On the way home, the snow had been trampled hard, slick and stiff underfoot.
But Su Mingxuan didn’t dare take a single fast step.
He clutched the heavy money bag tightly with both hands, his little chest sticking out proudly, as if the bag held not just four hundred or so copper coins, but the entire empire of Song.
The bag was heavy, making his palms sweat, yet his heart felt like a little stove, warming him from chest to toes.
“Sister,” he whispered, as if sharing a secret of the world, “we really… earned money.”
“Yes,” Su Qingyan replied with a smile in her voice, “we did. Enough to buy medicine for Father, and meat for you all to eat.”
As the siblings reached the entrance of Maishao Alley, their mother, Wang Shi, pushed open the creaking wooden door, her face full of barely concealed anxiety. Seeing her children return safely, she first breathed a sigh of relief—but then her eyes fell on the empty baskets. Her heart sank.
“Oh no, they must not have sold anything… the children probably suffered outside.”
“Qingyan, Mingxuan, come in quickly to warm yourselves. If nothing sold—”
Before Wang Shi could finish, Su Qingyan had already stepped over the threshold, unstrapped her empty basket, and shot a knowing glance at Su Mingxuan.
He understood immediately. Taking a deep breath, he went to the only fairly level wooden table in the house. Under the watchful, anxious eyes of their mother and two little sisters, he untied the string of the money bag.
“Clatter—”
A crisp, heavy sound erupted suddenly in the quiet, dilapidated room!
Four hundred and fifty copper coins, glinting a dark reddish hue, cascaded from the bag like a bronze waterfall, piling into a small sparkling mountain on the table.
The room fell silent, so still one could hear a pin drop.
Su Mingyue and Su Mingyao’s eyes went wide, mouths forming perfect “O” shapes—they had never seen so much money in their lives!
Wang Shi froze. She stared in disbelief at the pile of coins, then at her daughter’s calm face. Her lips trembled, and no words came out. She reached out her hands, callused and dotted from years of embroidery, and shakily touched the “money mountain.”
It was warm—the warmth of a child’s hands.
“One… ten… hundred…” Wang Shi murmured almost hypnotically, counting each coin slowly and clumsily, afraid to miscount.
Once, twice, three times.
On the third count, confirming that it truly was four hundred and fifty wen, Wang Shi could no longer hold back. She buried her face in her hands, and all the grievances, fears, and despair she had carried all winter poured out as hot, unrestrained tears.
“Heavens above…” she choked, her shoulders shaking violently. “This… this is even more than the most a scholar could earn in a year teaching at a private school!”
Her words struck Su Qingyan’s heart as well. A scholar’s annual stipend, earned by her in just one morning.
“Mother, don’t cry,” Su Qingyan said, patting her gently on the back. “We earned the money. This is only the beginning. Now, we need to turn this money into medicine for Father and rice for our home.”
Her voice was quiet but carried a calm, stabilizing force.
She immediately began delegating tasks, thinking and planning with clarity far beyond her fourteen years.
“Mingxuan, come with me to buy supplies. Mother, you stoke the fire and clean the big pot. Tonight, we’re going to fill the house with the smell of meat!”
“Meat?” Wang Shi stopped crying, dumbfounded.
“Yes, meat!” Su Qingyan said firmly.
She set aside fifty wen for household use, packed the remaining four hundred into the bag, and, without looking back, led Su Mingxuan out of Maishao Alley.
Their destination: the most famous pharmacy in Bianjing—the Baicao Hall.
The pharmacy’s exterior was grand, with vermilion doors and a gold-lettered sign, a stark contrast to the poverty of Maishao Alley.
The clerk inside, dressed neatly and busy preparing herbs, barely lifted his eyelids at the sight of the ragged siblings. He snorted through his nose: “Need medicine or just browsing? No money? Go to the Hui-min pharmacy at the street corner; don’t waste time here.”
Su Mingxuan’s face immediately flushed red.
But Su Qingyan remained calm. She didn’t argue—simply walked up and placed the heavy bag with a “thud” onto the polished rosewood counter.
The dull clatter of four hundred copper coins made the clerk pause.
“Shopkeeper,” Su Qingyan said clearly and brightly, “my father has caught a cold, and it’s worsened into a lingering illness. He’s bedridden. Please prescribe the best medicine: for pain relief, bone strengthening, and to nourish his qi and blood.”
Her words were organized, precise, and carried the confidence of someone who knew what she was doing.
