Chapter 39: The First Lesson in Weaning, A New Path Through Needle and Thread

The morning light pierced through, tearing apart the three days and three nights of gloom that had hung over the Shen family courtyard.

Shen Yongzhi, his body stiff, finally stirred under the sun. He tried to lift his head, but his neck gave a sharp crack, as if it were about to snap. Having knelt for three days and three nights, he was completely broken; his knees had long since lost all sensation, swollen to a bruised purple and rigid as wood.

Shen Guilan pushed the door open and stepped out, her expression as calm as still water. Behind her, Xiuwei carried a basin of water, her head bowed and hands trembling slightly, yet she dared not lag behind.

"Splash—"

The cold water poured down from above, drenching Shen Yongzhi’s knees. The biting chill pierced straight into his flesh, and he let out a wretched cry, as if sliced by a blade, collapsing sideways onto the ground.

"Only when it hurts do you realize you were wrong," Shen Guilan said, her voice low but as icy as frost. "Let this teach your disobedient legs to remember who they should be kneeling to."

She did not look at him again, turning to retrieve a "Vow of the Unfilial Son" from the house, a document filled with writing, which she personally nailed to a board outside the ancestral hall. It listed in detail how Shen Yongzhi had defied his elders and squandered the family fortune—every word was the truth, written in black and white.

She gave a nod to Xiuwei.

Xiuwei walked to the large locust tree at the village entrance, took a breath, and read the vow aloud three times. Her voice trembled, but every word was clear. Once spoken, it was as if a stone had been dropped into a pond, rippling through the entire village.

People gathered slowly. Some shook their heads, whispering that Shen Guilan was too ruthless; yet others, especially the matrons who managed their own households, looked on with admiration. Which family didn't have a good-for-nothing? But who else dared to push their own son to the ground and crush him like this?

From the crowd, Liu the Blacksmith pushed forward, thrusting half a bolt of coarse cloth into Shen Guilan’s hands. "Sister Shen, please take this bit of cloth. My wife is clumsy with her hands, but she is willing to come and learn embroidery. Give her a chance."

Once he spoke, several other women nearby quickly chimed in.

Shen Guilan accepted the cloth and announced loudly for all to hear, "Thank you, neighbors. I, Shen Guilan, will make this clear today—my household does not feed the idle!" Her gaze shifted, locking onto the newly risen Shen Yongzhi. "If Shen Yongzhi wants to eat, he must work. A load of firewood for a bowl of brown rice; sweeping the floor and drawing water for a dish of pickles."

With that, she hammered a handwritten "Labor-for-Food Exchange Table" onto the courtyard gate. The paper was white, the ink was black; from this day forward, food in the Shen household was not given, but earned.

Shen Yongzhi’s face flushed a deep purple, a mix of shame and rage. In a fit of impulse, he rushed into the crowd, attempting to flee. He would rather starve to death outside than live like a beast, working all day just for a mouthful of food!

But just as he reached the village entrance, a figure blocked his path. It was Zhao the Bucktooth, the village hooligan, who grinned, revealing yellow teeth. "Yongzhi, where are you running? You still owe me two taels of silver. It’s perfect now—your mother has set the rules. One day of work counts for one copper coin. We shall do this by the book."

With his mother severing their bond and a creditor blocking his way, Shen Yongzhi had nowhere to go. Feeling as if his very bones had been extracted, he lowered his head and walked back to the courtyard step by step, finally picking up the axe with trembling hands.

Watching him, the stone that had weighed on Shen Guilan’s heart finally settled. She immediately set up three new embroidery frames in the courtyard, gathered six women including the blacksmith’s wife, and hung a wooden plaque for all to see: "Guilan Embroidery Workshop," now open.

The first order was for a revised version of the "Peace Talisman." Instead of the traditional blue trim, she used the wild silk thread brought by Gu Changshan. The silk was soft, durable, and shimmered with the light of the mountains, making the patterns appear lifelike. She gave the embroidery a new name: "Mountain-Blessed Peace."

No one knew that she had secretly stitched a tiny character for "Mountain" into the pattern of every piece. It was to repay her debt to Gu Changshan, and also the secret mark of her workshop.

At night, when the moon climbed to its peak, someone came from the back mountain again. Gu Changshan set down a basket of processed wild silk and two oil-paper packages of medicinal herbs, his breathing steadier than before.

He said in a low voice, "The Nanling side... is safe for now. But the people from the 'Black-Clad Village Inspection' won't come only once."

Shen Guilan felt a pang of anxiety, though her face remained impassive. She handed over a roll of embroidery pieces tied with hemp rope—the very ones featuring the "Mountain" mark. "Take these and give them to someone you trust. If trouble comes in the future, these things may save lives."

Gu Changshan took them, his palms feeling warm. He looked at her by the moonlight, his gaze profound and unreadable. In the end, he said nothing, tucked the embroidery pieces close to his heart, and turned to leave.

"Wait," Shen Guilan spoke suddenly.

He paused.

"Next time you come—" she hesitated, her tone softening slightly, "don't come empty-handed. Bring some mountain walnuts; Xiuwei has been asking for them for days."

Gu Changshan’s back stiffened. A moment later, the corners of his mouth lifted slightly, as if he were smiling, and then he disappeared into the woods without looking back.

Three days later, a clerk from the Chen family’s cloth shop arrived on a donkey cart to deliver the first payment. One tael and two maces of silver sat heavily in a dish, accompanied by three order slips from merchants in town.

Shen Guilan, in front of all the embroiderers, poured the silver into a clay pot with a clatter. On the pot were three large characters: "Embroidery Workshop Public Funds."

She stood in the courtyard, watching her son, who had stopped cursing and was now simply chopping wood in a daze, and spoke in a voice that was soft, yet clearly heard by all:

"In the past, I gave my life to raise you. Now, you must learn—even if you are on your knees, you must pick up the firewood."

Xiuwei leaned against her, her small hands holding a needle and thread. As the silk moved back and forth across the frame, an orchid flower slowly began to bloom.

A few more days passed. The work at the workshop smoothed out, and the sound of chopping wood mingled with the women’s low laughter in the courtyard every day; life seemed to have steadied.

In the early morning, Shen Guilan counted the newly arrived wild silk in the courtyard, the sunlight casting a soft glow upon the threads. Xiuwei walked up to her at some point and gently tugged at her sleeve.