Over the next several days, Fan Changyu threw herself into slaughtering pigs, making braised meats, and selling pork.

The braised offal at her shop was a feast for the eyes, nose, and palate, and she had always been giving it away as a little extra with purchases. No other shop on the entire street could compete with hers.

Some customers who failed to get meat from her shop that day would rather wait until the next day to buy it. For several days in a row, Fan Changyu’s shop slaughtered two pigs a day, and every last bit of meat was sold.

Such booming business naturally made every butcher on the street green with envy. Seeing all his customers flocking to Fan Changyu’s shop, Butcher Guo became disgruntled again. Shamelessly, he shouted that giving away extras only added to the burden of running a butcher shop, and urged everyone to stop doing it.

The others looked down on Butcher Guo’s behavior, but it was also a fact that Fan Changyu had drawn away most of the customers by giving away the extras. Though they did not openly voice their support, they more or less tacitly agreed with Butcher Guo’s suggestion.

Fan Changyu good-naturedly agreed that everyone should stop giving away extras.

It wasn’t that she was easy to push around. Rather, by now, the reputation of Fan’s Braised Meats had already spread far and wide. She simply had no need to rely on giving away extras to attract customers anymore. After all, the offal she had painstakingly cleaned was worth twenty wen a jin once it had been braised. Why give it away when she could sell it?

Better to do the others a favor. After all, they were all doing business on the same street; they would be seeing each other every day.

This comes from 抬头不见低头见 (táitóu bú jiàn dītóu jiàn): Literally, “whether you raise your head or lower it, you'll see [each other].” It is a common colloquial expression meaning that people who live or work in the same place are bound to encounter one another repeatedly. It is often used when advising someone not to make relations unnecessarily hostile.

Everyone on the street waited eagerly for business to return to the way it had been before. Who would have thought that after Fan Changyu stopped giving away extras, business at her shop, although no longer as frenzied as before, was still the best on the entire street?

In fact, now that word of her braised meats had spread, people from the town no longer bothered going to the street where cooked-food vendors sold their wares. They came all the way to Fan Changyu’s shop specifically to buy braised meat.

There were simply too many customers for her supply of braised meats to keep up with demand. In the end, Fan Changyu set up a large pot outside the butcher shop. The meat braised the previous night was sold from the chopping board, while fresh batches were braised and cooked right there in the large pot.

This unintentional move unexpectedly took the braised-meat business to an even higher level.

The aroma was simply irresistible. The brine bubbled and simmered merrily in the pot, while the thoroughly cleaned pig’s head and pork offal emerged from it coated in a beautiful glossy, soy-brown color. The star anise, fragrant leaves, dried citrus peel, and other spices used in the brine were all clearly visible.

Everyone passing through the market was drawn in by the aroma and came over to ask how much it cost.

With the meat being braised fresh and sold right there, customers could see that the pot was filled with genuine ingredients. Even when bargaining, they weren’t nearly as aggressive as they had been when she was simply selling pre-cooked meat.

Once she had sold all the pig heads from her own slaughtered pigs, Fan Changyu began going to the neighboring butcher shops to buy a few pig heads so she could clean them and braise them right there, rather than letting that pot of braising liquid go to waste.

At the height of business, her shop could sell seven or eight braised pig heads in a single day.

Fresh pig heads sold for twenty wen per jin at the market. Once braised, the pig heads and pig ears together worked out to roughly fifty wen per jin. Each pig head weighed around six or seven jin (3-3.5 kg), meaning that for every braised pig head she sold, she could make a net profit of at least 180 wen.

Selling seven or eight of them brought in around 1,500 wen, and the fresh pork alone could net her another string of wen (= 1000 wen). That meant her daily income was now fairly stable at around two strings of coins (2000 wen).

With her money pouch growing steadily heavier, Fan Changyu was feeling flush enough that she decided to make a new set of clothes for everyone in the family.

First, she went to the pawnshop to redeem the hairpin she had pawned. But when the shopkeeper saw her, he gave an awkward, sheepish smile: “That hairpin has already been sold…”

Fan Changyu immediately grew anxious. “Didn’t I tell you to keep it for me first?”

The shopkeeper said helplessly, “Well… who comes into my shop to pawn something without saying that? How could I possibly hold on to everything for all these people? I have a family to support too!”

Fan Changyu pressed her lips together and apologized. Then she asked, “Then do you remember who bought the hairpin?”

The shopkeeper thought for a moment before saying, “A young lady bought it the very day you pawned it. She was dressed very smartly! Looked like she came from the county town.”

Fan Changyu’s heart sank to the bottom.

Qingping County wasn’t exactly large, but neither was it small. Finding a complete stranger would be easier said than done. It seemed there was little hope of getting the hairpin back.

Seeing the look on her face, the shopkeeper began hawking the other jewelry in his display case.

