Chapter 64: Truly Dead Indeed

Chapter 64: She Really Is Dead

Wen Xi thought to himself that he had lived in the Wen family for so many years, always at the mercy of others. A person who had never made a choice, who could never control his own fate—what did he have to do with regret?

He glanced at Wen Liu, who was frantic and anxious, and shook his head calmly. "I'm not going."

"What did you say?" Wen Liu was stunned, as if he hadn't expected the refusal.

Wen Xi, assuming he hadn't heard clearly, repeated, "I said I'm not going." He turned his head away, unwilling to look at Wen Liu's face. "She's calling me back just to say a few more things to upset me before she goes. At this point, why should I keep making myself miserable for her?"

When it came to Li Qiaozhen, Wen Xi wasn't buying that old saying about deathbed confessions being sincere. He had grown up being abused by that woman. A woman who'd been vicious for decades—hoping she'd grow a conscience on her deathbed wasn't naive, it was just plain stupid.

She was bitter that he'd landed on his feet, and was probably cooking up some last nasty trick to pull on him. Wen Xi wasn't about to go out of his way to make himself sick over it.

Wen Liu refused to give up. "Don't you even wanna know what she's got to say? You're not even a little curious?"

Wen Xi turned his gaze back to Wen Liu. Wen Liu used to be the best-looking guy in the village—sharp dresser, loved his finery, always turning heads when he walked down the street. His face hadn't changed much, but he had a worn-down, beaten look about him now. A far cry from the old days.

Wen Xi didn't want to waste more words. "What's there to be curious about? Go back and tell her I already know everything there is to know. Tell her to save her breath."

Li Qiaozhen was just trying to use his origins to get under his skin one last time. Little did she know, he'd already figured it out from the clues ages ago.

He had a real home now. None of that stuff mattered to him anymore. Let the past go into the ground with Li Qiaozhen.

Before he came, Wen Liu had promised the dying Li Qiaozhen he'd drag Wen Xi back to see her one last time. He never figured Wen Xi would be this cold.

Eyes full of resentment, he spat, "She's still the mother who birthed and raised you. You won't even see her one last time—you're no son at all."

Wen Xi couldn't believe Wen Liu had the nerve to say that. How Wen Xi had grown up in that house—others might not know, but Wen Liu knew damn well. He'd fed off Wen Xi's blood all those years, and now he had the gall to preach at him.

Wen Xi had been a little annoyed, but at those words, every last bit of feeling drained out of him. "Whether she gave birth to me or not, she knows the truth herself. As for raising me—I worked like a dog for your family for years. Whatever scraps of kindness there were, tinier than a fingernail, got paid back long ago. If you wanna play the dutiful son, leave me out of it."

The old Wen Liu would've spewed all kinds of poison. But he didn't dare throw his weight around like before. For one thing, half the Yan family was standing right there, so he couldn't say anything nasty. For another, Wen Xi wasn't the pitiful punching bag he used to be. Seeing him looking so well and full of life, Wen Liu felt a weird knot in his stomach. He stood there for a moment, then finally turned and left.

Wen Liu trudged back to the Wen house. The sight of Li Qiaozhen's shriveled face brought the tears rushing back. His old man was a piece of trash, but his mother had truly loved him. The thought that he'd never have anyone in his corner again had him sobbing out loud.

Li Qiaozhen on the bed heard Wen Liu's sobs and slowly opened her eyes. She was barely conscious, eyes unfocused, like she couldn't even register that Wen Liu was crying. Her lips trembled, and she breathed faintly, "Has that little bastard... shown up yet..."

Wen Liu's lips moved, but in the end he shook his head. "He said he's not coming."

"Not coming... how the hell could he not come!" Li Qiaozhen seized Wen Liu's wrist with her last bit of strength. "Did you say what I told you?"

"Of course I did," Wen Liu said through tears. "He said he already knows whatever it is you wanna tell him, and said not to waste your breath. Ma, what exactly did you want to tell him?"

"He knows... how could he possibly know?" Li Qiaozhen trembled all over, her lips quivering as she tried to curse again, but her voice was trapped by the phlegm in her throat, unable to rise or fall.

Her eyes got wider and wider, her hands clawing desperately at the sheet. A moment later, her eyes stayed open, but the hands gripping the sheet went slack.

Wen Liu froze for a second, then reached out to check her breathing. He yanked his hand back and let out a wail: "Ma!"

Wen Shishan, dead drunk, stumbled in clutching a wine jar. At Wen Liu's wail, he sobered up halfway, and the jar hit the floor with a crash.

