Poisonous Peasant 'Concubine' Ch 62 - Hyacinth in Bloom

Chapter 62 — Sending Money • Trouble Arises

As expected, when Ling Jingxuan arrived at the Zhao household with his xiao baozi, he heard muffled sobbing from inside before he even knocked.

Father and son exchanged a glance. The smaller one’s face tightened with anxiety; the larger one could only sigh inwardly.

These days, when the court decided to conscript, it conscripted—never mind the lives of common folk. Had he not managed to earn some silver recently, and had his children not still been young, he might not have escaped misfortune himself. Though, with his abilities, dying on a battlefield was hardly likely.

He shook away the stray thoughts and nodded at Ling Wu.

“Knock.”

Knock, knock.

After a moment, the tightly shut wooden door creaked open. Han Fei stood there, eyes red and swollen.

Ling Jingxuan’s chest tightened. Forcing a smile, he said gently, “Brother Han, I have something to discuss with you. May we come in?”

“…Yes. Come in.”

Han Fei had barely stepped aside when a wailing figure rushed out from within.

“Xiao Wu! Waaa—Daddy’s going away! I don’t want Daddy to go—wu wu wu—!”

Tiewa flung himself at Ling Wu, thin arms clamping tightly around him. Tears and snot smeared across Ling Wu’s worn clothes without restraint.

“What happened? Don’t cry, Tiewa—waaah—Daddy, why is he crying like this?!”

Protected behind Ling Wen’s back all year round, Ling Wu was utterly unaccustomed to handling such a scene. Panic-stricken, he burst into tears as well, golden beans dropping freely, one hand still flailing toward his father for rescue.

Ling Jingxuan sighed helplessly. Almost at the same moment as Han Fei, he bent down and lifted his child into his arms.

“Tiewa, don’t cry. Daddy doesn’t want to go either. But… but…”

Han Fei’s voice broke before he could finish. He buried his face in his son’s narrow neck and wept.

If he did not go, Zhao Dalong would have to.

Setting aside the fact that Zhao Dalong was Tiewa’s birth father—the one the child depended on—the household itself could not manage without him. Without his work at the blacksmith’s shop in town, how would they survive? Rather than forcing all three of them to the brink, it was better he sacrifice himself alone.

He had endured a lifetime of scorn and hardship. Yet he had no regrets. Meeting Zhao Dalong had been the greatest blessing of his life.

“Waaah—Tiewa—Uncle Han—please don’t cry. If you cry, I’ll cry too—wu wu—!”

Ling Wu sobbed harder at the sight. Ling Jingxuan hurried to pat his back.

“Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Daddy has a way to stop Uncle Han from crying. Be good, Xiao Wu. Quiet down and let Daddy speak with them, hm?”

“Sniff… really?”

Ling Wu lifted his tear-soaked face, hiccupping. He did not know why he was sad. Seeing Tiewa sad made him sad too. Tiewa was his only friend, and he didn’t want him to be sad.

“Of course. When has Father ever lied to you?”

Ling Jingxuan wiped his cheeks tenderly, his lips curving in a reassuring smile. Ling Wu studied him for a long moment before nodding earnestly, though tears still clung to his lashes. Turning toward the father and son across from him, he declared with fierce sincerity:

“Uncle Han, Tiewa—don’t cry. My daddy has a way.”

“Mm?”

“Uncle…”

The father and son looked up one after the other. Han Fei looked puzzled. Tiewa’s small face, streaked with tears, shone with fragile hope. He was younger and slower to grasp such matters than Ling Wen or Ling Wu, but he often heard his fathers say that Uncle Ling was very capable. If Xiao Wu said so, then surely it must be true.

“Tiewa, be good,” Ling Jingxuan said softly, freeing one hand to stroke the child’s damp cheek. “Uncle Ling won’t let you lose your daddy.”

Then he turned to Han Fei. “Brother Han, let’s speak inside.”

Though confusion lingered, Han Fei nodded. The doorway was no place for such talk.

The two young fathers carried their children into the main room. In the corner, Zhao Dalong—usually a broad-shouldered, robust man—sat hunched, head lowered, as if the weight of the sky pressed upon him.