“Why don’t you take a look at this hairpin? It’s silver too, and the design is even prettier than yours!”

Fan Changyu said nothing and left the pawnshop.

Outside, the wind and snow were raging. She sat on the steps outside for a while, but still couldn’t shake the heaviness in her chest.

Although she had already known when she decided to pawn that silver hairpin, that she might never be able to get it back, now that possibility had become a reality, she still couldn’t help feeling a little sad.

The hairpin her parents had bought for her when she came of age was gone.

Fan Changyu wiped her eyes awkwardly and walked home with her head hanging dejectedly.

The alley in the western part of the city was particularly lively at the moment. It wasn’t because of any other event—the Song family was moving away.

Of everyone in Qingping County who had passed the provincial-level examination and became a Juren this year, Song Yan was the only one. Even the county magistrate had personally invited him to his home for a meal, while the local gentry and wealthy merchants were even more eager to curry favor with him.

The county magistrate had designated a residence in the county town for Song Yan, publicly claiming that it was to provide him with better conditions for his studies, so that he could pass the imperial examination to become a Jinshi and bring glory to the entire Qingping County.

进士(jìnshì): The highest degree in China's traditional imperial examination system, obtained through the metropolitan and palace examinations. A jinshi was eligible for prestigious positions in the imperial bureaucracy.

The residence was apparently ready, so Song Yan and his mother had chosen today to move in.

A Juren had come from this very alley. Regardless of how badly the Fan and Song families had fallen out, the other neighbors were still unwilling to completely sever relations with the Song family, so everyone had come out today to see them off.

When Fan Changyu reached the entrance of the alley, she saw two rather grand blue-canopied horse carriages parked by the roadside. Walking farther in, she spotted the Song family’s mother and son standing outside their home, bidding farewell to their neighbors.

Song Yan wore a dark indigo robe, his tall figure standing straight and elegant. As he bowed with cupped hands and bade the villagers farewell, his gentle features were imbued with an unmistakable scholarly air.

Mother Song was dressed just as properly. Her hair had been slicked with hair oil and adorned with a gold hairpin. As she listened to one flattering compliment after another, she somehow still managed to squeeze out a few tears, putting on an air of reluctance to leave the place.

Fan Changyu was in no mood today. She simply pretended not to see the mother and son and skirted around the crowd toward her own home. Yet a man’s warm, cultured voice came from behind her: “Fan Guniang, please wait.”

Seeing him call out to Fan Changyu, everyone present couldn’t help but look at one another with varying expressions.

After the Fan and Song families had broken off the engagement, the two sides had practically become complete strangers. Fan Changyu had even taken a live-in husband, while Song Yan seemed to be on the verge of becoming the county magistrate’s son-in-law. What connection could he possibly still have with Fan Changyu?

Everyone present had their own thoughts. Some were curious, some were simply there to watch the spectacle, and some were hoping to pick up a bit of gossip.

Hearing Song Yan’s voice, Fan Changyu turned around and saw him walking toward her from the other end of the crowd, a brocade box held in his hands. He stopped three paces away from her.

He had a refined, scholarly appearance, and even his every movement carried an air of cultivation.

“Song Yan and One’s mother have lived here for many years, and your father took great care of us during that time. Song Yan has also never forgotten the kindness your father showed us in providing a coffin for my deceased father back then. Since we are moving to our new home today, please accept these as a small token of our gratitude.”

The brocade box was perfectly square, beautifully crafted, and rather large at that. No one could tell what might be inside.

Fan Changyu was so angry she could laugh. Ever since the Song family had broken off the engagement, whenever anything happened to the Fan family, the Song family had washed their hands of it completely. And now, on the very day they were moving away, Song Yan had brought out a box like this in front of all the neighbors—wasn’t he obviously putting on a show for everyone to see?

With open mockery on her face, she asked, “What’s this?”

Song Yan replied, “Just a small token of goodwill from Song Mou and One’s mother.”

某 (mǒu) literally means “a certain [person],” and in classical/formal Chinese, a person can use it to refer to themselves instead of saying 我 (“I”). This sounds much more formal and deliberate, almost like he's presenting himself publicly as a cultured gentleman.

Fan Changyu swung her hand backward, and the brocade box crashed to the ground. Ingots of silver tumbled out, one after another, and the onlookers collectively drew a sharp breath.

元宝 (yuánbǎo) — “silver ingots”, boat-shaped ingots of silver or gold used as currency in imperial China.

None of the people living in this alley were wealthy. Some might never have seen what a silver ingot actually looked like in their entire lives. Now, seeing all that gleaming silver scattered before them, they could finally say they’d had their eyes opened.

Mother Song immediately shrieked, “What do you think you’re doing?!”

She had always worked hard to maintain the appearance of a respectable official’s wife, and after all the flattery she’d received these past few days, Fan Changyu’s public humiliation of her came completely out of nowhere. The expression on her face was far beyond what the mere words “ugly” or “embarrassed” could describe.