When Wen Liu went door to door spreading the news, it shook the whole village.

In everyone's memory, Li Qiaozhen was tough as nails. How could she just up and die like that?

The yamen guards knew how to swing their rods—there was no way they'd beat somebody to death.

Wen Xi was stunned when he heard. He'd figured Wen Liu was exaggerating, but turns out Li Qiaozhen really was on her last legs.

Even though the Yan and Wen families had cut ties, country folks all lived by the rule that the dead come first. No matter how bad the bad blood between the two families, it had to be set aside at a time like this.

Besides, Wen Xi had come out of that house. No matter how much he'd suffered, if he didn't show any respect when his mother died, folks would talk and point fingers behind his back.

Especially since Yan Fengan was a scholar—if this wasn't handled right, it could easily become ammunition for gossip.

So when Wen Liu came to deliver the news, Wen Xi changed into plain clothes and went with Chen Lanfang and the others to lend a hand.

When they got to the Wen family's courtyard, Shen Liang and a few other men were already setting up the mourning shed and the altar. Yan Shichang and his two sons didn't say much either, just rolled up their sleeves and pitched in. Once the shed was up, they went around borrowing tables and chairs from the neighbors.

Watching the three of them work so hard, folks praised them behind their backs, saying the Yans were good people—after everything, they still came to help. Not like those bastards in the Zhao family, who wouldn't even show their faces at their in-law's funeral.

While washing vegetables, Gou Sheng's mom said to Chen Lanfang, "Li Qiaozhen threw her weight around this village for years, and this is how she ends up—dead in her early forties, just like that."

"You know what really happened?" Li Qiaozhen's death had come too fast. It wasn't just outsiders—even Chen Lanfang couldn't hold back her curiosity.

Gou Sheng's mom glanced around, then lowered her voice. "What else could it be? That husband of hers."

The thirty strokes from the yamen were rough, but not enough to kill anybody. If she'd come home and rested for a couple weeks, she'd have been back on her feet.

The problem was, nobody took care of her.

Those days, Wen Shishan was losing his mind over the whole Widow Sun and kid mess. When Li Qiaozhen told him the kid wasn't his, he wouldn't believe it and went to confront the widow—only to catch Butcher Wang right there in her house.

Nobody knows exactly how it went down, but they got into a fight at Widow Sun's. One came out with a broken leg, the other a broken arm. Neither won, and neither called the cops.

Maybe the news that the kid wasn't his broke something in him. After that, Wen Shishan took to drinking, hugging his wine jar day and night. He didn't lift a finger for Li Qiaozhen, and he stopped working the fields entirely.

Wen Liu wanted to come back and take care of her, but Zhao Shoutian had taken his own beating, and Liu Jinhua, angry and worried, kept him locked up at home and wouldn't let him leave.

Li Qiaozhen was left alone in that house—stove cold, medicine dried up. She couldn't even get anyone to bring her a glass of water. In that heat, there was no way her wounds were gonna heal.

By the time she could finally get out of bed and saw what a useless lump Wen Shishan had become, she was furious and disgusted. The two of them fought every single day, sometimes getting physical.

In those fights, bumps and bruises were unavoidable. Old wounds and new ones kept getting infected and festering. Before long, she was running fevers off and on.

Eventually, Wen Liu managed to slip away from the Zhao house. Seeing his mother in that state, he was horrified and ran to fetch the village herbal doctor. The doctor gave her a few prescriptions, and the high fever slowly came down, but she stayed out of it, never fully waking.

She hung on like that for a while, but in the end, she just couldn't make it.

After hearing all that from Gou Sheng's mom, Chen Lanfang felt a deep pang of pity. Li Qiaozhen might've been a poisonous woman, but landing a man like Wen Shishan was the worst luck a person could have.

Twenty-odd years of marriage, and he could be so heartless. Wen Shishan was truly worse than an animal.

Wen Xi was also standing nearby working, and every word fell into his ears. He looked up, his gaze sweeping across the courtyard, and saw Wen Shishan standing in the distance, discussing something with the village head.

Since marrying into the Yan family, he rarely saw the Wen family members. Now, seeing Wen Shishan with his hunched back and limping gait, he felt a strange discomfort.

In his memory, Wen Shishan had been imposing and overbearing. He hadn't beaten him as often as Li Qiaozhen, but every blow had been heavy.

In the past, Wen Shishan had been like a mountain pressing down on Wen Xi—impossible to escape, impossible to resist. Just seeing him filled Wen Xi with instinctive fear.

