Chapter 4

Song Sanlang’s past life had been full of twists and turns; naturally, he was neither a simple man nor a tender-hearted, purely virtuous soul. He felt a stronger sense of belonging to his own immediate family than to the entire Song clan.

In truth, he wasn’t particularly interested in bearing all the burdens for the original owner. He took care of his wife and children simply because he wanted to and was willing to—it had nothing to do with others.

Therefore, unlike the previous Song Sanlang, he wouldn’t obediently hand over all the money he earned. If his eldest and second brothers contributed a certain amount, he would give the same, leaving the rest to be managed by Xiuniang to buy things his wife and son liked.

Madam Xu knew that the honest third son had become a bit selfish, but which of the three sons didn’t have some selfishness? After all, the eldest and second sons had spent the most money on their studies and imperial exams over the years. Later, when they secured official positions, their earnings barely covered their own household expenses.

In contrast, the third son had contributed greatly to repaying the family’s debts over these years. Now that he had a son of his own, it was only natural for him to want to save some private money.

The eldest and second sons had taken advantage of their younger brother for so many years, and now that they each had their own families, it was unreasonable to expect the third brother to support them all.

Thus, the couple had managed to save some silver over the past few years.

Song Sanlang confidently declared he would give his son better pastries. Xiuniang worried about the money but softened at the thought that it was being spent on their own child.

As the couple headed toward the pastry shop, they passed by a medicine hall named Erjitang. Xiuniang quickly pulled her husband aside, saying, “Sanlang, it was here that I brought Ruige last time when he was ill. The doctor here specializes in treating children and is very skilled.”

Seeing many adults with children coming and going at the door of the medicine hall, Song Sanlang nodded and followed Xiuniang inside.

After waiting in line for a while, it was their turn. Song Jingchen grew restless. The sight of the medicine hall reminded him of the dark, bitter decoctions his brother had taken during illness. Once, out of curiosity, he had tasted some and found it unbearably bitter.

The old doctor with a goatee first examined the child. Seeing his rosy lips, white teeth, lively and bright eyes, and a pink, moist tongue, he decided there was no need to check the pulse. He already had an idea—the child had no significant illness.

Still, to be thorough, he carefully inquired about the child’s daily life, took his pulse, and then smiled warmly:

“Your son is perfectly fine. At this stage, most children exhibit similar symptoms; it’s nothing serious. If your family’s resources permit, supplement his diet with more bones and meat, preferably beef; fish and shrimp are also good.”

“But your son’s condition is mild; even without supplements, it won’t have much impact,” the doctor added after noticing their modest attire.

Song Jingchen listened intently, his eyes shining. He thought to himself how fortunate it was to have such an illness—if it couldn’t be cured, he’d get to eat meat every day!

Hearing the doctor’s words, the couple both breathed a sigh of relief. Song Sanlang, a little uneasy, asked, “This child seems especially fond of food.”

The doctor chuckled, “Being fond of food is good. At this age, children grow rapidly and consume a lot of energy. Just look at his rosy complexion and shiny skin—he’s very healthy.”

“If you really want to cure this ‘problem,’ just let him eat whatever he especially loves, as much as he wants.”

Song Sanlang was speechless.

Upon leaving the medicine hall, Song Jingchen’s sharp eyes caught sight of a large pastry shop diagonally across the street. He eagerly said, “Father, look! Let’s buy pastries from there.”

Xiuniang, seeing the grand storefront, wanted to back out, but the father and son had already gone inside, so she had no choice but to follow.

The pastries in the shop were naturally different from those sold on the street stalls—both in craftsmanship and ingredients. Even the wrapping paper was more refined, clearly indicating prices beyond their means.

Song Jingchen couldn’t help but swallow. Tugging at his father’s sleeve, he whispered, “Father, won’t this cost a lot of silver? Maybe we should buy from outside instead; it’s not worth it here.”

Since he was little, the child understood what he could have, what he couldn’t, and what he wasn’t even allowed to dream of.

Holding his son’s small hand, Song Sanlang said, “It’s fine. I earned quite a bit this time; there’s enough for you.”

Song Jingchen replied, “Then you must have worked even harder to get more money. It’s so hot today; Father must be very tired. I don’t want pastries anymore.”

He added, “Father works so hard, and the pastries are so expensive. They wouldn’t even taste good anymore. Let’s go.”

Dragging his parents toward the door, Song Jingchen left Song Sanlang utterly speechless.

That little rascal—sometimes naive, yet with a perceptive heart; sometimes clever, yet sometimes foolishly exasperating.

Song Sanlang picked up his son, saying, “Father has strength and isn’t afraid of hard work. Money isn’t something for a little child like you to worry about.”

