“Cousin, only after coming to Rong County did I realize how hard life is for the people. This time, Father raised ten thousand taels of silver—it’s all to help ease your burden.”
As Yun Shuyue reached the doorway, she overheard Zhao Qingyun boasting to Jiang Chengyuan and couldn’t help but smile. The ones suffering were the people of Rong County, not this lofty Prime Minister.
The wind outside was too fierce; Yun Shuyue couldn’t stand there long. She stepped inside, poured herself a cup of hot water, and held it in her hands.
The county magistrate greeted her respectfully: “Madam, you were injured recently. Best not to stand in the cold wind. Rong County lacks food and medicine—if you catch a chill, it will be troublesome.”
Jiang Chengyuan looked up from the household register: “Yes, Madam, go back and rest.”
Naturally, Zhao Qingyun didn’t want her to stay: “Indeed, Miss Yun. Since you’re injured, you should rest well. My cousin worries day and night about disaster relief—you mustn’t add to his troubles.”
Yun Shuyue hadn’t intended to argue, but Zhao Qinyun always spoke in that condescending tone. She couldn’t understand how someone as wise and upright as Jiang Chengyuan could favor such a woman.
Yun Shuyue replied evenly: “Cousin, you’re right. I was just about to rest. But this morning your cousin said he was worried about the situation outside, so naturally I should help him share the burden.”
Zhao Qingyun cut her off mid‑sentence: “You can’t even take care of yourself, yet you speak so prettily. I will handle my cousin’s concerns. Just don’t cause trouble.”
She finished with a sweet smile toward Jiang Chengyuan: “Cousin, don’t worry about the porridge distribution. I’ll oversee it for you.”
Yun Shuyue added calmly: “It’s not only about porridge. We must also record how many elderly are here, and how many orphans are without homes.”
Zhao Qingyun: “…”
Jiang Chengyuan looked up at her words. Yun Shuyue’s clear eyes met his without wavering. Yes—she had improvised about the porridge and the records.
Zhao Qingyun had thought that distributing porridge was just for show. She had brought two maids with her, so she never expected to lift a finger. But neither maid could read or write, so recording names was impossible. Now that disaster victims are everywhere in Rong County, how long would it take to complete such records? The thought of standing in the wind all day made Zhao Qingyun hesitate.
Her wavering expression did not escape Yun Shuyue’s notice: “Cousin, such hard work doesn’t suit a pampered young lady from a noble household. Why don’t you go back and rest?”
The provocation worked. Zhao Qingyun’s purpose in coming was to stay close to her cousin. If she could win his approval during relief efforts, perhaps he would finally look at her differently. With that in mind, she steeled herself, asked the county magistrate for pen and register, and went outside to record names.
Before leaving, Yun Shuyue raised her brows at Jiang Chengyuan in a playful challenge. She didn’t see his eyes curve as he watched her go—he actually smiled.
The county magistrate, standing nearby, felt awkward. Who would have thought the famously cold and decisive Prime Minister could attract such entanglements?
Meanwhile, Yun Shuyue searched the yamen and found only two bolts of coarse cloth. Back in her room, she hung Jiang Chengyuan’s robe on the rack, then used a fire‑poker from the kitchen to sketch patterns on the cloth. The style was not much different from his robe.
At that moment, Chen Ping arrived with the two children. Perhaps just after eating, the younger one still had a grain of rice stuck at the corner of his mouth.
On the brazier, water was boiling. Yun Shuyue poured some into a basin and washed the children simply. Worried they might catch a cold, she tucked them into bed and covered them snugly: “Sister will make you two some clothes. Once they’re done, you can get out of bed, all right?”
Yun Shuyue chose to make the clothes herself purely out of necessity. In Rong County now, anyone with means had fled; those left behind were destitute, with no money for food, let alone clothing. Even if she had silver, there was nowhere to buy anything. She had no choice but to rely on her own hands.
At first, she was confident. She cut along the lines she had drawn with the fire‑poker, producing two pieces shaped like a robe. But once cut, she realized something was wrong—the pieces looked flat, lacking fullness. If sewn together as they were, the garment would hang limp.
“Ah…” Yun Shuyue winced as her shoulder throbbed. She had worked hard to cut the cloth, but it still didn’t look right. And with only two bolts of fabric, wasting them meant she’d have enough for just one garment.
She glanced apologetically at the two children on the bed: “Sister’s sewing isn’t very good. And since we can’t buy clothes here, how about I stitch these together for now? When we return to the capital, I’ll buy you new ones, all right?”
The children looked at the cloth pieces and nodded eagerly. Compared to wearing rags, even a simple garment of whole cloth was a blessing.
Yun Shuyue brought out the pastries from the carriage and placed them by the bed: “Eat these treats while sister makes your clothes. But you’ll have to stay under the covers without anything on for now.”
Once the children were settled, she began her “grand project.” She had thought cutting the fabric was the hardest part, but sewing proved even more difficult. After only half a garment, her fingers had been pricked a dozen times.
She worked from morning to noon, noon to evening.
By the time the moon rose and the wind outside had stilled, Jiang Chengyuan pushed open the door. Yun Shuyue, brimming with accomplishment, slapped the table: “Done!”
Her joyous expression caught his eye. He asked curiously: “Madam, why are you so happy?”
Startled, she instinctively hid the garment behind her back and fibbed: “Nothing. I was just glad the people finally won’t go hungry.”
Jiang Chengyuan nodded: “Yes, today we distributed part of the relief grain. But efficiency is still slow. Many of Rong County’s people have fled, so those remaining must be carefully verified. Only then can we ensure the grain and silver are distributed accurately and accounted for.”
Yun Shuyue smiled faintly: “My lord’s careful planning is truly the people’s blessing.”
Jiang Chengyuan glanced at the pile of coarse cloth on the table, picked it up, and asked: “Madam, you’re making… clothes?”
He suppressed a laugh, frowning slightly. Indeed, it looked like clothing—but only barely. Two pieces of fabric had simply been stitched together. The shoulders had no allowance, the stitches were uneven, and loose threads dangled everywhere.
Yun Shuyue blushed: “I… I know it looks bad. But I never claimed to be skillful. It’s just the circumstances forcing me.”
Jiang Chengyuan nodded: “Actually, it’s fine. Add some buttons and it can be worn. Better than having nothing at all.”
Buttons? Yun Shuyue suddenly remembered—ancient buttons and buttonholes were all hand‑sewn. Sewing them was tedious, and even putting on or taking off clothes with them felt troublesome.
Just then, a loud cry interrupted them. Yun Shuyue instinctively ran to the bed. It was the younger child, sobbing. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying? Are you hurt?”
She reached to hold him, but he pushed her hand away.
Yun Shuyue looked at the older boy, whose cheeks were flushed. He explained, trying to sound composed despite his age: “Little brother wet the bed.”