Now, seeing Wen Shishan in this state, Wen Xi's hatred hadn't disappeared, but the fear was completely gone.

Compared to him, Wen Shishan was the lowly ant crawling in the dust.

A cold thought rose in Wen Xi's mind. How he wished that one day, this ant would be crushed under someone's foot just like Li Qiaozhen.

The weather was too hot—Li Qiaozhen's body couldn't be kept for long. Once the new grave was dug, before the smell became too strong, the village men carried her coffin to the burial ground on the third day and laid her in the earth.

Once the burial was over, there wasn't much left for the Wen side to do. Outside the Yan family's gate, pomelo leaves and a brazier were set out. Every night before heading home, Wen Xi and the others would swat their clothes with pomelo leaves and wash their hands in water boiled with the leaves, all to shake off any bad luck still clinging to them.

Besides not wanting to risk any harm to the kids and pregnant women in the house, there was another reason: Li Qiaozhen had never been a settled soul in life, so who's to say she wouldn't come back to haunt the Yans now that she was dead? They had to get rid of any dirty stuff before setting foot inside.

It all seemed a bit superstitious, but folks in the countryside figured it was better to be safe than sorry. And since it wasn't any trouble and put everyone's mind at ease, the whole family went along with it.

Once Li Qiaozhen's funeral was all wrapped up, Yan Shichang and the others set to work building the pushcart Wen Xi would use for his stall. The three of them—father and sons—were old hands at carpentry. Yan Fengan's design was a bit complicated, but after talking it over a few times, they still managed to build it to spec.

The cart was made of chestnut, which was hard, strong, and held up well against damp and rot—perfect for a stall cart.

When it was done, Yan Shichang patiently rubbed on two coats of tung oil. Once it dried in the sun, the wood grain stood out clear, and the surface felt smooth and warm, with not a single rough patch.

The cart had two tiers. The upper tier was a flat wooden board with a slightly raised rim to prevent items from sliding off. Beneath the board were two small drawers for storing coins and odds and ends. The bottom tier was a cabinet with a door, roomy enough for bolts of fabric and baskets of thread, and could even squeeze in two little wooden stools. When business was slow, having a stool to sit on was a nice break. They'd also nailed a row of hooks along both sides, just like Wen Xi asked.

Yan Fuqiu was all excited, showing He Jin and Wen Xi: "We also added grooves and iron rings to the cart. On hot days or in the rain, you can pop an oil-paper umbrella on top. The handle goes through the ring and locks into the groove, so it stays put. This groove here can hold a bamboo pole, and you can tie a flag with the character 'Wen' on it, so people will know from afar whose stall it is."

He Jin walked all the way around the cart, clapped Yan Fuqiu on the shoulder, and said, "You guys pulled off something this complicated—that's seriously impressive."

Yan Fuqiu felt a swell of pride but didn't take all the credit for himself: "Most of the credit goes to our third brother for thinking it all through. We just followed his drawings."

Yan Fengan's hands-on skills couldn't match his brothers', but when it came to design, he was truly talented.

Wen Xi was pleasantly surprised by the exquisite cart. Once the tung oil had fully dried, he placed some finished embroideries on it to test it out, and it looked quite presentable.

The only issue was that they hadn't made many items in the past few days, so the display looked sparse compared to other stalls that offered a wide variety for customers to choose from.

Wen Xi thought it over carefully. With just him and He Jin, no matter how hard they worked, they couldn't produce much in half a month. Moreover, their embroideries were priced high, and without a steady customer base, they might not attract many buyers. To truly run a proper stall, relying solely on the two of them stitching away wasn't enough.

Suddenly, an idea struck Wen Xi. He and He Jin weren't the only ones in the village skilled in embroidery. Since they couldn't produce enough items in a short time, why not buy finished pouches and handkerchiefs from the villagers at a low price and then sell them at a markup?

This would not only fill out their display but also earn them a small profit, giving customers more options to choose from.

He Jin thought it was a good idea. Worried that Wen Xi might be too shy to ask around, he took it upon himself to drag Yan Fuqiu from door to door, spreading the word that the Yan family was buying embroidered goods. As long as the craftsmanship was good, they'd pay a fair price, better than what outsiders offered.

The village women and men who made these things usually had to either wait for the traveling peddler to come around or take a trip into town to the embroidery shop and hope for the best—a real pain. Hearing that the Yan family was buying, they all perked up with interest.

Not long after the couple spread the word, quite a few people showed up at the Yan household.