Not long after Liu Hu left, a scrawny figure slipped into the tavern.

“Brother Jin, what did Master Hu say?” Skinny Monkey grabbed the bottle, the remaining Lotus White sloshing noisily as he gleefully took a swig.

Jin Fugui pushed the peanuts over, his face visibly grim. “Master Hu didn’t say much. We’ll handle this ourselves. A little Xiangzi—think we can’t deal with him?”

Skinny Monkey caught the meaning in those words, his heart skipping a beat. A few peanuts fell from his palm onto the table as he stammered, “Brother Jin? Just us?”

He was thinking of the mining route’s recent activity. Forget the others—just Uncle Jie alone could handle ten of him!

Jin Fugui raised a brow and asked coldly, “What, Monkey, you scared?”

“No way!” Skinny Monkey puffed out his chest, his face flushing red. “I, Monkey, swore brotherhood with you, Brother Jin. These years, I’ve eaten well and lived large thanks to you. How could I be scared?”

“It’s just a lousy life!”

Jin Fugui’s expression softened, and he nodded. “Don’t worry. As long as we find a chance to take care of Xiangzi, the business can go on. I’ll give you an extra half share!”

At those words, Skinny Monkey’s eyes lit up.

Good heavens, an extra half share of the profits from smuggling five-color ore?

That was at least ten silver dollars!

Skinny Monkey’s mouth wouldn’t close.

Seeing his reaction, Jin Fugui wasn’t entirely reassured. He cautioned, “Those folks outside the city—you’ve arranged everything with them?”

On serious matters, Skinny Monkey sobered up, nodding eagerly. “Brother Jin, set your mind at ease. I’ve got it all sorted!”

He bit down hard on the word “sorted.”

Jin Fugui knew this kid’s schemes all too well. He pulled a few more silver dollars from his pocket, adding them to the ones Liu Hu left, making ten in total.

He frowned. “Monkey, stay away from places like the Four Seas Gambling Den for a few days.”

Skinny Monkey grinned, his hand reaching for the coins but pausing.

Glancing at Jin Fugui, he asked softly, “Brother Jin, it’s been a while since we’ve done that business. You must be a bit tight on cash too, right? Especially with a sick one at home.”

“You little dog, worrying about me now?” Jin Fugui scoffed, feigning a move to take back the coins.

Skinny Monkey, assuming Jin had his own ways, chuckled and pocketed the silver.

After Skinny Monkey left, Jin Fugui drained the remaining liquor alone, not leaving a single peanut.

Lifting the curtain, he strode out, but a voice called from behind, “Master Jin, please wait.”

The tavern owner, wearing a melon-shaped cap, chased after him with a fawning smile. “Master Jin, this month you’ve racked up fourteen silver dollars. We’re just a small business…”

Jin Fugui’s ears burned. He dug out the last two silver dollars from his pocket and tossed them over. “Old Chen, I’ll settle the rest in a few days!”

In the latter half of the night, the crescent moon had set, and the sun hadn’t yet risen, leaving only a swath of dark blue sky.

Jin Fugui pushed open his door.

The Jin household was small, visible from end to end at a glance.

A greasy oil lamp cast a pale, bluish light.

“Master, you’re back. There’s some flatbread left from last night. Shall I heat it up for you?” A haggard-looking woman, dozing at the table, stirred at the sound and stood quickly.

Jin Fugui’s expression softened. “Why aren’t you asleep? I told you not to wait up.”

The woman, bare of makeup, stepped forward to help him out of his outer robe, a faint smile revealing traces of her youthful beauty. “Master, I’ve nothing else to do. Couldn’t sleep anyway, and I need to brew medicine for Yue’er.”

Jin Fugui was about to say something when a coughing fit came from the inner room.

It was soft but clear, like air leaking from a broken bellows.

The coughs grew louder, carrying a heart-wrenching edge.

The woman lowered her eyes, her face wooden, waiting for the fit to pass before fetching a porcelain bowl from the back.

The bowl held a viscous, dark liquid, reeking of a sharp, medicinal odor.

After the little girl in the inner room drank the medicine, her coughing gradually subsided.

