Qiu Huanian tossed and turned until the latter half of the night before gradually calming down.

No matter what happens, he couldn’t lose his composure. Staying steady was the only way to find a solution.

The next morning, Qiu Huanian sent the two children to Hu Qiuyan’s house and went straight to find the village chief.

He felt that in this situation, he needed someone who was both well-intentioned and knowledgeable about the rules of the ancient era—someone with enough status to offer sound advice.

Qiu Huanian was a member of Du Family Village and nominally Du Yunse’s child husband. If someone took him away, the village chief wouldn’t look good either.

Qiu Huanian knocked on the door, and Meng Fuyue opened it, leading him to see the village chief.

Qiu Huanian got straight to the point, briefly recounting the situation before saying to the village chief, “I’m young and inexperienced. I couldn’t sleep all night. I’d like to ask for your guidance.”

Inside the house, Meng Fuyue, who was wiping the table, nearly stormed off to scold Zhao Shi on the spot after hearing this.

No wonder Hua-ge’er’s eyes were red this morning! Zhao Shi colluding with outsiders to bully a young ge’er from the same village—she was truly despicable!

Meng Fuyue wanted to tell Qiu Huanian not to be afraid. If the Qiu family dared to come, Du Family Village could rally enough people to drive them away. But since her father-in-law had not spoken yet, she didn’t dare to interrupt.

Village chief Du took a deep drag from his pipe and looked deeply at the ge’er before him.

Qiu Huanian used to avoid going out, always keeping his head down and shying away from people. So, the villagers didn’t have a deep impression of his appearance. But these days, he had become cheerful and smiled more. His whole demeanor had lifted, and his good looks were becoming harder to conceal.

Village chief Du was in his sixties. In his younger days, he had traveled far and wide, seen many people, and had a keen eye for judging others.

Among all the faces he had encountered, only the woman from the neighboring county, who had entered the palace and became a consort over a decade ago, could match Qiu Huanian’s features.

Right now, his beauty wasn’t obvious because of his simple clothing, but if he changed into fine attire, he would look entirely different.

Even just the slight redness in his eyes from lack of sleep made him look even more captivating.

Such a delicate beauty in a small place like theirs was more of a curse than a blessing. If he caught the eye of someone with ill intentions, it could even bring disaster upon his entire family.

That consort from the neighboring county had already been engaged before she was chosen by a nobleman. She hesitated, and her fiancé’s entire family suddenly died of “illness” overnight.

Though it was said that beauties should pair with talented men, whether Yunse could handle this “hot potato” was uncertain.

But regardless, Hua-ge’er was a genuinely good child. With his family struggling so much right now, they needed him more than ever.

Village chief Du took another drag from his pipe and asked in a deep voice, “Hua-ge’er, what do you think about this?”

As the village chief remained silent, Qiu Huanian was also trying to guess his thoughts from his changing expressions.

“I just want to take good care of Jiujiu and Chunsheng. I don’t want to go anywhere,” he replied honestly, because that was his true feeling.

“What if they aren’t taking you to suffer but to enjoy a life of luxury?”

The village chief described that kind of life in detail:

“Silk and brocade, gold and silver, servants at your beck and call. You won’t have to work hard from dawn to dusk or suffer under anyone’s hand.”

If it weren’t for the inappropriate timing, Qiu Huanian would have stroked his chin.

Of course, he knew he was good-looking. After crossing over, as a ge’er, his originally handsome features had become even more delicate and refined. Though he hadn’t looked into a mirror, he could see himself clearly when fetching water from the water tank.

Qiu Huanian understood the underlying message.

The Qiu family wasn’t stupid. They wouldn’t sell him to a village for just two dou of sorghum this time. Instead, they would sell him at a high price to a wealthy family that coveted beauty.

“I won’t go,” Qiu Huanian stated outright.

Would he be out of his mind? Why would he willingly be locked away in a mansion, serving as some unknown person’s concubine, instead of living freely outside?

“Do you truly understand how good that life would be?” the village chief asked again, still skeptical.

Qiu Huanian felt a strange sense of déjà vu, like when he had quit his big corporate job to return to the countryside and his HR kept questioning him in disappointment.

“No matter how good it is, it wouldn’t be mine.”

Qiu Huanian smiled with such certainty that the village chief couldn’t ask anything further.

No matter how luxurious it was, it wouldn’t have air conditioning, a refrigerator, Wi-Fi, or the internet. He wasn’t interested.

The village chief told Qiu Huanian, “Alright. As long as you don’t want to leave, there are ways to handle this.”

“The simplest way is to wait for Yunse to return. Then, take my letter and go to the county yamen(official) to officially register a marriage certificate. That way, no one can challenge it.”

“For now, just in case, you should take the mule cart to town. Let Baoren escort you.”

Du Baoren was the village chief’s eldest son and Meng Fuyue’s husband.