Ling Jingxuan sighed again.

He set Ling Wu down and removed the straw hats from their heads.

“Xiao Wu, Daddy needs to speak with Uncle Han and the others alone. Take Tiewa to the other room to play, alright?”

Ling Wu, eyes still red, nodded obediently. He went over and tugged Tiewa’s hand.

“Don’t worry. My father is very capable. If he says there’s a way, there’s definitely a way.”

Tiewa looked back and forth between Ling Jingxuan and his fathers before finally nodding. The two little buns left the hall hand in hand.

Only then did Ling Jingxuan reach into his sleeve and take out a cloth-wrapped bundle.

“Brother Zhao. Brother Han. I won’t waste words. Here are twenty taels of silver. Thank you for your help these past few days.”

Seeing the despair hanging over the household, Ling Jingxuan did not bother with pleasantries. He simply drew out two ten-tael silver ingots and pushed them across the table.

Whether lives in this dynasty were considered cheap or dear, he did not know. To him, twenty taels in exchange for a living, breathing person was worth it a thousand times over.

Provided that person was someone he acknowledged.

Han Fei’s eyes lit up instinctively—only to dim just as quickly. Without hesitation, he pushed the silver back.

“How can this be? Twenty taels is no small sum. We can’t take this.”

He had never studied books, knew nothing of lofty talk about being a gentleman and righteousness. But he understood one principle: what was not his, he would not take. Besides, Jingxuan’s household was hardly wealthy. Raising two children alone required silver everywhere. How could they possibly accept his money?

Zhao Dalong said nothing, but from his defeated posture it was clear he agreed. Facing compulsory conscription, however, pain weighed heavily in his heart.

“Brother Han, don’t you usually scold me for being too distant with you?” Ling Jingxuan deliberately put on a stern face. “Why are you being polite with me now?”

He did not let them push the silver back and forth again.

“Besides, this was meant to be your wages. Don’t underestimate those wild fruits. Once processed by my hand, their value soars. Twenty taels is barely one percent of what they’ll bring. Brother Zhao, Brother Han, I know you’re honest men. You won’t take advantage of others. But this isn’t charity. It’s what you’ve earned.”

Compared to what he earned, twenty taels truly was a drop in the ocean.

And truthfully, he valued them. When he first mentioned paying wages for fruit picking, they had rejected the idea outright. Later, he did not raise it again. They had effectively worked for him without pay—yet never once slacked or cut corners. In fact, they had been even more diligent than he and Jingpeng.

That alone was worth twenty taels to secure their friendship.

“Dalong-ge…?” Han Fei faltered, turning instinctively toward Zhao Dalong. It was not greed stirring in him. He simply did not want to leave this home. Nor did he want Zhao Dalong to leave. If Jingxuan truly was not short of silver… could he treat this as a loan?

“Twenty taels is too much…” Zhao Dalong finally rasped, looking at Ling Jingxuan with dry eyes. To claim he was unmoved would be a lie. How could he bear to part from Han Fei? From their innocent, soft-hearted son?

“Is it more than your life?” Ling Jingxuan countered quietly. “Brother Zhao, silver can be earned again. But if a person is gone, then everything is gone. To us villagers, twenty taels may seem astronomical—but it is still far less important than our lives.”

He paused, then smiled faintly.

“Let me tell you something. You know how stingy Xiao Wen is. Before bringing this silver, I discussed it with him. Do you know what he said?”

“What did he say?” Han Fei blurted without thinking.

“He scolded me,” Ling Jingxuan replied, laughter soft in his voice. “Said this kind of money absolutely must not be saved. Brother Han, forget everything else. For once in his life, that little miser was generous. Take the silver—for his sake.”

Thinking of Ling Wen’s solemn little face lecturing him, his smile deepened.

Stingy though the boy might be, he understood priorities. Not to boast like a melon vendor praising his own wares, but across the entire Da Qing Dynasty, one would be hard-pressed to find a child more sensible than his little bun.

