Shen Jingshan shot him a cold glance.
“The land at Han Manor cannot nourish ambition. Let him stay there and quietly farm his fields.”
After a pause, he added,
“The estate has been unsettled lately. Don’t provoke unimportant people, lest you bring trouble upon yourself.”
Shen Jingyan quickly agreed and bowed his way out of the study.
The door closed softly, shutting out the light from outside. The scent of sandalwood in the study seemed even stronger.
Shen Jingshan picked up his teacup once more. The tea had already gone cold.
He suddenly remembered what Shen Jingzhi had looked like as a child—always following behind him, timidly calling out, “Big Brother.”
Back then, the marquis’s residence had been lively, and the old marquis was still alive. Though there was a clear distinction between legitimate and illegitimate children, things had not yet become so tense and hostile.
But the position of marquis had never allowed for even the slightest softness of heart.
The oil lamp in the kitchen glowed dimly, illuminating Shen Jingzhi’s silent profile.
The buckwheat porridge bubbled softly in the pot, releasing a faint grain fragrance, yet it could not dispel the gloom between his brows.
Shen Weiwan noticed that her father had been holding his tea bowl for a long time without taking a sip. The steam had long since dissipated, leaving tiny droplets clinging to the rim.
She set down the ledger in her hands—a new notebook she had just made from the fresh paper, on which she had recorded the growth of today’s seedlings—and spoke gently.
“Father, was the paper at Wenmo Studio too expensive?”
Shen Jingzhi suddenly looked up, as though startled awake. He hurriedly shook his head.
“No, no. It wasn’t expensive at all. The paper is quite good—enough for your bookkeeping and for Mingxuan to practice writing.”
Shen Mingxuan put down the hatchet in his hand, a small pile of firewood lying at his feet.
“Father, you haven’t smiled since you came back. Did someone bully you?”
The youth’s voice carried an impulsive concern, like a pebble dropped into still water.
Shen Jingzhi opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but in the end he merely sighed and set the tea bowl on the table with a soft clink.
Liu Shi emerged from the inner room carrying a dish of pickled vegetables. Seeing the strange atmosphere, she quietly tugged at Shen Weiwan’s sleeve.
But Shen Weiwan shook her head and walked to her father’s side.
She gently placed her hand over his.
Those hands had once held a writing brush and penned elegant essays. Now they were covered with calluses, and the joints were reddened from gripping a hoe for so long.
“Father,” she said softly, her voice impossible to ignore, “if you don’t tell us, we’ll only worry more. No matter what it is, our family should bear it together.”
Shen Jingzhi looked into his daughter’s clear eyes.
There were no schemes from the marquis’s residence there, no distinctions between legitimate and illegitimate birth—only pure concern.
His throat moved several times before he finally seemed to lay down a burden weighing a thousand pounds.
“Today… at Wenmo Studio, I ran into your Third Uncle.”
“Shen Jingyan?” Shen Mingxuan frowned.
Though still young, he remembered that uncle’s face well enough. Even back at the marquis’s residence, the man had always enjoyed making fun of them because they were born of a concubine.
Shen Jingzhi nodded, unconsciously rubbing the rim of his tea bowl.
“He saw that I was buying the cheapest xuan paper and said some… unpleasant things. He said I’d fallen into poverty, that you children were suffering because of me, and that I should return to the estate and beg the old madam for a position…”
He didn’t mention the whispers of the crowd around him, nor the humiliation he had felt.
Yet the shame hidden in his words was like countless tiny needles piercing every heart in the room.
Liu Shi’s eyes instantly reddened.
Her hand holding the dish trembled slightly.
“How could he say such things? We may be illegitimate, but we’ve never done anything to harm him…”
“Mother, crying won’t help.”
Shen Mingxuan clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white.
“When I grow up, I’ll make him see that our life at Han Manor is no worse than life in the marquis’s residence!”
Shen Weiwan, however, remained silent.
She walked to the window and gazed into the dark night outside.
