Late autumn in Beijing resembles a vibrant painting. The fragrance of osmanthus permeates every inch of the air, draping this ancient city in a rich, fragrant veil. Golden ginkgo leaves, like ethereal butterflies, flutter down, scattering across the vermilion columns of the Prime Minister's Mansion, adding a touch of poetry and romance to the solemn architecture.
Su Jinli half-leaned on a Xiangfei bamboo couch beneath the grape trellis. The couch was soft and soft, emitting a faint bamboo fragrance. A yellowed manuscript of a storytelling book lay open on her lap, vividly recounting to her grandson, Jiang Xiaocai, the thrilling story of the bookseller who stole the manuscript. Sunlight filtered through the cracks in the trellis, casting dappled shadows, as if listening to this bygone legend.
Suddenly, the sound of porcelain breaking came from the front yard. The sound was sharp and abrupt, instantly shattering the tranquility. Then, it was followed by the sharp roar of his daughter Nianli: "No! I absolutely do not agree!"
The sudden noise startled the bronze incense burner beside the bamboo couch, causing it to tinkle and scatter ash onto the abacus held by Jiang Xiaocai. "Grandma, this is..." Jiang Xiaocai had barely finished speaking when Su Jinli, leaning on her sandalwood cane, swiftly stood up. Her skirt, embroidered with twin lotus flowers in gold thread, gently swept through the fallen leaves on the ground, making a subtle rustling sound. Seeing this, Jiang Xiaocai hurriedly put away his abacus and trotted over to support her slightly bent elbow. The two of them hurried to the front yard, following the mottled light and shadows of the veranda.
Turning the winding corridor, she ran into Su Qingyao, dashing out of the moonlit gate, rouge box clutched. The pearl hairpins at her temples jingled with her hurried steps, and a few rouge stains stained her goose-yellow skirt, making her look rather disheveled. "Sister! What happened?" Su Jinli reached out and grabbed her wrist, the jade bracelets clinking against each other with a sweet, crisp sound.
"It's that little girl Xiao Huang!" Su Qingyao slammed her rouge box down on the stone table in anger. The lid instantly flew open, and the newly made "Taoyaozui" rouge splattered a bright red, reflecting her current excitement. "She's actually marrying Mo Chen! The granddaughter of the Prime Minister's family is marrying off to the demonic cult..." Before she could finish her words, hurried footsteps echoed from the study. Jiang Yan, clutching a stack of account books, rushed out. His graying beard trembled with his breathing, clearly distraught.
"Nonsense!" The old scholar's official boots stomped over the ginkgo leaves, making a crisp sound. "Even if that kid has given up his job, he still has the blood of the Demon Cult in his bones!" He turned and was about to rush into the main hall, but Su Jinli grabbed him by the collar. "Stop! When you went to Beijing to take the exam, you didn't even have a complete robe on. Didn't my father think you were poor?"
Jiang Yan stiffened his neck and turned back, his ears flushing. "How can I compare with him? I'm the hand-picked number one scholar!" Just as he spoke, the loud thud of falling porcelain echoed from the main hall. Nian Li's trembling voice pierced through the carved wooden door, coming out clearly: "Do you know what the rumors are? They say the prime minister's daughter is marrying a remnant of the demonic cult! How can your grandfather save his face?"
"Mother!" Jiang Xiaohuang's voice was tinged with tears. The tips of her shoes, embroidered with golden phoenixes, clunked against the blue bricks, their pearl tassels swaying in disarray with her excited movements. "Mo Chen has long since left the Demon Cult! He now wakes up at 3:00 AM every day to knead dough. The steamer at Bao Tianxia is louder than the palace bell!"
Su Jinli rapped her cane hard on the ground, the clatter of the sandalwood tip startling the sparrows in the corridor. Leaning on her cane, she slowly crossed the threshold. Her gaze swept over Jiang Xiaohuang's tear-stained face, then fell on Nianli's clenched knuckles, which had turned white. Suddenly, she chuckled softly, "When I was reborn and overturned the teacup at the coming-of-age banquet, I never imagined that one day I would have to persuade my own daughter not to overturn the table."
"Grandma!" Jiang Xiaohuang saw this and immediately threw herself into her arms. The jasmine scent in her hair, mixed with her aggrieved sobs, filled the air. "You love me the most. Please help me talk about Mom!" Su Jinli gently patted her granddaughter's back and turned her gaze to Nianli. "Li'er, do you still remember the way your father looked when he first met Jiang Yan?" She pointed at the old champion who was still glaring at Mo Chen angrily. "At that time, he said that children from poor families were not worthy of being in the upper class. But what happened later? How many famous calligraphy works did he secretly slip into Jiang Yan's study?"
Nian Li bit her lip, silent, tears welling in her eyes as she recalled every detail of the past. Su Qingyao took the opportunity to lean over and gently touched her eyes with her rouge. "Why are you crying? You've even ruined my new 'Peach Blossom Drunk'!" She turned to Jiang Xiaohuang and softened her tone. "But Xiaohuang, don't blame your mother. After all, Mo Chen's identity..."
"What's wrong with my identity?" A voice, scented with flour, suddenly rang from outside. Everyone turned to see Mo Chen, dressed in a washed-out indigo shirt, its cuffs stained with flour from kneading. The wooden hairpin in his hair was the sandalwood bookmark Jiang Xiaohuang had casually given him last year. He raised a hand to straighten his slightly disheveled collar, his gaze firm as he spoke, "I know I'm not worthy of Xiaohuang, but 'Bao Tianxia' has grown from a humble shop into three branches, and every penny has been spent cleanly."
Jiang Yan snorted coldly: "Empty words are not enough!" Mo Chen was not in a hurry. He took out an account book with a blue cloth edge from his sleeve and handed it over respectfully: "This is the cash flow for the past three years. The name of the customer is recorded for each income." The account book was spread out, and the tiny calligraphy was densely packed with records in great detail. Even the fact that he gave three buns to a beggar on a certain day of a certain month of a certain year was clearly recorded.
Su Jinli took the account book, flipped through it carefully, and suddenly laughed out loud: "Wow, it's more than what I made when I opened the bookstore!" She stuffed the account book into Nianli's hand, "Look, this kid uses the 'Longmen Account' to calculate accounts, which is more sophisticated than the Minister of Revenue." Nianli lowered her head and looked through the account book, her fingers unconsciously stroking the ink. She couldn't help but think of the pot of lily porridge that Mo Chen sent to her in the heavy snow when her daughter was sick last month. The ice in her heart seemed to begin to melt quietly.
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