Jin Fugui kept his head down, his face unreadable, and went to the back kitchen, rummaging through the clay pot brewing the medicine.

The pot simmered on low heat, bubbling softly.

Jin Fugui’s brows furrowed. “This medicine… it’s almost gone?”

In the dim candlelight, the woman’s shadow paused before she answered, “Master, there’s one last packet. It should last two more days.”

Jin Fugui said nothing, first checking on the restless little girl in the inner room. When he came back out, he held a gleaming short spear in his hand.

The spear’s shaft was made of sinewy wood, polished to a glossy sheen from years of handling.

The spearhead, forged from hundred-fold steel, glinted coldly in the candlelight.

Though used for over a decade, the spear remained pristine due to its owner’s careful maintenance.

“Tomorrow, take this spear to the Li Family Pawnshop. It should fetch about twenty silver dollars. That’ll cover Yue’er’s medicine this month.”

Jin Fugui placed the spear on the table.

The woman froze, her voice trembling with a hint of tears. “Master, Yue’er’s been holding on for years. Missing a little medicine won’t matter.”

She knew how much this spear meant to her husband, and she knew their expenses— Yue’er’s monthly medicine alone cost nearly twenty silver dollars.

The doctor had been clear: only a concoction of demon beast meat mixed with demon beast bone powder could sustain Yue’er’s life.

She knew how much her husband earned at the rickshaw yard.

These years, she’d never dared—or wanted—to think about how he managed to come up with the money.

But she knew, the moment that spear was placed on the table, her husband had reached a dead end.

“What nonsense are you spouting? The medicine works, so Yue’er must keep taking it.”

Lately, with so many troubles weighing on him, Jin Fugui was growing irritable.

“Master,” the woman fell to her knees, crying out for the first time in years. “Yue’er… Yue’er has tuberculosis. She can’t be saved!”

The word “tuberculosis” ignited a spark of nameless fury in Jin Fugui. His large hand slammed the table with a crack. “Damn your nonsense!”

The woman didn’t argue, only knelt, wiping tears endlessly.

Perhaps the noise was too loud, as the coughing started again from the inner room.

The sound grew clearer, like a bucket of cold water dousing the fire in Jin Fugui’s heart.

It was a long while before the coughing subsided.

Jin Fugui lifted his wife from the floor, too drained to speak further.

She held back her tears, forcing a smile. “Master, I heard from Auntie Zhang that they caught a revolutionary a few days ago. He’s to be beheaded at the market square tomorrow morning.”

Her eyes brightened. “They say dipping a steamed bun in the blood can help with tuberculosis!”

Jin Fugui wanted to say something, but seeing the rare spark in his wife’s face, he swallowed his words and nodded in agreement.

She was delighted, murmuring to herself about where to get a bun to catch the fresh blood at the market square tomorrow.

Jin Fugui watched his wife’s frail figure, slowly lowering his head.

When he stood again, his once-straight, spear-like spine seemed slightly hunched.

In the inner room, he gazed at his daughter’s sleeping face. He wanted to touch her small cheek but feared waking her. His hand trembled in midair before he held back.

Then he noticed the ink, brush, and paper on the nearby table, and a faint smile crept onto his face.

On the table were a few dog-eared booklets, with maple leaves tucked inside as bookmarks.

On a sheet of rice paper, the handwriting was delicate and precise, hardly the work of a nine-year-old child.

The old scholar next door had said that if Jin Yan Yue didn’t have tuberculosis, she’d surely grow up to be an extraordinary woman scholar!

Yes, his daughter’s name was Jin Yan Yue.

He’d chosen the name when she was born, paying a silver dollar to the old scholar next door for it.

The scholar said “Yue planted in the inkstone field” was a fine allusion. Jin Fugui didn’t understand it, but he remembered how his newborn daughter, clutching his hand, giggled that day.

At first, he’d been a bit disappointed that his wife hadn’t given him a son.

But that tiny, fuzzy-headed girl, with eyes curved like crescent moons, melted his heart.

Not to mention, Jin Yan Yue had been obedient and sensible since she was small. The neighbors all said Jin Fugui was blessed to have such a sweet, warm little daughter.

But the winds in South City were harsh.

At five years old, she contracted tuberculosis.