Jiang Yan leaned against the stable doorframe, watching his children sing in unison: Siyan squatted on the ground, fiddling with an abacus, muttering to herself the interest rate for "forced marriage mental damages"; Nianli picked up the saddle and prepared to harness the little red horse, her movements as swift as a servant. The red silk of the betrothal gifts shone through the wooden windows of the stable, casting a festive glow on this small world and making the scene before them particularly vivid.
He wanted nothing more than to return to his study and write a letter, not to apologize to the Zhenguogong Mansion, but to include the bill for the "marriage rejection labor fee" Siyan had calculated—clearly listed: three taels for transporting ten carts of betrothal gifts, five taels for the orphanage's handling fee, and one hundred taels for Nianli's emotional distress from the harassment. As for the ten carts of betrothal gifts? Let them be. They would eventually become winter trousers and books for the children in the orphanage, better than gathering dust in the Jiang Mansion's warehouse.
The sunlight outside the courtyard finally penetrated the layers of red silk, a ray of golden light illuminating Si Yan's gleaming abacus and the four characters "Number One Under Heaven" on Nian Li's broadsword. Jiang Yan took a deep breath. Besides the extravagant aroma of the betrothal gifts, the air was filled with the faint scent of his daughter's sweat, the scent of ink on Si Yan's abacus, and the aroma of breakfast wafting from the distant kitchen—the combined aromas were even more soothing than the imperial wine he had drunk at the Qionglin Banquet.
After all, in this vast capital, Jiang Nianli, the daughter of him and Su Jinli, was the only other girl who would dare to donate all ten carts of betrothal gifts from the Zhenguo Mansion to an orphanage. His greatest wish at this moment was to quickly write to his grandfather, far away in Jiangnan, about this matter, so that the old stubborn man who always harped on the saying, "A woman's virtue lies in her lack of talent" would open his eyes. His granddaughter was not only talented, but she could also use her abacus to get to the Zhenguo Mansion's door, and in the process, turn the betrothal gifts into candies and winter clothes for the children. This day was more exciting than when he made a mistake in calculating a question on the imperial examination, but also sweeter than the top scholar's red wine he had eaten back then.
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