After seeing off his eldest sister’s family, Tang Xianling found no time to rest. His brother-in-law had brought back a piece of meat—roughly two jin—after selling grain that morning. His sister had only been allowed a tiny scrap, and Tang Xianling hadn’t intended to cook it all anyway.

Four duck eggs were scrambled for lunch, so there was no way the meat could be used entirely.

Given the Tang family’s current circumstances—especially with Father Tang holding the purse strings—and with Father Tang in a deep, unresponsive sleep, refusing to relinquish control of the silver, the household relied entirely on stored provisions for food and drink. When Tang Xianling cooked lunch, he scooped the last grain clean from the rice jar, though there was still a little less than half a jar of coarse grain flour.

The only vegetables were a few scraps of Chinese cabbage, green onions, and garlic sprouting along the courtyard wall.

Mother and son weren’t starving, but they were barely scraping by.

The eldest sister had sent meat and half a sack of grain, about fifty jin, enough to last a while. Tang Xianling closed the door. Seeing Jiang Yun watching him, he said, “Mother, I’m going to the kitchen. It’s hot, and I need to prepare the meat our eldest sister sent.”

He didn’t know if Jiang Yun had noticed his ‘change’.

At noon, he chopped a piece of marbled pork belly into mince. Now over a pound remained, with little fat. Separating it to render pure lard wouldn’t yield much. Better to slice it all and boil it together. Sealing the slices in fat would preserve them longer; when eating, just scoop them out with a clean spoon.

Tang Xianling focused on rendering the meat while Jiang Yun kept coming in and out of the kitchen. Several times she seemed to want to say something to her fifth Wu-ger, but each time she’d leave carrying the pot of simmering medicine. Soon, the bitter scent of medicinal broth filled the courtyard.

Before the medicine was ready, muffled coughing and cursing echoed from the east wing.

Father Tang had awakened.

Jiang Yun wiped her hands on her skirt hem, hesitating before the side room door. She dared not enter. Tang Xianling noticed and said, “Mother, go pour the medicine. I’ll check on Father.”

“Alright, alright. You… be careful,” Jiang Yun cautioned.

Tang Xianling recalled the despair and death wish of Wu-ger in his dream, and strode purposefully toward the east room.

This room was relatively large and well-lit. Jiang Yun, who loved cleanliness, had swept it spotless, leaving no lingering odors. Father Tang lay on the bed, struggling to call out. Before he could speak clearly, a fit of coughing and gasping seized him, as if his throat were tearing at his lungs. He had been merely clinging to life, but seeing Tang Xianling enter, he seemed to find some relief. he suddenly found his voice.

“Get out,” Father Tang growled, propping himself up with one arm. “Useless fool, how dare you come in?”

Tang Xianling endured the scolding without flinching. Rolling up his sleeves, he wrung out a handkerchief and began wiping Father Tang’s hands and face. “Mother’s warming porridge. Father, drink it before taking your medicine.”

Father Tang opened his mouth to protest, but a cool cloth was pressed over his face. His son, with surprising strength, wiped his face vigorously. Father Tang, gasping for breath, tried to strike Wu-ger, but his arm lost its strength, and he collapsed back onto the bed.

“You ungrateful brat! Are you trying to kill me?”

“Father, I’m just wiping your face.” Tang Xianling helped his father back into bed, propped a pillow behind his waist, and murmured, “Wu-ger is still quite filial.”

He had truly felt a surge of anger just now.

Hearing Wu-ger boast about his own filial piety, Father Tang seethed with rage. His fingers trembled as they pointed at Wu-ger’s face, words stuttering out of his mouth. Though disjointed, it was clear he was cursing Wu-ger as a bastard, a useless, hopeless piece of trash.

“…The Tang family has brought misfortune upon itself, and you’ve ruined it completely. We should have drowned you at birth.”

Tang Xianling frowned, a chill deepening in his eyes. He said, “The Tang family’s current plight—should we blame me or your greed? You wanted everything, yet demanded it all back. Wu-ger followed your every command. You fell victim to Xiucai Hu’s schemes, bringing ruin upon the Tang family. Now you shift all the blame onto him. Had the Tang family prospered through Xiucai Hu, would you claim foresight then? Wu-ger spent his entire life under your control, obeying your every command. Is that not filial piety? Yesterday, with his fever raging, he blamed only himself for his failure—not you, not Mother—until his dying breath…”

Jiang Yun, hearing this outside the door, hurried in. Setting down the bowl of porridge, she first soothed Father Tang, then ushered Wu-ger out. “Say less, don’t upset your father.”

“Wu-ger passed away last night,” Tang Xianling said calmly.

