After Ling Jingren finished his meal, Guan Xiyue took out the five qian of silver and proudly showed it to him: “Look, I earned this with my own hands—just by making that bowl of braised pork. Delicious, right? One day, if I open a restaurant, I’ll live comfortably.”
Ling Jingren looked at this concubine curiously. A skilled hand in the kitchen wasn’t unusual for a concubine, but the idea of opening a restaurant seemed extraordinary.
A concubine’s life shouldn’t involve running a business; it was supposed to be about vying for favor, bearing children, and passing through life like a ghost. Of course, this concubine wasn’t particularly beautiful, her body plump—so she had little chance of competing for attention.
Thinking of “plumpness,” he remembered the two pieces of braised pork he had just eaten. Suddenly, he realized fat meat wasn’t bad at all—it was delicious.
Guan Xiyue ignored his strange gaze and continued talking: “If you had capital, you could invest, and earn money while doing nothing. But judging by your injuries, you’re in bad shape, almost died—you probably have no money. I advise you to cherish life, take care of that handsome face. Young man, fighting and killing leads nowhere.”
Before Ling Jingren could respond, Guan Xiyue clapped her hands and prepared to leave. Opening the door, she turned back with a smile: “By the way, I have money now—I’m going shopping.”
If he hadn’t seen her five qian of silver, he wouldn’t have guessed she had any at all. This concubine was kind, good-natured, easily satisfied, and a master of braised pork. Alas, she lacked a beautiful appearance.
Ling Jingren couldn’t help feeling a little pity for her.
Guan Xiyue took Xiaoyun with her. Normally, a concubine couldn’t easily go out, but Guan Xiyue promised Xiaoyun twenty wen, repeatedly assuring her they’d just window-shop and cause no trouble. Only then did Xiaoyun agree, and the two slipped out through the back gate.
Walking the ancient streets, Guan Xiyue observed the bustling passersby and realized she truly needed to find a way to live well here.
The county was small, only a few streets, but shops were complete: several upscale restaurants, inns, pawnshops, apothecaries, and fabric stores. The majority were general stores.
There were also a few bookstores, appearing more refined. Studying here required money; pens, ink, and paper were expensive, and books were a luxury for ordinary people.
Other “luxury” shops sold silver, gold and jade jewelry, spices, or tea.
Guan Xiyue wandered, bought some snacks, exchanged a qian of silver for copper coins, and gave Xiaoyun twenty wen. Xiaoyun’s smile stretched ear to ear, thinking this concubine was quite agreeable.
After strolling enough to understand the local prices and goods, Guan Xiyue realized there were many ways to earn money. As a versatile modern woman, information gaps were her best advantage.
However, she wasn’t free yet, and her fortune consisted of just a few qian of silver.
Guan Xiyue and Xiaoyun rested at a teahouse, drinking tea and pondering matters.
Suddenly, someone’s knee knocked hers. A girl in a cherry-red dress glared at her: “What’s your problem? Don’t block the way with that fat body of yours! If you spill my young master’s tea, you’ll pay for it.”
Xiaoyun stepped forward: “You weren’t careful yourself, yet you blame our concubine. Are you reasonable?”
The girl laughed exaggeratedly, pointing at Guan Xiyue: “Wow, you grew up like this and can be a concubine? Does your husband have something wrong with his eyes?”
Guan Xiyue felt her blood boil, finally understanding the struggles of being fat. She smiled faintly: “Little girl, I don’t know what other skills you have, but you’ve certainly mastered blaming others perfectly from your master.”
Xiaoyun asked curiously: “Concubine, how do you know her master?”
Guan Xiyue sipped tea, feigning seriousness: “Just a junior brother of Sun Wukong’s.”
Xiaoyun laughed so hard she doubled over. The girl turned red with anger.
A pleasant male voice called out: “Xiaohong, what’s going on?”
The girl immediately reported, pouting: “Young master, they said I’m Pigsy’s disciple! But they tripped me first, almost spilling your tea!”
Guan Xiyue looked up and saw the young master. He wore a dark blue robe with cup-patterned embroidery, a mint-green geometric patterned sash at the waist. Tall and upright, he had the air of a refined young man.
But when he spoke, Guan Xiyue wanted to throw her tea at his face. He snorted: “I have business to attend to. Why argue with this ignorant fool? I don’t think she’s Pigsy’s disciple—she’s Pigsy himself.”
The girl burst into laughter: “The young master is right, she’s just a concubine.”
Xiaoyun, seeing the situation, knew the boy came from a wealthy family. Following the principle of avoiding trouble, she tugged Guan Xiyue’s sleeve to leave.
Guan Xiyue glanced at him, sighed: “Xiaoyun, no wonder the almanac says today is unlucky—getting bitten by a dog. I got bitten, couldn’t bite back, how embarrassing. Forget it, I won’t stoop to their level.”
The young master fumed: “Who are you calling a dog?”
Guan Xiyue laughed heartily: “Whoever I say, that’s who. There are people who pick up everything, never seen anyone rush to pick and scold.”
Before he could react, Guan Xiyue pulled Xiaoyun and ran, hearts light. Once far enough, they laughed together.
Later, Guan Xiyue told Ling Jingren about the incident while bringing him his evening meal, still fuming: “Why is this world so cruel to fat people? Regardless of reason, they attack our bodies. And that young master—completely unreasonable, though he does have a nice face.”
Ling Jingren frowned: “I was going to sympathize with you, but it seems you also care about whether someone has a nice face.”
Guan Xiyue suddenly realized: “Exactly. No matter where you are, it’s a face-driven world. I’ve been obsessed.”
She looked at Ling Jingren: “I still envy you a bit. No matter what, your face lets you get by anywhere.”
Ling Jingren squinted dangerously, wondering if she meant he was just a pretty face, some low-level entertainer relying on looks. Anger was brewing.
Guan Xiyue immediately backpedaled: “What are you thinking? I didn’t mean that. You don’t know how it feels to lose beauty—it’s really upsetting, especially for a beauty-obsessed person.”
Ling Jingren found her words strange. “Beauty-obsessed”? Losing beauty? As if she had experienced it.
She didn’t explain further, speaking lightly: “Enough, chatting has lifted my mood. Life here is boring, at least I have you to talk to. Oh, I still need to deal with your chamber pot.”
She stood, picked up the used pot, and walked out, completely ignoring Ling Jingren’s face, red as if it could bleed.