He patted the boy’s belly gently. “Don’t worry, your little tummy won’t wear your father out. If you think I’m tired, when you grow up, you can buy pastries for your parents.”

To a child, the words “grow up” carry immense meaning, embodying all the hopes and dreams a child can imagine.

Growing up means being able to do anything, getting everything one desires.

Growing up is truly wonderful!

Song Jingchen was comforted by his father’s words. His little greedy stomach immediately took over again, and he stared unblinking at the pastries displayed in the compartments.

Xiuniang, eyes glistening with unshed tears, felt both heartache and amusement. She playfully covered their son’s eyes with her hand. Song Jingchen blushed and shyly buried his head in Song Sanlang’s neck, drawing smiles from the onlookers.

In front of the pastry counter was a small low table with four white porcelain plates, each holding various pastries cut into pieces about the size of broad beans. Beside them lay finely sharpened bamboo picks for sampling.

A small stool was thoughtfully placed nearby, clearly for children to sit and eat. The shop had painstakingly considered this detail, as most customers were well-off families who would hardly refuse their children a treat.

Seeing other children eating, Song Jingchen boldly stepped forward. The children ahead wore fine silks and sat with their maids and attendants, while shop assistants smiled and served them respectfully. They didn’t even glance at Song Jingchen.

He instinctively stepped back, waiting for them to finish.

He noticed that their way of eating was different from his, though he couldn’t pinpoint how. Still, he felt they were as precious as the pastries in the shop, naturally meant to sit there and enjoy such expensive treats.

He, on the other hand, felt like the cheap pastries sold on the street, only worthy of the inexpensive ones. Even if his father was willing to buy for him, he didn’t belong here.

Suddenly, he felt out of place standing there.

Just then, the young master sitting upright on a stool across the room glanced at him.

Song Jingchen didn’t know how to interpret that look, but he immediately sensed its complex meaning.

Tears streamed down the boy’s face. He turned and ran out of the shop, crying, “I don’t want to eat those lousy things in the shop! I want to go home! I want to go home... sob sob...”

Yun Niang anxiously said, “Jingchen, don’t cry. Tell your mother what happened. Did someone bully you?”

The market was crowded and noisy, with human traffickers not uncommon. Song Sanlang hadn’t taken his eyes off his son even once while inside, and upon recalling the scene, he understood what had happened.

The child was growing up and had developed pride.

After coaxing their son for quite some time, the couple finally calmed him down. The weather was hot, and the boy had cried himself hoarse. Song Sanlang patted his back tenderly.

Song Jingchen, drooping against his father’s shoulder, began to ponder life’s great question for the first time.

—When he grew up, he would be a great merchant with endless silver, able to buy the entire pastry shop. No, he would buy every pastry shop on this street, in the whole capital city of Luoyang.

No need for samples; he would let all children like him eat as much as they wanted, as freely as they wished.

After what had just happened, Song Jingchen no longer desired even his beloved big watermelon. He only wanted to go home.

Song Sanlang knew this mood would pass and that his son would want to eat again soon. At the fruit stand, he didn’t hesitate over the price and had the vendor pick out a watermelon, placing it in the basket.

The vendor was slightly surprised. Watermelon was a rare novelty introduced from abroad only a couple of years ago. Ordinary families could only afford to buy a slice to eat on the spot.

But this customer was straightforward, carrying the whole watermelon away without haggling. It was the first time the vendor had seen someone carry a whole watermelon home in a basket—usually, people with such purchases came by carriage. Carrying it on foot was quite a feat.

Song Sanlang pretended not to notice, holding his son in one arm and the basket with the other, heading out with Yun Niang.

Song Jingchen glanced at the large watermelon and, being sensible, tried to get down from his father’s arms. Song Sanlang didn’t loosen his hold, saying, “You and your mother together, I can still carry you both.”

Song Jingchen believed this wholeheartedly. His father could easily carry a big log like that by himself.

That morning had been a trying one for Song Sanlang. He knew his son hadn’t cried because they were poor but because he felt the vast gulf between poverty and wealth, sensing his own insecurity.

The eldest and second sisters-in-law always seemed superior to Xiuniang, but that was only because they strongly identified with their status, while Xiuniang lacked confidence in her own origins.

Though the son would eventually understand that what he envied was nothing extraordinary, he needed the right to experience it himself—only by having possessed something could he truly look down on it. Song Sanlang could not spare Xiuniang and his child from feeling disdain.

In his past life, he had never lacked money and was ignorant of how to make it. He had started from a position of power and had never needed to climb his way up step by step like others.

At this moment, he truly did not know where to begin to change their circumstances.