Jiang Yun froze, unable to think of what to say. From the bed, Father Tang cursed, “Serves you right! Why didn’t you die sooner? You should have died earlier! If my fourth son were still here…”

Tang Xianling turned and left.

He wanted noodle soup.

From the east room came Father Tang’s curses—first at Wu-ger, then at Jiang Yun. Jiang Yun meekly murmured in agreement. The voices and words intertwined, slowly fading into the distance. Tang Xianling slipped into the kitchen and began kneading dough.

The half sack of grain his brother-in-law had given them was sun-dried wheat flour. Since it was meant for the grain shop, it was cleaned very thoroughly. Tang Xianling began kneading the dough, thinking about the Tang family’s affairs as he worked.

The wrongs and injustices Wu-ger had suffered—he had to get them back.

And whether Father Tang could just die already.

The Tang family had five children in total. The first three were girls. Father Tang had built this substantial food business from scratch, always longing for a son to carry on the family name. Jiang Yun’s womb never rested. The fourth pregnancy finally yielded a boy. Father Tang was overjoyed to have a son.

In those working-class days, when Father Tang closed his shop for a day, he set up banquet tables at the mutton soup and dumpling shop, inviting neighbors to celebrate his son’s full-month feast—a truly lavish expense.

Alas, the joy was short-lived. The fourth son died young, never even receiving a proper name.

Half a year later, Jiang Yun was pregnant again. Father Tang harbored deep hopes for this child. When the day of delivery arrived, the midwife announced it was a boy. Father Tang was overjoyed. This time, he busied himself choosing a proper name, declaring that the fourth son had been taken by evil spirits precisely because he lacked a proper name.

Since the Tang family ancestors had manifested their power to grant him a son, he named the child Tang Xianling.

For a month, Tang Xianling was cherished like a precious jewel. When the full-month celebration was held, Father Tang proudly showed off his son. But then, the steamed bun seller on the street stared at the infant in his swaddling clothes and exclaimed in surprise, “Old Tang, your son has a red mole hidden at the end of his eyebrow! Could it be you’ve made a mistake? This is a ger, isn’t it?”

In those days, whether a child was a ger or a boy, a red birthmark on the face was considered auspicious—the brighter and more prominent, the better. When Wu-ger was born, the midwife hadn’t seen the birthmark and mistakenly identified the baby as a boy.

A month later, the boy’s ger mark appeared at the end of his eyebrow.

Father Tang lost face before everyone. His joy turned to grief, and that very night, he tried to drown Wu-ger. He stormed about the house, shouting and cursing everyone.

His eldest sister, Tang Qiao, protected Wu-ger, while the second and third Sisters wept, creating a chaotic scene.

From then on, the name Tang Xianling was never used again. He became simply the nameless Wu-ger. Though Father Tang treated his three daughters kindly, he could not stand the sight of the fifth son. The boy never approached his father, yet deep down, he yearned for his father’s affection.

By the time Wu-ger reached seven or eight, Jiang Yun still showed no signs of pregnancy. The family traveled to a temple to pray for a son. The couple drew a fortune teller slip—a top-tier auspicious sign. Overjoyed, Father Tang pressed the temple attendant for a prediction on when he might have a son.

The priest declared that Father Tang was destined to have no sons in this lifetime, but that the fifth son in the family could change their fortune and attain wealth and prestige.

That year, Tang Qiao was about to marry. Hoping to ease Wu-ger’s life at home, she spread the priest’s interpretation of the fortune teller slip, implying that her younger brother Wu-ger was destined for great fortune.

Father Tang remained skeptical, yet harbored a hint of doubt.

Days passed. The three Tang sisters were married off within a few years. By the time Wu-ger reached seventeen, that single fortune slip and the Tang family’s modest wealth had drawn attention.

The one eyeing the Tang family was Xiucai Hu.

Tang Xianling thought of this, kneading the dough with such force he wished he could beat it to death as if it were Xiucai Hu. After venting his anger, he set the dough aside to rest.

He went out to the courtyard and pulled a few tender heads of Chinese cabbage and some scallions.

Damn it, Xiucai Hu was already thirty-six.

In ancient times, he was old enough to be the father of Wu-ger.

Xiucai Hu was a fallen scholar with mediocre learning. After a lifetime of exams, he’d only achieved the rank of Xiucai, and his family’s fortune had dwindled with each failed attempt. Hu Kang had a wife and children, though his wife had passed away from illness several years prior.

Tang Xianling gritted his teeth: “That Hu Kang is cursed! He brings misfortune to his wives!”