The old shopkeeper finally looked up, his shrewd eyes scanning both Su Qingyan and the money bag. His previous aloofness softened. He personally wrote a prescription, and the clerks immediately changed their attitude, wrapping up several large packages of herbs efficiently.
After paying one hundred and fifty wen for the medicine, Su Qingyan took her brother to the grain shop. Without hesitation, she bought twenty jin of premium white rice, fifty jin of the cheapest brown rice, spending another fifty wen.
Finally, they arrived at the butcher.
“Shopkeeper, how much for this half hind leg of pork?”
Carrying a long strip of fresh, marbled pork, while Su Mingxuan held the big bag of white rice, they returned to Maishao Alley, causing a commotion.
From one end of the alley to the other, everyone with a door open or closed, even peeking from window cracks, was watching.
Shock, envy, jealousy, and disbelief were written on every face.
“Lord, am I seeing this right? Su scholar’s eldest daughter is bringing back meat?”“Must be seven or eight jin! And that bag—white rice!”“Where did they get the money? Did they steal it?”
Rumors flew like winter wind, stinging the ears.
Su Qingyan, however, paid no mind. She straightened her back, eyes forward, and pushed open her own door.
“Bang!” The noise shut all the gossip outside.
Tonight, she would ensure her family had their first real, hearty meal since she arrived—a meal with meat.
She didn’t cook immediately. First, she carefully stuffed the thick new quilts into every crevice of the walls and windows. The bitter wind could no longer creep inside.
Then, she lit the silver-thread charcoal in the fire basin. No choking smoke arose—only warm, clean heat rising slowly.
For the first time, the cold, dilapidated house felt like home.
With that done, she began cooking porridge. White rice went into the pot, and she discreetly added a drop of premium sesame oil from the space. She chopped the pork hind leg into fine mince. Once the porridge was soft and thick, she added the meat, letting the boiling rice water cook it instantly.
A scent indescribably fresh and rich, mingling rice and meat aromas, filled the entire room.
Wang Shi had already prepared the medicine as instructed. Su Qingyan carefully helped her father sit up on the bed, spooning the medicinal broth into his mouth, followed by a bowl of steaming meat porridge.
“Father, have some porridge to warm your stomach.”
His consciousness was still hazy, but his survival instinct made him open his mouth.
The soft, starchy porridge with savory meat slid down his throat, reviving long-dormant nerves. He slowly opened his cloudy eyes and saw his daughter sitting by the bed, carefully blowing on the hot spoonfuls.
Her face was still thin, her chin pointed, but her eyes shone with a light he could not understand.
“Qingyan…” his cracked lips moved as he reached out with frail hands, wanting to touch her head.
Su Qingyan bowed slightly so he could feel it.
“I’m here, Father.”
The warmth transmitted through, and the old scholar’s eyes welled with tears. Soundlessly, they rolled down his cheeks. He, a grown man, a learned scholar, relied on his fourteen-year-old daughter to pull him and the family back from death’s door.
“My child… Father has failed you…”
In the corner, Su Mingyue and Su Mingyao sat by the fire, their little faces glowing from the heat. Each held a bowl of meat porridge, sipping carefully, savoring it as though it were a rare delicacy.
That night, in the Su family’s dilapidated house, there were no more cries or despairing sighs.
After eating, Su Qingyan began assigning tasks for the next day: “Mother, you handle steaming buns and dumplings tomorrow. Your hands are skilled, so they’ll look perfect. Mingxuan, fetch water and move supplies. Mingyue, watch over your little sister.”
Everyone had work to do, and everyone saw hope.
This sense of security, radiating from the inside out, brought the first true smiles to their faces.
At that moment, a “knock knock” sounded at the door.
Su Mingxuan stood alert, but Su Qingyan shook her head and walked to open it.
It was Aunt Wang from next door, rubbing her hands, looking embarrassed.
“Qingyan… uh… our household… hasn’t had rice for days. Could I… borrow a bowl to tide us over?”
Su Qingyan smiled, went inside without hesitation, and scooped two full bowls of white rice from the bag into a shabby bowl, handing it over.
“Take it, Aunt Wang. Neighbors help neighbors; it’s the right thing to do.”
Aunt Wang gratefully accepted, and before leaving, leaned close to Su Qingyan’s ear, whispering hurriedly:
“You’re a good child—be careful! This afternoon, Liu Sanniang cursed you in the alley and told everyone your goods aren’t clean.”