官太太 (guǎn tàitai) is literally “official's wife.” It doesn't necessarily mean that she is the wife of a very high-ranking official (as his late husband was not an official). Rather, it evokes the social identity and appearance associated with being the wife of a government official.

Although she had changed into brocade clothes, years of hard work had left her short and gaunt, with little flesh on her face. Rather than filling out the fine clothes, her emaciation had made her high cheekbones stand out even more, accentuating the sharp, mean look of her features.

Fan Changyu sneered. “This gift from Song Juren is far too valuable. I absolutely wouldn’t dare accept it. When you brought that fortune-teller’s paper to me and demanded to break off our engagement, I didn’t take a single coin from the Song family. In fact, it was my father who paid for Song Lao Xiuchai’s coffin back then, and my father who later fronted the money for Song Juren’s studies. Yet some people who twist the truth and spread malicious gossip can even turn all that into my father’s supposed ‘small favors’—as though he had used them to force a Juren to marry the daughter of a butcher.”

秀才 (xiùcái) — passed the county/prefectural-level examinations; the first formal degree. Lao literally means Old, but it is used before someone's title, occupation, or surname as a familiar/respectful form of address. She’s referring to Song Yan’s father.

She gave a cold laugh. “My parents haven’t even been in the ground long. They can hardly bear such slander.”

Mother Song immediately put on a show of aggression despite her guilty conscience. “Those are things outsiders are saying. What does any of that have to do with us mother and son?”

Fan Changyu lowered her eyes to the silver ingots on the ground, the corners of her lips curling upward. “I never said you were the one who told those people to say such things. Why are you getting so worked up?”

Unable to withstand Fan Changyu’s provocation, and with so many neighbors watching, Mother Song’s face flushed red, then turned pale. She snapped, “What exactly are you trying to say?”

Fan Changyu said, “So that those malicious people won’t twist the truth again, I’d like all our neighbors to bear witness today. I absolutely wouldn’t dare accept these silver ingots from Song Juren. But my parents are gone, my younger sister is still young and frail, and my husband is covered in injuries and illness. My family is indeed desperately short of money. So today, I’ll settle the accounts with Song Juren. The money my father spent buying your family a coffin, and the tuition fees he advanced for you over those years—you won’t have any trouble paying every last penny back, will you?”

She smiled, her words carrying unmistakable sarcasm. “That way, Song Juren and Song Lao Furen won’t have to hear a few rumors and start thinking that my family is trying to use its past kindness to demand repayment. Like last time, when Fan Da brought people from the gambling den to smash up my home—when the auntie next door cried all the way to Song Juren’s door begging for help, she couldn’t even cry hard enough to get the Song family’s gates opened.”

No one else brought these things up. They merely served as a fig leaf for the Song family’s shame. Now that Fan Changyu had ripped it away in front of everyone, Mother Song’s expression could no longer be described as merely unpleasant. She glanced around at the neighbors’ barely concealed looks of disdain, feeling her face burn with humiliation. Fan Changyu’s words had practically amounted to pointing a finger at her nose and calling the Song family ungrateful.

The word used here was 遮羞布, which literally means “a cloth used to cover one's shame/nakedness.” Figuratively, it refers to something used to conceal an embarrassing truth or cover up wrongdoing.

Yan Ge’er was counting on becoming the top scholar one day. If this crude butcher’s daughter slandered him and ruined his future, it would practically be the death of her!

Mother Song trembled as she was about to speak, only to hear her son, who had remained silent all this while, say to the butcher’s daughter, “If you come to me for help, I won’t stand by and do nothing.”

“Yan Ge’er!” Mother Song rolled her eyes back, nearly fainting on the spot.

Fan Changyu frowned too, wondering what on earth Song Yan was thinking, saying something like that in front of everyone.

Before she could say anything, a soft, sweet voice came from outside the crowd.

“Jiefu, there are so many people!”

The man’s voice was distinctly cold. “Don’t run too far.”

Fan Changyu turned around and saw her younger sister standing at the entrance of their home, rising onto her toes to peer in this direction. The man had probably followed her out because he was afraid she’d wander over on her own to watch the commotion and get lost. His handsome brows remained tightly furrowed, as though he found the child troublesome.

He was wearing the same brownish-red robe he had worn on their wedding day. His long hair was simply tied back, and his wide sleeves hung down, concealing most of his single crutch. His brows and eyes were cool and aloof, his complexion pale as snow.

Half leaning against the doorway, he appeared completely at ease. Who knew how long he had been standing there, or how much of her conversation with the Song mother and son he had heard?

Fan Changyu’s gaze met his. There was no discernible emotion on his face. The corner of his lips seemed to lift—or perhaps not—but it certainly wasn’t quite a smile.