The nights at Han Manor were very quiet, filled only with the sounds of insects and the wind.
Unlike the marquis’s residence, where even the darkness hid countless spies and idle gossip.
After a while, she turned around, a calm smile on her face.
“Father, don’t take it to heart. A man like Shen Jingyan only has eyes for wealth and status. He could never understand the life we have now.”
She picked up the new sheet of paper from the table and pointed to the words she had just written.
“Look, Father. This paper isn’t as fine as the xuan paper from the marquis’s residence, but it’s more than enough for bookkeeping and writing practice. Once our vegetables earn us some money, we’ll buy even better paper and wolf-hair brushes. We’ll let Brother study properly and earn a degree someday. That’s much better than being a money tree for the marquis’s residence.”
Shen Jingzhi looked at the words she had written:
Millet—fifty plants.Green vegetables—thirty seedlings emerged.
The handwriting was crooked and uneven, yet every stroke was earnest.
He suddenly remembered Shen Jingyan’s remark about “digging in the mud for food.”
But looking at this piece of paper now, he felt that this life of “digging for food” was far more solid and comforting than the luxury of the marquis’s residence.
“That’s right.”
He sniffed and suddenly smiled, reaching out to ruffle Shen Weiwan’s hair.
“Our Wan’er is right. Studying depends on determination, not on the quality of the paper. Living depends on hard work, not on appearances.”
Shen Mingxuan also grinned and twirled a piece of straw in his hand.
“When my handwriting gets better, I’ll help my sister keep the accounts. We’ll record every harvest from our fields. Once we’ve saved enough money, we’ll build a big tiled house and buy several more acres of good land!”
Seeing her husband and children regain their spirits, Liu Shi wiped away her tears and smiled as she headed back toward the kitchen.
“The porridge should be ready. Tomorrow we’ll work harder and turn over the eastern field again. Once the millet sprouts, let’s see who still dares say that Han Manor can’t grow good crops!”
In the halo of the oil lamp, the family’s shadows swayed upon the wall.
Though they were not tall or imposing, they clung tightly to one another.
Looking at the relaxed expression on her father’s face, Shen Weiwan silently pondered.
The appearance of Shen Jingyan was a reminder.
It told them that the marquis’s residence had never truly let them go.
But so what?
As long as they held fast to the land of Han Manor and to each other, even the fiercest storms would eventually pass.
A spring rain fell through the night, pattering softly and soaking the land of the small estate north of the city.
When the door was opened at dawn, the air was filled with the fresh scent of earth and grass.
The fields, slightly dry the day before, had been softened by the rain, and even the withered grass beside the courtyard wall showed hints of pale green.
The moment Shen Weiwan opened her eyes, she went to check the basket of rice seeds.
The bamboo basket was still kept indoors, sheltered from the wind. Moisture seeped faintly through the cloth covering it.
She gently lifted one corner.
The rice grains, which had been shriveled only yesterday, had now swollen into plump, rounded kernels.
At their tips, tiny white sprouts had emerged—delicate, yet full of life.
The germination had succeeded.
The anxiety Shen Weiwan had carried all night quietly melted away.
The sprouts were even and plump, white and tender, with no signs of mold or rot.
Seedlings raised from these grains would certainly grow thick and strong, and when transplanted into the paddies, their survival rate would far exceed that of ordinary farmers’ crops.
The corners of her lips curved slightly.
She quickly covered the basket again, preserving its warmth and moisture, waiting for the sprouts to grow a little longer before sowing them in the seedbed.
Liu Shi had already risen and was busy in the kitchen.
Hearing movement, she came out and, seeing Shen Weiwan beside the seeds, hurried over.
“Wan’er, how are the seeds? Have they sprouted?”
Shen Weiwan nodded, her voice soft but steady.
“Mother, they have. They’re growing very well.”
Liu Shi carefully leaned over to look.
The moment she saw those tiny white sprouts, her eyes instantly grew hot with tears.