Chapter 44

It wasn't just Huo Jilin who was angry; Zhou Shuyao, sitting on the ox cart, was furious too. Huo Lin had insulted him like that, yet no one reacted—not even his own mother, who hadn't said a word and had even praised Huo Lin. Wasn't that just admitting he was nothing at all!

Zhou Shuyao pointed his whip at Huo Jilin: "Who are you calling neither good-looking nor useful!"

Huo Jilin gave a tug on the horse's reins. The horse was getting impatient—it had probably never traveled at such a slow pace before.

He said coolly, "Whoever owns it, it fits."

Seeing Zhou Shuyao choking on his words, he added, "You could have just played it off, but by pointing that out, they'll never forget now that you're neither good-looking nor useful."

His voice was even, but those words landed like nails, loud and clear above the creak and sway of the ox cart.

Liu Cuier gave a quiet nod to Huo Jilin—she saw him in a whole new light.

She'd never realized Huo Lin was this sharp, since he barely ever talked.

It was a perfect example of that saying, 'Barking dogs seldom bite, and biting dogs seldom bark.' Of course, that was just a figure of speech—Huo Lin was a great general now!

He turned their own weight against them with barely any effort, not a single wasted word, and with a calm voice he'd left them in tatters.

Zhou Hehua, who usually won arguments with her loud voice, ought to learn a thing or two from Huo Lin.

Aunt Zhang, though she felt sorry for her son being so thoroughly put down by Huo Lin, turned back to look at her dumb-as-a-post kid and sighed helplessly. Huo Lin was right—her youngest son had been spoiled rotten by the family.

He couldn't farm on the slopes, couldn't water the vegetables at home, was all thumbs and no muscle. Apart from driving the ox cart, he was good for nothing—and even that job, the few dozen coppers he earned each day, he never gave a single one to them.

Who knew how much longer that job would last? Now that Huo Lin had his fancy carriage, who would want to ride an ox cart?

From now on, he'd just be mooching off the family.

The only difference between him and that lazy bum Er Laizi was that he still had good parents to support him. He really was useless and ugly to boot.

Seeing that Zhou Shuyao was about to make an even bigger fool of himself, Aunt Zhang quickly nudged him: "Get a move on!"

She turned back to Huo Jilin with a smile: "Dalin, are you going to use this carriage for hire? That fancy carriage needs to pay for itself."

Huo Jilin just shook his head. He'd said before that his carriage wasn't for carrying passengers, but none of them believed him.

Liu Cuier and Zhou Hehua were already yapping about the carriage.

Zhou Hehua looked at the sturdy, handsome carriage and cleared her throat: "Brother Huolin, your carriage is so luxurious—how much would you charge to carry one person?"

Liu Cuier counted on her fingers: "Riding Shuyao's ox cart costs two coppers per person. Brother Huolin's carriage should be at least four, right? Let me calculate—four coppers per person, and this carriage is spacious, it could fit ten people easily. Squeeze in a bit more, and one round trip could earn a hundred coppers! That's three strings of cash a month! That's nearly four taels of silver! It'd pay for itself in less than ten years! And folks would have convenient transport too!"

Huo Jilin didn't respond, pretending not to hear. He rarely spoke much. The only reason he'd traded barbs with Zhou Shuyao today was that Zhou Shuyao had shown him no respect—belittling him to his face and flirting with his husband right in front of him. A man would rather die than be humiliated.

When Huo Jilin stayed silent, Liu Cuier and the others thought he didn't know how to make money and started offering suggestions, even suggesting he pick up passengers from the neighboring village and pack them in like sardines.

Huo Jilin glanced at the sleeping Chen Jue and told them once more: "I'm not hiring it out. This carriage is just for my family."

As he spoke, he moved closer to the ox cart. Chen Jue had fallen asleep.

He'd been listening to his dry jokes just moments ago, and now he was asleep—he'd drifted off so quickly.

The carriage swayed gently, and the people around him chattered on, forming a steady rhythm that became Chen Jue's lullaby.

Huo Jilin watched his profile for a while.

He seemed to be sleeping quite soundly.

Huo Jilin couldn't help but let his gaze drift from his face down to his belly.

Chen Jue leaned back against the cart rail, his body relaxed in sleep, oblivious to everything around him.

Not even Zhou Hehua and Liu Cuier's increasingly loud calculations about money woke him.