Qiu Huanian hadn’t expected this trip to bring an unexpected benefit—several days of free mule cart rides.

Meng Fuyue added, “Hua-ge’er, don’t feel bad about it. We’re all from the same village and clan. Helping each other is only natural. Everyone faces difficulties sometimes. Right now, spring plowing hasn’t started yet, and Baoren has nothing to do at home anyway.”

Qiu Huanian gained a deeper understanding of how the social fabric of an ancient rural clan functioned—it was like a vast net, both restricting and supporting those caught in it.

After expressing his gratitude, Qiu Huanian stepped out of the main house and asked Meng Fuyue if he could borrow the mule cart to haul some grain.

Meng Fuyue agreed. This time, Qiu Huanian took all the corn and soaked, de-hulled sorghum from his home to be ground into flour. He borrowed seven or eight large basins and wooden barrels from Meng Fuyue, Hu Qiuyan, and neighbors to process the sorghum into starch, storing the cornmeal for future meals.

With the mule cart cutting down travel time significantly, he finished all the work in just three days. After drying, the sorghum starch totaled 120 jin(60kg)—enough to last a long, long time.

There was too much leftover gluten to eat at once, so Qiu Huanian sliced it into thin pieces, dried them in the sun, and stored them away. When needed, he could simply soak them in water to rehydrate.

Thus, his days continued—making sugar and studying woodworking in the mornings, taking the mule cart to town to sell sugar in the afternoons. After five or six more days, Qiu Huanian counted the copper coins in his money box and confirmed that he had officially earned his first tael of silver(One thousand copper coins) in this world.

One thousand copper coins were strung together with fine straw rope, tied at both ends into a heavy bundle. Qiu Huanian stored them carefully, planning to exchange them for silver when he had the chance to go to the county.

Today, he had to go to town early to paint for the owner of the paper and brush shop. Carrying his backpack, he walked to the village entrance, where Baoren and his wife were already waiting in the mule cart.

Meng’s family lived in Qingfu Town. For the past few days, Baoren had been taking Qiu Huanian to town, and Meng Fuyue occasionally used the opportunity to visit her maternal home.

Qiu Huanian climbed onto the cart. Baoren cracked the whip, and the mule trotted forward.

But no matter what, it was still ten times better than walking.

Meng Fuyue and Qiu Huanian’s relationship was getting better and better, and she didn’t find giving Qiu Huanian a ride troublesome at all.

After all, Hua-ge’er was incredibly considerate. Every time he got a ride, he would always bring a little something in return. These past few days, the children at home hadn’t been without sweets.

Although taking him along was something the village chief had personally agreed to, and they were willing to do it, a relationship where both sides gave and received naturally felt more comfortable, didn’t it?

When Qiu Huanian arrived at the paper and stationery shop in town, he put down his basket. The shop owner, Wang Cheng, had already prepared the paper, brushes, and a few colors of paint.

“Every year around Qingming Festival, ritual paper sells the best. No matter how difficult life is, people are always willing to buy something good and pray for their ancestors’ blessings,” Wang Cheng told Qiu Huanian. “In the county town, those who care about quality won’t buy mass-printed ritual paper from incense shops—they’ll specifically hire someone to paint it.”

“But hiring someone in the county is too expensive—at least fifty wen per piece. Many people want to buy but can’t afford it, and that’s where the business opportunity lies.”

“I don’t expect your paintings to be masterpieces; they just need to be clearer than printed ones. I’ll pay you eight wen per sheet. Don’t think it’s too little—believe me, it takes connections to sell these in the county.”

Qiu Huanian nodded, glancing at the thick stack of pre-cut paper. It was made from relatively cheap jialian paper and cut into rectangular sheets about the size of modern A4 paper. The painting only needed to take up a third of the space, leaving room for customers to write their own prayers and auspicious messages.

“How many of these ritual papers do you need?” Qiu Huanian asked.

Wang Cheng was puzzled. “As many as possible, of course.”

He knew that painting was a slow craft, so he only hoped that Qiu Huanian could paint as much as possible.

Qiu Huanian rephrased his question, “For this year’s Qingming Festival, how many of these hand-painted ritual papers do you estimate you can sell at most?”

Since Wang Cheng had come up with this idea, he had naturally done his research. “I plan to sell them for fifteen wen each. I estimate I can sell at most two to three hundred sheets, but there’s no way I can get that many paintings to sell.”

Qiu Huanian smiled. “Then I’ll paint three hundred sheets.”

Wang Cheng doubted whether Qiu Huanian had understood his words. There were only three days left until Qingming—three hundred sheets? Would he have enough time?!

“I’ll paint a few first, and you can see if they’re acceptable.”

With that, Qiu Huanian picked up a brush and began painting. Plum blossoms, orchids, bamboo, chrysanthemums, koi fish, and cranes quickly took shape on different sheets of paper. Wang Cheng had only prepared three colors—black ink, vermilion, and indigo—but Qiu Huanian skillfully blended them, creating variations in shading.

