Chapter 30: The Map of the Shen Family Estates

A clansman, green with envy over Shen Guilan’s business success, shouted the loudest: "What does a woman need with so much land? It’ll only end up in the hands of outsiders sooner or later!"

"Exactly! The land belongs to the men of the Shen clan!"

The ancestral hall erupted in a roar. Some genuinely believed the clan rules should be upheld, while others simply joined the clamor, hoping for a share of the spoils once the land was reclaimed. The "joint petition" was passed from hand to hand, the red thumbprints glaring like a settled verdict. The village head frowned; seeing the momentum, he felt he had no choice but to concede. He took the land deed from Madam Zhang and reached out to stamp it with the village seal.

At that critical moment, commotion broke out outside the hall, followed by the braying of a donkey—once, then again. The sound was jarringly sharp against the backdrop of the hall. People looked out to see Gu Changshan standing under the great locust tree at the village entrance, holding his black donkey. He had been standing there for some time. Instead of approaching the hall, he simply unloaded a heavy camphor-wood chest from the donkey’s back.

With a heavy thud, the chest hit the ground. Ignoring the ancestral hall entirely, Gu Changshan tore the cloth off the chest. Under the sunlight, a massive piece of embroidery blazed into view, its vibrant colors so dazzling that people had to squint.

A sharp-eyed villager cried out, "It’s the Map of Shen Family Fields!"

Every plot of land in the village was stitched onto the fabric, its shape and ownership clearly marked. In the southeast corner, two prime plots bordering the irrigation canal were circled in gold thread, standing out prominently. Beside the golden thread, a line of elegant yet forceful script was embroidered: "Two mu of thin fields under the name of Shen Guilan. Over the past five years, a total of thirty-seven dou of grain has been harvested and paid in full to the clan treasury. Receipts are held by Accountant Wu."

The hall fell silent. Thirty-seven dou! A lone woman had carried the burden for five years without missing a single grain—was this the behavior of a mother who neglected her child?

Just as the silence stretched, a clear, resonant female voice rang out from the high ridge at the village entrance. Shen Guilan had returned! She stood upon a stone used for drying grain, unfurling another piece of embroidery. The image depicted an elderly mother stooping to feed the last of her rice broth to her son, while the son sat in a fine chair, demanding more without a hint of gratitude. The inscription consisted of only four characters, yet they cut like a blade: "Filial piety is not a one-way street; nurturing has its limits. If the child does not return the care, why must the mother endure?"

Shen Guilan swept her gaze across the faces before her, her voice ringing out: "I did not abandon my son! It was Madam Zhang who, years ago, looked down on my poverty, snatched my child away, and forbade me from being a mother! And I have never owed the clan a single grain! Five years of taxes, all paid in full! You claim I am an unfit mother, but you are lying through your teeth! By seizing my land, tell me—who is really tarnishing the reputation of the Shen clan?"

"Bullshit!" Uncle Shen, face purple with rage, stomped his cane and pointed at her. "You woman, how dare you spout such nonsense here! Someone, tear those two rags to shreds!"

Several young clansmen exchanged glances, ready to step forward.

*Whoosh!*

A sharp whistle cut the air. Gu Changshan stepped forward, shielding the two embroideries. His bow was drawn to its limit, the cold glint of an arrowhead aimed directly at the chest of the nearest man. His face was cold as iron, his voice even colder: "Whoever moves, the next arrow will pierce their hand."

The men, trembling with fear, turned and fled. The village entrance fell so silent that not even the wind dared to stir.

Shen Guilan stepped down from the stone and walked to the village head. She handed him the golden-threaded map, her eyes clear and sharp. "Village Head, the truth can be verified at once. The clan's accounts are with Accountant Wu; check them now. If these records are true, then the way you have bullied a widow and an orphan today is an affront to heaven and earth!"

The village head took the map, his hands burning with shame. He looked at Gu Changshan’s grim expression, then at the wavering gazes of the crowd. With a sigh, he shoved the land deed back into Madam Zhang’s hands. "Enough. Disperse."

The farce had come to an end.

That night, the lamp in Shen Guilan’s embroidery workshop remained lit. She did not sleep; instead, she spread out a fresh piece of cloth to draft a piece titled *Portrait of Standing Tall*. In it, a woman held an embroidery needle under the eaves of a roof, the starry sky above her head and the mountains and rivers beneath her feet.

She picked up the gray mink fur Gu Changshan had brought her earlier that day, mixed it with purple kudzu thread, and stitch by stitch, embroidered her name—Guilan—into the corner of the work. The two characters were written with a sharp, hard stroke, like carvings from a knife, radiating an unyielding, indomitable spirit.

Over at the ancestral hall, Madam Zhang was trembling with fury, tearing the forged document into shreds. Shen Yongzhi huddled in a corner, clutching half a dry cake—his meal for the day. He dared not look at his grandmother’s face, only peering through the crack in the door at the distant flickering light: his mother’s workshop. For the first time, he heard his own stomach growl, and for the first time, he felt a hollow, panicked ache in his heart.

Deep into the night, Shen Guilan set down her needle. She blew out the lamp, and the room fell into darkness.