocket and placing it into her hands. “From now on, I’ll also pay household expenses every month.”
Lin Su opened it—
and froze.
Inside were stacks of ten-yuan notes—large denomination bills, tightly bundled.
A thousand yuan.
In the early 1980s, when a “ten-thousand-yuan household” was already considered extremely rare, this was an astronomical sum.
Lin Su had worked like an ox for seven years in the Yu family and only earned a fraction of that. Even the three hundred yuan she had squeezed out during her divorce had already felt like a fortune.
So where on earth did Qin Zhoucheng get this money?