Surviving in the General's Mansion - Chapter 53

“Miss Xia, the general said the General’s Mansion of Northern Pacification does not spend a woman’s money,” Mo Qing said helplessly.

“No, I already said—”

“Apologizing won’t help. The general doesn’t want your money. Keep it.”

“All right. I understand.”

Xia Heng had never imagined she could fail to give money away.

Since Xia Yun delivered the dowry, she had tried to hand the money to Cang Chuli.

She had promised, and she still lived under him. Besides, carrying treasure invited disaster.

On the day she transmigrated, she had been meant to assassinate him. She had stopped herself, but she was still an inside agent, and then her father pressured her to locate the command seal—all right under Cang Chuli’s nose.

She wanted to buy safety, yet he refused every coin.

Not everyone was Xia Yun, coveting a woman’s dowry.

So Xia Heng handed Mo Qing her father’s letter instead.

Poor Xia Yun was still dreaming of becoming the general’s father-in-law and controlling the mansion. He did not know his daughter had sold him out completely.

The Xia men had raised girls through constant manipulation, sold daughters for advancement, and planted them as spies. They built everything on women, then beat and cursed those same women.

Xia Jinguang had given every one of his many concubine-born daughters to powerful men.

Xia Heng wanted to ask whether the men were incapable of surviving on their own.

Mo Qing read the letter, eyelid twitching.

He had never met a woman who displayed such hatred for her father without concealment.

He almost advised her to hide it lest people gossip. Then he remembered what those two old bastards in the Xia family had done and swallowed the words.

With a father like that, perhaps having none would be better.

After delivering the letter, Xia Heng sought Uncle Zhao.

He was in the rear courtyard watching a new building rise.

Those accursed black-clad attackers could have burned anything, yet chose his woodshed!

All that firewood—gone!

The rear woodshed supplied Young Master’s small kitchen and anyone in the mansion who wanted to cook for themselves. The public kitchen had its own.

Now even Uncle Zhao’s household could not cook separately.

For days, he had missed his wife’s millet congee with shredded radish and had to eat Old Xiang’s large buns and stir-fried beans.

Those attackers had died too quickly. Otherwise, he would have made them chop wood!

“Uncle Zhao!”

He had been wondering whether to work himself. These lads were too slow, but his padded coat was new. If it got dirty, his wife would have to take it apart and wash it. He had sold his old one to the Zhao sisters…

“Miss Xia?”

“The building is going up quickly!”

Zhao Fu, busy nearby, cast her a grateful look.

He was tired after every shift, yet his father dragged him here to supervise. Somehow supervising always turned into physical work.

If his elderly father were not angry because his teeth could not chew the public kitchen’s beans, Zhao Fu would have fled.

Beside the scorched ground, the new structure already had its frame, and masons were laying green brick.

Uncle Zhao finally felt less angry.

“Did you need me?”

“Yes. How far is Mount Qingcheng?”

“You’re going to retrieve your mother?”

He understood. Young Master had mentioned it.

“Have you chosen where to bury her?”

“Chuqing told me there is a public cemetery outside the capital where twenty taels buys a good plot.

“Mother married out, so she cannot return to the Hao ancestral grave. My grandparents died early, and the rest of the family no longer lives in the capital.

“I want to place her in the cemetery with a marker and offerings. It is better than the wilderness.”

Uncle Zhao nodded.

“That makes sense. It is called Fu’an Cemetery, and its feng shui is good.

“Choose the plot, then tell me. I’ll arrange everything.”

“Thank you! But there’s one small problem. It would be best to dig at night. For now, I don’t want my father to know…”

Xia Heng felt guilty. Grave digging was taboo, and asking them to do it at night sounded unreasonable.

Uncle Zhao waved calmly.

“Don’t worry. The General’s Mansion digs all its pits at night. We’ll deliver her there before dawn.”

Clearly, she still had much to learn.

“Nothing is happening today, and the general is away. Take this and go look with Chuqing.”

Uncle Zhao removed the pass token from his waist.

He had once thought poorly of the girl. Now he saw she merely had a hard life—her mother dead and a father worse than none.

With the token, Xia Heng found Chuqing.

She had seen it on their last outing. Without it, the side-gate guards would not let anyone leave.

Chuqing changed clothes and said, “I’ve used up the thread we bought last time. After we view the grave, come buy silk thread with me.”

Xia Heng agreed, looking at the man’s garment spread across her bed.

“You’re nearly finished. It’s good.”

She touched a corner.

“Hiss!”

She pulled back before her finger bled.

“Chuqing… how many needles did you use in this outfit?”

“Did one prick you? I didn’t count. I needed them to hold everything, and there were so many places to sew. Let me see.”

Xia Heng looked at the cotton and shook her head.

“Nothing. Mo Bai is fortunate to have you.”

Blushing, Chuqing punched her.

“Ah Heng! You only know how to tease! Won’t you make one for the general?”

The blow nearly made Xia Heng spit blood.

“No, no! I dare not entertain such thoughts!”

Chuqing tilted her head.

“Really? Why do I always feel something between you and the general is… strange?”

“You’re young. You don’t understand what it means to act friendly while secretly being at odds. I don’t blame you.”

How could Chuqing know Cang Chuli’s gaze alternated between *Kill her?* and *Interesting—wait a little longer*?

Only recently had Xia Heng felt slightly safer.

Only slightly.