Fifteen minutes later, all eight sheets were completed.

“Does this level of completion work?” Qiu Huanian asked the dumbfounded Wang Cheng.

Wang Cheng had never heard the term “completion level,” but he understood the general meaning. “Yes, more than good enough!”

When the paintings were smaller and had additional colors, this ge’er’s art looked even better.

Hand-painted images were superior to printed ones because printed versions couldn’t capture variations in shading and often suffered from color bleeding and smudging. Wang Cheng had low expectations—he only needed the paintings to look decent.

But now, looking at Qiu Huanian’s work, Wang Cheng even considered raising the price and competing with the high-end ritual paper that skilled artists meticulously painted!

He took a few seconds to suppress his excitement, reminding himself not to be overly ambitious. The key was to fill the gap in the market and make money through high volume and low margins.

After all, this ge’er painted even faster than prints were made. The more he sold, the more they would both profit!

Wang Cheng was astonished by Qiu Huanian’s painting speed, but Qiu Huanian merely smiled and offered no explanation.

In his past life, he had painted these same images at least a hundred times—he had long since grown sick of them. He could recall the next brushstroke with his eyes closed.

For paintings the size of a palm, excessive detail wasn’t necessary. Finishing one in two to three minutes was a piece of cake.

He wasn’t striving for artistic expression or deep meaning. He just wanted to be an efficient, money-making machine.

Aside from selling candy, Qiu Huanian spent the entire day painting in the shop. The more Wang Cheng watched, the happier he became, as if he could already see piles of copper coins. Enthusiastically, he brewed tea for Qiu Huanian and even went to a restaurant at noon, spending eight wen to buy him a bowl of braised meat noodles as a reward.

After finishing one hundred sheets, Qiu Huanian put down his brush. “I’ll head back now. I’ll paint another hundred tomorrow and the day after.”

Wang Cheng wasn’t in a hurry—ritual paper didn’t have to sell out in one day. “I’ll take these hundred to the county first. Once you finish the rest, I’ll send them as well.”

Wang Cheng was pleased and paid readily. He counted the completed ritual papers and immediately settled the payment.

Eight wen per sheet—one hundred sheets totaled eight hundred wen. Adding today’s candy sales, Qiu Huanian was about to save up another tael of silver.

Feeling good, he bought a jin of pork and stopped by the tofu shop for a block of tofu, planning to make braised tofu with meat when he got home.

Around five or six in the afternoon, under the gentler sunlight, a sturdy mule trotted along, pulling a cart filled with goods and a man returning home with his earnings.

At the entrance of Qingfu Town, two men lurked in the shadows, watching the receding mule cart while whispering to each other.

“He bought meat again today. Really moving up in the world.”

“He can make candy, he can paint—how come we never saw these skills before? That ungrateful brat must’ve been hiding them back when he was home.”

Thinking about the money Qiu Huanian was earning—money they couldn’t get their hands on—these two men from Shangliang Village, members of the Qiu family, felt as if their insides were being clawed apart.

If they had known Qiu Huanian had this kind of talent, how could they have sold him off for just two dou of sorghum? That money—and that meat—should have belonged to the Qiu family!

“I can tell he’s made up his mind. He won’t come back with us. If he refuses, even if we trick him into returning, we won’t be able to keep him. After all, Dujiacun isn’t easy to mess with…” The older of the two men narrowed his eyes. He was Qiu Huanian’s cousin, Qiu Fu.

“Big Brother, what do we do then? I heard Du Yunse will be back in five or six days. Once they finalize things, it’ll be too late,” said Qiu Huanian’s half-brother, Qiu Gui.

Qiu Fu was also anxious. Suddenly, an idea flashed in his mind as he recalled the face he had seen on Qiu Huanian that afternoon. A bold plan took shape.

“If we can’t keep him, we’ll sell him far away.”

“Big Brother, you mean…?”

“I know a human trafficker who specializes in buying good-looking ge’ers to be sent south. I’d say Hua-ge’er’s face makes him a perfect candidate.” The more Qiu Fu spoke, the more feasible the idea seemed.

“I’ll make arrangements with the trafficker first. As soon as we grab him, he’ll be taken away immediately. If the people from Du Village come asking, we’ll just say he left willingly to seek a better life in the south. Without him here to prove otherwise, even if trouble stirs up, we’ll still have the upper hand.”

Qiu Gui thought this was a good plan but soon realized a problem. “But these days, he always has a mule cart picking him up when he leaves the village. We can’t exactly sneak into Du Village and snatch him, can we?”

Du Village’s houses were packed closely together. Qiu Huanian’s home was surrounded by neighbors in every direction, making it impossible to take action.

Qiu Fu smirked. “No rush. Three days from now is Qingming. Every household will be out visiting ancestral graves. The people of Du Village won’t be watching him all the time—we’ll find our chance to act.”