Oh, it was his usual naptime. He'd slept late today too—the trip to the big market had delayed things. The ox cart swayed and crawled along, and so it was now.

The afternoon sun at three o'clock fell upon him, wrapping him from his brow to his belly, and he slept so peacefully.

As if sleeping in a forest glade.

Huo Jilin's gaze moved from his closed eyes to the belly he cradled with his arms, and an inexplicable phrase came to mind.

Peaceful days, a calm and steady life.

Yet outside, everything was falling apart.

Was it because Chen Jue was safe by his side?

The ox cart swayed on, while the horse he led kept trying to surge ahead. Huo Jilin tightened his grip on the reins, holding it back.

He kept it level with the ox cart so he could stay close to Chen Jue, in case he slept too deeply and toppled over.

Beside him, Zhou Shuyao watched him like a hawk, and seeing him draw near, started bouncing around like a pest, as annoying as a grasshopper.

He glanced sideways at Huo Jilin: "Even if you can't ride, you don't have to crawl, do you?"

Huo Jilin replied coolly, "None of your business. This road yours or something?"

Zhou Shuyao was choked again. Why was this man so harsh with his words? Harsher each time! Each time harder to come back from!

Aunt Zhang slapped him from behind: "Shut up! Just drive your cart properly. Dalin is deliberately waiting for you—you're carrying his husband!"

It was infuriating. He didn't even notice how much Huo Lin had changed since returning from the battlefield.

Aunt Zhang was just a housewife, but she was observant. Even though she'd had little interaction with Huo Lin before, as the village head's wife, she'd had dealings with his household.

She'd attended when Huo Lin's mother passed, when his father passed, and when he got married.

Beyond those major events, she'd also gone for various daily courtesies and village matters that required communication with his husband. So over the years, she'd come to understand Huo Lin.

The Huo Lin of now had changed greatly from before. The old Huo Lin, even with his cold eyes, would never have spoken to Zhou Shuyao like this. He might have buried his head and chopped wood, but he would never have snapped back. That remark about 'This road yours or something?' just now sent a chill down her spine.

Huo Jilin was still cold now, but his coldness carried a commanding presence. Even his silence had an air of superiority. Let alone a rhetorical question—every word of it signaled he was not to be messed with.

Aunt Zhang dared not think about why Huo Lin had changed so much. Was it because he'd suffered terribly on the battlefield? Or had he learned some inside information and now harbored resentment toward their family?

He was about to take office as Regional Commander, with power in his hands. Would he never again be silent as he once was?

Aunt Zhang's heart was uneasy. She wasn't a cruel person, and her conscience was eating at her day and night.

When Huo Lin hadn't returned, she'd been anxious.

When news of Huo Lin's death came, she hadn't had one good night's sleep.

Now that Huo Lin has returned, she finds herself feeling uneasy as well—this is what she deserves. As the old saying goes, "A clear conscience sleeps without fear."

Aunt Zhang let out a quiet sigh. She genuinely wished Huo Lin well and hoped he would only do better, as if that might somehow make up for things.

She glanced at the sleeping Chen Jue beside her and said to Zhou Hehua, "Keep your voice down—Jue Geer's asleep."

Zhou Hehua had grown quite fond of Chen Jue by now, so she quickly lowered her voice, and they all fell quiet and headed back.

Chen Jue woke up once they got home. After everyone divvied up their goods, things settled down. Since the oxcart was slow, Uncle Liu and the others who walked back weren't far behind.

The first thing Huo Jilin did when he got home was give that filthy horse a bath.

The water flowing down from the mountain had already warmed in the large vat under the sun. The weather wasn't too cold yet, but after testing the water temperature, Huo Jilin still boiled a pot of water. Good thing he boiled a big pot, 'cause it turned out to be barely enough—this horse wouldn't let anybody near it.

Horses aren't scared of water; plenty can wade through rivers as long as it doesn't reach their necks. A horse bought for a home wouldn't be scared of a bath either, since horses ridden by nobles get groomed every day.

But this horse refused to let anyone approach. Huo Jilin couldn't even wipe it down, let alone get close—approach its front and it would rear its head, approach its rear and it would kick out with its hind legs. It was the very picture of "pissed off."

Even the big rooster didn't dare stay in the tree anymore; he led the hens and chicks into the coop from a safe distance.

Huo Jilin fed it more than a handful of soybeans, but still couldn't build any rapport with it. Worried it might get indigestion from overeating, he stopped and stood in the yard, taking a deep breath with his back to Chen Jue—he didn't want Chen Jue to see the fierce look on his face.

