Making money required startup capital.
And capital…
She had none.
And realistically, she wouldn’t have any anytime soon.
Borrow from Pei Qinhuai? He would probably give it to her.
But Song Shiyu didn’t dare.
Pei Qinhuai was the male lead—calculating, meticulous, always several moves ahead. He possessed the innate rationality and emotional restraint of a scholar.
Right now, because of an old debt of gratitude, he still appeared naïve and soft-hearted, not bothering to count the excessive things she did.
But someday in the future, once he came to his senses, every one of those debts would be settled—item by item.
And everything she did now would become a blood-stained tally.
Who knew how he’d make her repay it?
Books may contain golden houses, but books you transmigrate into are riddled with traps.
The best way to stay alive was to keep far, far away from the male and female leads—hide when possible, dodge when necessary.
She only had one life.
They were all masters of schemes and politics, each one sharper than the next.
Someone like her—brainless, dreaming only of retreating into seclusion and lying flat—had exactly one optimal strategy: completely sever ties with these future power players who would one day turn the world upside down.
Song Shiyu carefully wrote down every possible way she could make money.
In the end, she realized—
The only thing she could do without capital, with her current abilities, was write storybooks.
After all, she was a product of nine years of compulsory education—literate in thousands of characters, knowledgeable from astronomy to geography, and well-read in thousands of novels across countless professions and disciplines.
Making up a decent storybook? That was well within her skill set.
During the two days since transmigrating, Song Shiyu had thoroughly studied the Great Li Dynasty. She learned that woodblock printing was already mature enough to reproduce collections of writings, and storybooks were becoming increasingly common.
The demand—for both types and quantity—was steadily growing.
Even better, the original owner of this body had been educated and literate.
Not extraordinarily talented, perhaps, but perfectly capable of reading and writing classical Chinese.
“That’s it,” Song Shiyu decided. “I’ll start by writing storybooks!”
She quickly settled on a clear survival path for herself—
Write more storybooks. Earn more silver.
Just as her plan crystallized, a knock suddenly sounded at her door.
Immediately after, a clear, magnetic voice reached her ears.
“Second Miss Song, may I come in?”
“Please do.”
The moment her words fell, the door was pushed open, and Pei Qinhuai stepped inside.
His handsome, cool features instantly brightened the entire room.
The light from outside the window seemed, in that instant, to converge upon him alone, making it impossible to look away.
Song Shiyu’s heart skipped a beat.
What a devastatingly handsome, movie-star face… I really hit the jackpot, getting to see a man like this every day!
Of course, her lapse was only momentary. She quickly regained her composure.
After all, she’d seen plenty of gorgeous men and women in the entertainment industry. Pure appreciation was fine—she wasn’t about to lose all resistance just because someone was good-looking.
While Song Shiyu’s thoughts ran wild, Pei Qinhuai’s gaze never left her after he entered.
“Thank you for preparing the meal earlier, Second Miss Song,” Pei Qinhuai said politely.
Standing in the narrow, cramped room, his presence inexplicably made Song Shiyu even more nervous.
“You’re welcome,” she replied. “After all, I’ve been eating and drinking here for free for three months already. I haven’t even thanked Third Young Master Pei for his generosity in taking me in.”
Outwardly calm, but inside, her inner self was screaming—so much so that her voice trembled slightly.
AHHH—stop talking to me alone!Your hormones are radiating everywhere!Your voice sounds too good!You’re nearly 1.9 meters tall, aren’t you?! I’m going to faint from how handsome you are!
“Second Miss Song is different from before,” Pei Qinhuai said.
“Hm?”
The internal screaming paused. She raised her eyes and met his gaze.
Here it comes—the main point.
“Second Miss Song is a noble young lady. You don’t need to do this sort of work,” Pei Qinhuai continued. “From now on, you don’t need to enter the kitchen. If you want to eat something, just tell me—I’ll make it for you.”
“No.”
She refused instantly.
Her voice was quick, sharp, and cold—just three words, yet they completely choked off whatever Pei Qinhuai had intended to say next.
“I’ve fallen to this state with no one left to support me,” Song Shiyu said. “In the Pei household, I’m neither legitimate nor secure. Not only am I constrained everywhere, I’d also drag Third Young Master down.”
“Though we have a marriage contract in the eyes of outsiders, we haven’t actually wed. I’m not truly a member of the Pei family. Living here, with all my food and expenses paid by you, is simply inappropriate.”
“Third Young Master Pei—these three months, I’ve lived in a daze, confused and foolish, all because my family fell and I was left utterly alone. But now I’ve thought it through. I won’t behave so stupidly anymore.”
“If I can’t support myself, if I can’t participate in managing household affairs—then… I can only leave.”
All of the original owner’s infamy began with taking advantage of the Pei family.
She and Pei Qinhuai had a marriage agreement, but no wedding. Even an engaged couple still required proper rites—emotionally and logically, there were gaps everywhere. Being disliked because her status was uncertain was what ignited all later disasters.
Now that she was here, everything that needed to be clarified had to be clarified.
She wouldn’t take advantages for free.
Even brothers had to settle accounts clearly.
Song Shiyu knew Pei Qinhuai was sharp. Men like him appeared generous on the surface, but were actually stingy, petty, and excellent at holding grudges.
She had to straighten out every detail from the start—only then would the road ahead be survivable.
But…
She’d spoken for so long, yet Pei Qinhuai kept his head lowered, silent.
Song Shiyu suddenly felt uncertain.
Just as she was replaying her words, wondering if she’d said something wrong, Pei Qinhuai lifted his head.
His crow-feather lashes fluttered, and in that moment, it was as though light poured into his eyes.
Countless thoughts seemed hidden within them—deep as the ocean, unfathomable.
He looked at Song Shiyu.
“Does Second Miss Song enjoy cooking that much?”
“???”
“If not,” Pei Qinhuai continued, “why would you become so upset—and even speak of leaving—just because I suggested you stop going into the kitchen?”
“……”
Pei Qinhuai sighed, his tone gentle and unhurried.
“If Second Miss Song truly enjoys it,” he said, “then go ahead and do it.”
With that, he took out a heavy silver ingot from his sleeve and placed it on her table.
“This is this month’s food money,” he said.
“If there’s any left over, Second Miss Song may use it as she sees fit.”
Song Shiyu’s eyes flew open.
“That’s too much! There’s no way we’d use all of it—I think this is more than three months’ worth of living expenses!”
She wasn’t stupid.
This was two taels of silver—half a year’s income for an ordinary household. Way too much.
Pei Qinhuai smiled faintly.
“Didn’t Second Miss Song say that since we’re not yet married, we shouldn’t take advantage of each other?”
After a pause, his voice grew even gentler—but his words carried unmistakable resolve.
“Then the extra,” Pei Qinhuai said,“will be Second Miss Song’s money for managing the household.”