042 Silver Is Most Regretted When Needed

Entering the teahouse, I headed straight to the second floor and chose a seat by the window.

“Honored guest, what would you like?” The waiter appeared before me, bowing low with deference.

“Just bring me your finest tea,” I replied with a smile. In my mind, I was still accustomed to the likes of West Lake Dragon Well and Biluochun from the modern world—mid- to high-grade teas. I had no idea if such varieties existed in this imagined era, nor did I care enough to ask.

I have always been a lover of tea, yet in another sense, not a true connoisseur—I cannot remember the names or methods of preparation, but I can always distinguish good tea from bad. Much like someone tone-deaf who cannot carry a tune, yet can recognize perfect pitch. I often wonder if this is a wasted gift or simply an extreme case of lopsided talent.

I hadn’t expected to uncover any news here; nothing significant had happened recently, after all.

The tea soon arrived. I took a sip—it was excellent, but lacked the flavor I remembered from the Kingdom of Lingyun. Perhaps it is my own state of mind that has changed, and with it, everything else, including my senses.

Let this moment be a small celebration of my newfound freedom. To have escaped the General’s Manor, to no longer be a mere maid—dressed in men’s clothes, I could almost pass for a handsome young gentleman, if not for my stature, which had yet to fully fill out.

Lost in thought, my gaze drifted to a shop across the street.

The shop was in disrepair, its sign faded but still just legible: Golden Jade Workshop.

I’d seen struggling businesses before, but never one so desolate. Occasionally a woman would step inside, only to turn right around and leave. Some, upon seeing the battered, precarious wooden door, didn’t even bother to enter.

Though two streets away from the city’s most bustling district, it was still on the fringe of prosperity. Why, then, was business so dismal? My curiosity was piqued as I watched for a while, but the situation remained unchanged.

“Waiter.” I beckoned him over, deciding to ask.

“Yes, honored guest, how may I serve you?”

“That Golden Jade Workshop across the way—why is it so deserted?”

“You must be from out of town, sir. That explains it. The Golden Jade Workshop belongs to Old Jin, passed down through his family. But the place is ill-fated—two people have died there before, and gradually, people stopped going. On top of that, Old Jin’s wife is bedridden with illness. It seems he’s trying to sell the place, but no one wants to buy a place so steeped in misfortune, so he just keeps it open. Sigh, even our teahouse across the street has suffered no small impact…”

To prevent the waiter from launching into a lengthy tirade, I handed over some silver and left the teahouse.

A place marked by bad luck? That only made me more determined to take a look.

Having no better prospects at the moment, if I could acquire that shop, I’d never have to be a maid again. In any era, a woman who owns her own business is to be admired—a daughter ought to rely on herself.

The moment I stepped inside, a miasma of gloom and decay greeted me.

No one came to welcome me. Only an old man sat in the corner, a pipe dangling from his lips—surely the legendary Old Jin.

“Master Jin.” I bowed slightly.

He looked astonished; perhaps no one had ever addressed him so respectfully. His pipe nearly fell, and I hurried to steady it for him.

“Young master, is there something I can help you with?” he croaked.

“I’d like to take over your shop,” I said directly.

“One thousand taels,” he replied, eyes gleaming with hope—he hadn’t expected this decrepit shop could actually be sold.

“I can’t produce that much silver at once. I want to buy your shop, but I’d like to keep you on as the master craftsman.”

“In that case, eight hundred taels.” He was tempted—who wouldn’t want a steady job?

“I heard your wife is ill. If I can make this business work and you remain as my master craftsman, I’ll ensure she receives treatment for as long as you stay.”

He tossed his pipe to the floor, gritted his teeth, and held up five fingers. “Five hundred taels. That’s the lowest I can go. I can see you’re sincere, but my wife’s illness requires urgent funds.”

“In that case, give me three days. I’ll return once I’ve raised the silver.”

I left with a flourish, but as I reached the door, I heard Old Jin’s voice behind me.

“Will you really come back? My wife’s life depends on that silver.”

“I will,” I promised, my voice unwavering.

I strode out resolutely, but as I crossed the threshold, I nearly smacked my own forehead in frustration. Why had I agreed so readily? Where on earth was I going to find five hundred taels? Five hundred taels!

Back at the inn, I gathered all my possessions and counted my silver carefully—at most, I had sixty taels.

That was everything I’d saved as a maid—my wages and rewards, most of which had come from Yun Heng.

I couldn’t help but cry out to the heavens at my own foolishness. Why hadn’t I thought to get more from Yun Heng before leaving?

You only regret not having enough silver when you need it most. Even if I sold myself, I couldn’t raise that much silver—and of course, selling myself was out of the question.

Suddenly, inspiration struck. There was one more place to try—the moneylender. Perhaps I could raise some funds there.

Despite my worries, I felt freer than I ever had at the General’s Manor, where every step required caution and I was forced to endure the presence of people I wished never to see again—Yun Rong and Concubine Qiao. As for Wan Chun, I wasn’t sure if I’d miss her; perhaps I hadn’t been gone long enough.

But I did deeply miss my younger brother and Ah Fu—it had been over half a year since I’d last seen them.