4.

Li Sining stood with his hands clasped behind his back, looking out at the hills beyond the village. The wind carried the scent of summer grass and the faint smoke from the kitchen stove. Behind him, several of his younger siblings were busy cleaning, washing, or boiling water.

It had been five days since everyone had recovered.

He turned to Li Siming, who stood in the courtyard dressed in simple cotton robes. His broken wrist had healed completely. He was no longer the wounded heir, but the solid, dependable elder brother once again.

"From now on," Li Sining said, voice calm but firm, "no more guards standing beside us. No servants. No bowing. We are no longer royals."

Siming didn't argue. He simply nodded.

"The only thing we have left is our name—and even that, we have to bury."

At his order, only twenty guards remained directly stationed near them. The rest were now hidden in the woods and nearby hills, watching in the shadows. Silent shields.

"From today," Li Sining added, "we wash our own clothes. We cook our own meals. We till our own fields."

There were no more palaces.

Only fields and forests now.

Later that morning, the two brothers stood alone in Sining's room.

"I'll need to go to the town market," Siming said. "We've found several nearby plots of land. A large one—around fifty acres—at the valley edge. And another thirty acres near the mountains. It's ideal for construction. Secluded, with a good water source."

Li Sining didn't hesitate. He pulled out a small wooden box from beneath his blanket.

Inside were two pieces of jade jewelry—a green bangle and a phoenix hairpin. Both exquisite, clearly from noble hands. He set them in Siming's palm carefully.

Then, from a separate silk pouch, he withdrew a small ginseng root, gnarled and yellowish-gold, wrapped in multiple layers of cloth. Its scent was earthy, ancient.

"Three hundred years," Sining said.

Siming's brows lifted slightly. "You kept something like this?"

Sining didn't flinch. "You'll need it if the jewelry isn't enough. Sell them as needed. But be careful."

Siming held the items in both hands and gave a deep nod. "I won't ask how you got these."

Li Sining smiled faintly. "We're family. That's enough."

Li Siming's Perspective

The town of Yanling County wasn't too large—just three walled streets that met in the middle like spokes of a wheel. But it was the biggest town within half a day's ride from the village, and if money was going to be made quietly, it would be here.

Siming rode a mule cart into town with seven shadow guards following on foot—hidden among commoners, watching roofs, alleyways, and doorways like wolves in shepherd's clothing.

He wore a modest robe, tied at the waist with coarse hemp. No one would guess he was a former prince—unless they saw his posture. That, unfortunately, was harder to hide.

The first stop was a jewelry dealer.

A small shop, tucked beside the east market wall. The signboard read "Golden Sky Pavilion" in faded gold characters. Inside, a bald man with sharp eyes and long fingers was polishing a ring behind a glass counter.

Siming stepped in and offered the two jade pieces carefully.

The man examined them, fingers twitching with practiced greed. He didn't speak at first—just stared, tapping one finger against the bangle.

"Where did these come from?" he asked, voice casual.

"My aunt's dowry," Siming replied smoothly. "We're selling off some heirlooms to buy farmland."

The man grunted.

"This bangle is old-style imperial. The carving's Song Dynasty. The hairpin's Qing work. Good shine. Real jade. But…" He squinted.

"…the market's soft. Jade isn't selling like it used to."

Siming's brow tightened. "How much?"

"Two hundred silver taels for the pair."

Siming's hand twitched.

"That bangle alone could fetch—"

"If you want capital city prices," the man cut in, "go to the capital. Here, you get what I can move. Do you want the money or not?"

Siming ground his teeth. He wanted to hit him. But he needed the silver.

"…Three hundred," Siming said.

The man grinned like a butcher. "Done."

Siming walked out with a heavy purse and heavier frustration.

Three hundred was nothing.

The eighty-acre purchase would cost at least nine hundred silver taels—more if they wanted to build anything functional.

He sighed and looked around the street. The sun was nearing noon. If he was going to make the difference up, it had to be now.

He headed straight for the main pharmacy, the Jinling Apothecary, known for buying rare ingredients from traveling merchants.

Inside, the scent of crushed herbs hit him immediately—bitter root, dry licorice, peppered resin. Shelves lined with scrolls and bottles filled the narrow room.

An old pharmacist in grey robes stepped out from the back.

"Looking for medicine or selling?"

Siming nodded politely. "Selling. Something rare."

The pharmacist blinked. "Let me see."

Siming reached into the padded layer of his travel bag and pulled out the cloth bundle. He opened it slowly, revealing the three-hundred-year-old ginseng.

The air seemed to change.

The old man's eyes widened instantly.

He stepped closer, mouth slightly open, then turned and barked for his assistant.

A younger apprentice rushed forward.

"Bring me the cutting blade. And the scale."

They carefully tested the root—scraped a sliver, burned it, and sniffed the smoke. The old man touched the ginseng's lines and grooves, muttering under his breath.

"…three hundred, maybe more. Strong qi. Golden color. Warm body."

He looked up sharply.

"Where did you get this?"

Siming's voice was calm. "My grandfather's old stores. I believe it was gifted from a northern monk."

The man stared at him.

Siming didn't blink.

After a long moment, the pharmacist grunted and stood. "I'll buy it. Eight hundred silver taels."

Siming inclined his head. "Done."

He walked out of the pharmacy with two purses now—one heavier than the other.

Together, eleven hundred silver taels.

Enough for land, materials, and a skeleton crew to build a house. Not a palace—no. But a home, something real, hidden in the quiet hills.

The jewelry hadn't sold for what it was worth.

But the ginseng… that had turned the tide.

He could only imagine how Li Sining had come by something like that. He didn't ask. He wouldn't.

But as he looked at the silver resting in the basket beneath his robe, he clenched his jaw.

He would never forget this.

He would never forget the trust, the care, the weight of responsibility now resting on his shoulders.

And he would never let Li Sining carry it alone.

By the time he returned to the village, the sun had begun its descent.

The shadow guards melted away into the trees as they reached the old house.

Li Sining was waiting under the pear tree again, arms folded, sleeves rustling in the wind.

"Well?" he asked.

Siming stepped forward and handed him one of the purses. "Eleven hundred. Jewelry sold for three hundred. The ginseng made the rest."

Sining raised a brow but said nothing.

Siming smiled slightly. "You said we're family. So I'll carry the next part."

Sining patted his shoulder. "Then I won't stop you."