But Hu Kang had a silver tongue. Who knows what sweet talk he fed Father Tang—Tang Xianling sneered inwardly. Just painting a rosy picture, anyone could do that. Father Tang was dazzled by Hu Kang’s promises of a splendid future, convinced Hu Kang was a “stock with potential.” He decided to bring Hu Kang into the family as a son-in-law for his Wu-ger.

This Hu Kang was greedy and scheming. He argued: First, passing the imperial exams as a Xiucai while being a son-in-law would tarnish one’s reputation. Second, since the Tang family ran a merchant business, if he became part of the Tang clan, wouldn’t that disqualify him from taking the exams?

Father Tang wasn’t foolish either. He feared that even if he funded Hu Kang’s imperial studies, what benefit would it bring the Tang family if Hu Kang passed and rose to prominence?

The two men deliberated and finally drafted a ‘document’ as their agreement. Hu Kang presented it as a marriage, but in reality, it was a marriage into the family. Any children born would bear the Tang surname.

Father Tang believed it and arranged a wedding for Wu-ger with much fanfare.

From start to finish, no one ever asked Wu-ger if he wished to marry.

Tang Xianling was right to call Hu Kang heartless—he wasn’t wrong. This man, like Father Tang, was insatiably greedy, wanting it all. But he thought even further ahead than Father Tang ever did. He’d already planned how to ditch the entire Tang family once he passed the Juren.

Seven grounds for repudiation, including childlessness.

Hu Kang’s late wife bore him children—both sons and daughters, yet he showed no interest in his offsprings. He came to the Tang household to study for the exams, never once touching Wu-ger, only to later repudiate him on the grounds of childlessness.

Recalling Hu Kang’s appearance and build, Tang Xianling saw a gaunt, hollowed-out old man in his forties. His voice turned cold: “What a vile, impotent man! Ugh!”

Hu Kang took over twenty years to pass the Xiucai examination. He’d assumed he’d be in his forties or fifties by the time he passed the provincial examination. But after marrying Wu-ger, he took the Autumn Imperial Exam last August—and actually passed.

Fengyuan City served as the prefectural capital of Xidu Province, equivalent to a modern provincial capital. All Xiucai from the four counties under Xidu Province had to travel to Fengyuan City to take the provincial examinations for the juren degree.

In the days that followed, neighbors and acquaintances flocked to the Tang household to offer congratulations. Father Tang beamed with pride, dreaming of a life of leisure as the father of an official, ready to close his shop and retire.

But great joy was followed by great sorrow.

In October, Hu Kang arrived at the Tang household. He completely disregarded his status as a son-in-law by marriage. Through a barrage of threats, bribes, and relentless pressure, he demanded the divorce of Wu-ger. He even declared that if Father Tang played his cards right and waited for him to take office, the Tang family would surely reap benefits. Otherwise, well… he warned, “You know, people never win against officials.”

Father Tang was a spineless weakling—submissive to outsiders yet venting his rage on women and children.

He was genuinely intimidated by Hu Kang.

Watching his dream of elevating the Tang family’s status vanish before his eyes, Father Tang was consumed by anger. Frantic and enraged, he spat out a mouthful of blood the moment Hu Kang left. Within days, he caught a severe cold, showing faint signs of a stroke.

Father Tang, lacking foresight, had staked the Tang family’s future on Wu-ger. After scheming in vain and seeing his plans collapse, he blamed it all on Wu-ger.

Had Wu-ger been a son, would he have schemed so desperately?

Had his fourth son been here, the Tang family wouldn’t have fallen so low.

Tang Xianling, hearing the incessant soul-calling from the east room, could bear it no longer. He flung open the kitchen curtain and charged toward the east room, practically storming in. The door slammed open with a bang. Jiang Yun, seeing Wu-ger’s fierce demeanor, shrank back in fright.

“Wu-ger, what… what are you doing? Your father was just… foolish—”

Tang Xianling snapped, “He’s narrow-minded yet obsessed with appearances! You’re too spineless to protect your own child, letting him ruin Wu-ger’s entire life! That scum Hu Kang—he studies and pursues officialdom for his reputation! If he had any guts, he’d throw caution to the wind, make a scene without caring about shame, and take it straight to the magistrate! He’d risk being flayed alive if it meant exposing Hu Kang’s true colors! What would the Tang family have to fear at this point? We’d make sure Hu Kang’s official status was revoked.“

”What do you mean, officials protecting each other? Who does Hu Kang think he is? He just passed the provincial exams—he hasn’t even touched an official’s ass yet. What’s there to fear?”

After berating Father Tang on the bed, Tang Xianling turned away, offering Jiang Yun no kindness either.