Chen Jue could practically see steam coming off his back.

Huo Jilin had finally met his match.

He was finally getting a taste of his own medicine.

Chen Jue had already ground up the white herbal medicine for the horse. Seeing Huo Jilin couldn't get the horse clean, he shook his head, covered the mortar, and figured he'd apply the medicine once the horse was finally washed.

Chen Jue went inside to count his cordyceps and see how many he'd stockpiled.

He'd been in this place for over four months now, and in that time he'd steadily gathered quite a stash.

Couldn't help it—even though Shopkeeper Li wouldn't take this herb, Chen Jue couldn't walk past cordyceps without stopping. So whenever he came across them, he dug them up and brought them home. Tied in bundles of fifty, he now had a hundred bundles flat.

Over five hundred stems, all top-grade, full-bodied cordyceps. In modern times, such cordyceps would cost around a hundred fifty yuan each. Per the contract, cordyceps were priced at one hundred wen a stem—Huo Jilin had set a fair price.

After all, to break into the market, he'd given Shopkeeper Dong a fifty-wen cut per stem.

As for how much Shopkeeper Dong sold them to the nobles for, that was his business.

Prices also varied by region—worth a hundred wen in Dongling County, they might multiply several times over in the capital.

Chen Jue wasn't worrying about that for now. What he needed to figure out was how many herbs he'd need to get established in the county.

Renting a small courtyard cost at least one tael of silver a year, and that was for a spot in the boonies. A place near the medicine shops on East Street would set you back three taels.

To settle in the county, he'd need to buy a place—that was a must—and he'd have to wait for the city to relax its defenses and for someone willing to sell a decent house.

And such a house would run you at least three hundred taels.

But he had to buy in that area—being close to the government offices would be safer. Even if war broke out, he'd be the first to hear about it.

Of course, he hoped war wouldn't come at all, but he still needed to be near the medicine shops.

Whether he worked as a physician at a pharmacy or opened his own clinic, he needed to be close by.

Chen Jue still loved medicine and wanted to get back to his old trade. Not that he could do anything else—he couldn't make paper, and he couldn't cook.

Through the window, Chen Jue watched the paper mulberry tree outside. The horse was now chowing down on its leaves. Autumn leaves were already sparse, and now with a picky, demanding Huo Jilin and a horse that acted like a spoiled ancestor, that "toilet paper tree" might not last—it'd be bare by winter at least.

Would he have to go up the mountain to collect leaves for backup from now on?

Chen Jue laughed at his own absurd thought. As a time-traveler, he'd sunk to worrying about toilet paper every day—there was nobody quite like him.

But what could he do? He'd never realized how hard it was to make money. In this ancient era with backward productivity, where everything depended on manual labor, even just putting food on the table—a proper, filling meal—was a luxury.

No great inventions, no cooking skills to speak of.

Forget selling cooking secrets—he didn't even know what ingredients went into those dishes anyway.

Besides, after eating at Qinyue Tower, he found their cooking wasn't bad at all. In fact, since the ingredients were all natural, it had a freshness and flavor even better than what he'd had in later generations.

As for selling medicine formulas... Chen Jue took a slow breath. That was way harder—a thousand times harder than selling recipes—and it even carried mortal danger.

Never mind whether the monopolistic medicine halls of this era would trust him—once a formula was used and a patient had problems, he'd never be able to explain himself.

Illness never comes from a single ailment; complications are the true killers. And the patient's family wouldn't understand that. He'd end up facing a manslaughter charge.

He hadn't forgotten how he died in his previous life.

Huo Jilin could sell cordyceps because they were a health supplement, not a life-saving remedy—that's why Shopkeeper Dong dared to take them. If Chen Jue handed him a formula for cardiovascular relief, would he dare use it?

The heart is the hardest and most vital organ—no doctor would risk it.

Chen Jue sat quietly on the kang, bundling the cordyceps one by one. His belly moved again—this time with a bigger motion. Through his smooth, flat silk clothing, a bulge was clearly visible, as if the little one was eagerly reaching out to grab money.

Chen Jue stared down at its tiny fist. It wasn't wrong to reach for money—it would take a fortune to raise this child. Modern people called children "walking money shredders," and that description was spot on.

Chen Jue had never had children before, but from what the head nurses had said, he knew raising a child was a bottomless pit.