“Xiao Wen…?” Han Fei’s voice trembled, tears welling again. He had never imagined that the famously tightfisted child would approve this. “…Alright. We’ll accept it. Thank you, Jingxuan.”

“Why thank me?” Ling Jingxuan waved it off. “Didn’t I say? You’ve earned it. I’ll need your help plenty in the future. Brother Han, in those muddled years of mine, Xiao Wen and the others received much care from you. From now on, we’ll earn silver together. There’ll be no shortage of good days ahead.”

This was only the beginning.

He intended to amass mountains of gold and silver for his little buns one day, let them squander it without worry. For now, though, he would be content simply to raise them into plump, fair little meat buns.

Han Fei nodded through tears, glancing instinctively at Zhao Dalong. Only after receiving his firm nod did he reach out and take the silver that, to them, was life itself.

“Well then, I won’t disturb you further,” Ling Jingxuan said, rising. “Tomorrow the restaurant in town will collect the goods. Once this matter passes, we’ll send the children to study in town. When they grow capable, we’ll truly have endured to the brighter days.”

Yet even as he spoke lightly, concern tugged at him. He wondered how things fared at the old Ling residence. He hoped nothing bad had happened to them.

“Tomorrow I’ll go with Brother Zhao to help move the goods,” Han Fei hurried to add. “And afterward we’ll pick more fruit from the hills.”

Having accepted twenty taels so freely, his heart felt restless. If he could, he would sell himself in repayment—Of course, not in that sense.

“Picking fruit isn’t urgent,” Ling Jingxuan said, shaking his head. “The restaurant in town originally ordered one thousand jin. I made two thousand five hundred. That will last them for a while. You don’t need to come tomorrow morning—their own attendants will handle the loading. You’ve both worked hard these days. Rest properly. Once we’ve arranged the children’s schooling, we can return to the mountain.”

In truth, the restaurant runners who came to collect fish had been urging him almost daily. The last hundred jars had sold out quickly. That was why he had produced over two thousand jin in one go. Only yesterday he had even gone to Old Wang’s kiln and urgently ordered two hundred additional large jars. Once the children’s schooling was settled, they would be busy again for quite some time.

“Alright,” Zhao Dalong nodded. “Just tell us when to start again. And the matter of the children’s schooling… we’ll have to trouble you.”

He had realized something clearly—without someone educated in the household, life was too constrained. No matter what, even if he had to sell iron scraps or pawn the cooking pot, he would send Tiewa to study.

“Mm, I—”

“Father! Are you done talking?”

Ling Jingxuan had barely begun speaking when Ling Wu rushed out from the adjoining room, Tiewa following close behind, his earlier tears replaced with tentative smiles.

Ling Jingxuan bent to scoop Ling Wu into his arms and pinched his nose affectionately. “Mm. We’re done. We were just about to head home.”

“Then Uncle Han doesn’t have to leave anymore, right?”

That was the only thing the child truly cared about. He did not want to see Tiewa cry again.

“Heh… of course not. Daddy might deceive others, but I would never deceive my little bun.”

Ling Jingxuan exchanged a smile with Han Fei, who was likewise holding his son, then nodded toward Zhao Dalong. “We’ll take our leave.”

He had just turned—

“Daddy! Daddy—something bad has happened! Grandmother and the others are in trouble, Daddy!”

The half-closed gate was suddenly shoved open from outside. Ling Wen ran in, face pale with urgency. Behind him followed Yan Shengrui, a cloth band tied around his head.

Ling Jingxuan’s heart dropped sharply.

He set Ling Wu down at once and caught Ling Wen as the boy rushed into his arms. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

“I—I don’t know,” Ling Wen panted. “Just now someone came to our house. He said he’s Little Uncle’s friend. He said something happened over there and told you to hurry.”

“Damn it.”

If it were not serious, Jingpeng would never have sent a stranger to deliver a message.

Ling Jingxuan turned immediately to Han Fei. “Brother Han, please help me look after Xiao Wen and the others.”

“Of course. Go quickly. Should Dalong go with you?”

Sensing the gravity of the situation, Han Fei agreed without hesitation. Zhao Dalong had already stepped forward.