“Hu Kang is dead. The Hu family owes the Tang family and owes Wu-ger. Yet you, when the Hu family came crying, you took pity on their widow and orphan and gave them silver to send them away. What? Has Wu-ger wronged the Hu family? You’ve got pig fat clouding your brain, haven’t you? You won’t protect your own child, but you go out of your way to protect the Hu family?“

”I wish I could chop Hu Kang into pieces and feed him to the dogs!“

”At least he died young.”

After scolding his Father Tang and Jiang Yun, Tang Xianling was finally sober enough to roll out the dough.

The east room fell silent. This time, even Father Tang didn’t utter a word of protest. Perhaps he’d been stunned dumb by Wu-ger’s unexpected outburst.

Tang Xianling kneaded the freshly risen dough.

Perhaps evil begets retribution, and Heaven sees all. By year’s end, the overjoyed Hu Kang passed out drunk at a banquet and never woke again—dead as a doornail.

This should have been cause for celebration for the Tang family—finally, a chance to vent their pent-up anger. Father Tang, who had long shown signs of an impending stroke, was overjoyed upon hearing the news. He drank heavily, only to suffer a tragic turn of events: he fell asleep and never woke again, completely paralyzed.

Earlier, the Tang family had rented out half their courtyard, living off past savings. When the Hu family came crying later that year, Jiang Yun—foolish and soft-hearted—thought, “The dead are dead; respect the deceased.” Seeing the Hu family’s elderly mother in her sixties, pitifully bringing her grandson, she gave the old woman some silver.

This only stirred up a mess.

The Hu family, having received the money, became relentlessly clingy.

Tang Xianling was speechless: This was just what they deserved. The Hu family had bullied the Tang family to this extent, yet not a single member of the Tang family showed any backbone. The Hu family, seeing this, naturally seized the opportunity to bleed the Tang family dry—after all, there was no downside.

What nonsense about respecting the dead? If he had his way, the Tangs should have dug up Hu Kang’s grave or hired a troupe to make a racket outside the Hus to vent their anger. Giving them money?

What a waste of time.

Perhaps Tang Xianling’s fury over his Wu-ger’s plight made his noodles exceptionally perfect—thin yet perfectly cooked, sliced into strips. Water boiled furiously in the stove pot. First, he ladled broth from the seasoning bowl, dissolving the sediment at the bottom. The broth was clear; adding noodles first would cloud it.

There were no chili peppers in the Rong Dynasty—what a pity.

Tang Xianling lamented the loss, then took out the pork lard rendered that afternoon. He placed some lard at the bottom of the bowl, then added soy sauce, chopped scallions, and salt. He poured the boiling water over it to dissolve the seasonings, dropped in the noodles, and the Chinese cabbage. Once the noodles were cooked, he stirred them with chopsticks. In the steamy haze, the noodles gleamed like white jade. A forkful settled at the bottom of the bowl, topped with tender, bright-green cabbage.

Scallions glistened on the surface, while the melted fat from the hot noodles and broth released its fragrance.

Tang Xianling sniffed the air, unable to wait any longer to dig in. Suddenly remembering something, he lifted his head and called out to the courtyard: “Mom, dinner’s ready!”

Jiang Yun, who had been hesitating in the courtyard, responded to the call. This time, she came in promptly, without any excuses about not being hungry or needing to be coaxed. She obediently carried her rice bowl over.

As the sun set, the small courtyard became a world of its own.

Tang Xianling stayed in the courtyard, bowl in hand, picking up a strand of noodles with his chopsticks and slipping it into his mouth. The noodles were firm and full of wheat flavor, making him curve his lips and eyes in satisfaction. What bliss.

In the east room.

Jiang Yun took a sip of the soup and was startled. How could her Wu-ger’s noodles taste so good? The flavor was truly different.

Father Tang finished his porridge, finding it tasteless and still hungry. Seeing Jiang Yun focused only on her own meal, he couldn’t help but curse. Jiang Yun set down her bowl and stammered, “Can you eat noodles? They’re hard to digest.”

Father Tang glared at her.

Jiang Yun dared not say more, picking out noodles to serve her husband instead.

Father Tang had been grumbling, but the moment the noodles touched his tongue, he froze. They were firm, the broth light yet fragrant. Had he not tasted the lard, he would have sworn Wu-ger had secretly learned the art of making mutton soup.

This broth, seasoned with lard, was no less flavorful than the Tang family’s mutton soup.

Father Tang’s expression twisted into a strange grimace as he pondered something. After a few bites, he stopped eating.

He couldn’t eat anymore.