Chapter 24: The Harsh Contract

Mother Zhuang’s face was as dark as the bottom of a pot. She grabbed Mistress Lu by the hair but turned her eyes toward An Chunfeng. "Mistress, I have already offered you an apology. Mercy should be shown whenever possible; don't hold a grudge against an old woman. You are the one who injured this person, so you must pay the medical expenses!"

"Everyone here has seen it. This woman was injured by you, and since she has already apologized, you should be the one to cover the medical costs."

It was a request for money, masked by a lightweight apology.

A cold smirk played on An Chunfeng’s lips as she turned and walked back into the house. "If an apology is all it takes to settle a wrongdoing, then I shall return ten apologies to you. If you’ve managed to trade one apology for ten, you’ve already made a profit. If you still feel cheated, then go report this to the magistrate!"

Had it been an ordinary person, An Chunfeng might have offered more explanations, but she was all too familiar with the tactics of street thugs. Among the lowest rungs of society, problems had their own set of solutions: first fists, then logic. When you try to reason with them, they only care about volume and force. Once they realize they cannot win by force, they suddenly pivot to morality and social etiquette.

The purpose of martial arts was never just to knock someone down; it was to force the other party to calm down and listen. With two of her thugs injured, Mother Zhuang had become uncharacteristically calm and reasonable, hoping to settle the matter with an apology and then extract the medical fees.

However, An Chunfeng was not someone who played by their rules. Bullies were instinctively opportunistic. If you took even a single step back, they would mistake it for fear and push even further. They acted brazenly when they had the upper hand and played the victim when they were outmatched; as long as they had no shame, there was always a tactic to suit the situation.

She was in the right. She had already struck them; if they weren't satisfied, she would strike again. If they wanted to discuss the law, they could do so in court.

At the mention of reporting to the magistrate, the thick flesh on Mother Zhuang's face twitched violently. Report to the magistrate? Would she admit to leading a gang to coerce a decent woman into prostitution, only to be beaten back? The magistrate’s first rod would surely land on her own back.

Mother Zhuang’s words were choked in her throat. Though her heart burned with rage, she remained silent. People were gathering, and she had no desire to escalate the scene further. She would wait until she had uncovered the widow's background before finding another opportunity to strike. Reputation was trivial; survival was paramount. Losing face was a daily occurrence for those who scavenged the streets. They could ignore their own dignity when facing someone more ruthless, but they wore a completely different face when dealing with those they perceived as weaker.

Mother Zhuang stopped harassing An Chunfeng. She shoved Mistress Lu to the ground and spat harshly, "From now on, you will take ten customers a day. You won't stop until you've earned enough for the medical bills."

Mistress Lu turned deathly pale. She clutched Mother Zhuang’s leg and pleaded, "Mother, please spare me! This will be the death of me!"

"Heh, if I spare you, who will spare me? I, Mother Zhuang, am not a toy for a cheap slut like you to play with!"

As Mother Zhuang and her entourage left in a flurry of commotion, the area gradually grew quiet.

Inside the courtyard, An Chunfeng felt a wave of irritation looking at the dumplings in the food box, now congealed into a lump of dough. With an empty stomach and no mood to go out and buy more, she boiled some water to loosen the dumplings and made do with a meager meal.

It had been a day of endless trouble. Having missed her afternoon nap and endured the scene with Mother Zhuang, she was exhausted. She didn't even want to look at the contract she had just written. After washing up, she lay down on a long bench in the hall to catch the cool night air.

The moonlight was brilliant, and the stars shimmered in the distance. An Chunfeng massaged her temples, trying to calm the restlessness that seized her at night. Perhaps it was the change of environment and body; the steady and gentle nature of the original owner had influenced her, and her insomnia had improved significantly. Even in the inn during her first two days, she had managed to sleep for an hour or so.

Amidst the faint, intermittent sound of a flute and zither, An Chunfeng drank a little wine and gradually drifted into a dream.

The drapery shop on Chessboard Street had already closed for the night. In the back courtyard, Qiushui removed her jewelry and hairpins, sitting in the yard wearing thin silk to enjoy the breeze. Opposite her, Song Shi, dressed only in an undershirt, diligently picked watermelon seeds with a thin splinter. "I will have the contract stamped tomorrow! Qiushui, you don't need to worry!"

"Brother Qi, that is hard work for you!" Qiushui picked up a slice of watermelon with a silver fork and placed it in her mouth.

Song Shi chuckled, his eyes filled with affection. "As long as you remember my efforts, I would willingly work myself to death!"

Qiushui arched her eyebrows and shot him a glance, her eyes dancing with charm, though she feigned a cold sniff. "You are a prominent lawyer with a silver tongue. Who knows which of your words are true and which are false!"

Song Shi sighed, shaking his head. "After all these years, do you still doubt my feelings for you? My heart is as clear as the sun and moon!"

Qiushui covered her mouth and giggled. "Making wishes to the moon again? I wonder where your heart goes on the nights the moon is hidden?"

Her hair was loose, and her bodice slightly open; with every laugh, the softness of her chest trembled. Song Shi, already captivated, could no longer restrain himself. He sat beside her, wrapped his arms around her slender waist, and whispered, "My heart will always be with you!"

Qiushui pushed him away with a playful scolding. "It’s too hot, don't touch me. But tell me, why did you insist on writing the contract so that the shares belong solely to Mistress An, and cannot be transferred unless she passes away?"

When it came to his profession, Song Shi tightened his grip and said triumphantly, "That is me looking out for you—setting a trap specifically for the An family!"

"What do you mean by that?"

Qiushui was intrigued, ignoring the hands that were wandering over her body.

The contract today had originally only covered the commission for the lace ribbons, but then An Chunfeng had mentioned pajamas, and then underwear... the more they discussed, the more detailed and grand the scope became. In An Chunfeng’s words, it was a massive pie that they needed to eat slowly.

Song Qi had been writing rapidly, listing the terms as they negotiated. The drapery shop would provide the embroiderers, sewing staff, and fabrics, while An Chunfeng would provide the creative ideas and designs. Thus, their stakes were equal; after deducting costs, they would split the remaining profits fifty-fifty.

At Song Qi's suggestion, the contract explicitly stated that their authority was equal, and major business decisions required both signatures to take effect. Furthermore, the shares under An Chunfeng’s name could not be transferred at will; even if she were to pass away, her heirs would need the consent of Qiushui’s drapery shop to inherit them. The terms were reciprocal—if Qiushui wanted to change the ownership of her shop, she would also need An Chunfeng's consent.

The conditions were somewhat harsh. At twenty-one years old for An Chunfeng and just over thirty for Qiushui, they had decades left to live. Unless one of them met an untimely death, the other would undoubtedly be the primary suspect, leaving no choice but to involve the authorities. It effectively bound the two businesses together.

It was the work of a master lawyer; not only did he account for death, but he had also anticipated the inheritance by their children.

An Chunfeng had not rejected these terms. The more restrictive the contract, the more it served as protection for her. Neither she nor the original owner were locals, and in the capital, they were without support. If they waited until the business was profitable to have a dispute, she would certainly be at a disadvantage. Only by laying everything out clearly in advance could they mitigate the risks.

Qiushui was also satisfied with the many clauses. Although she had left the brothel, she was still registered as a musical entertainer—a lowly status. Compared to An Chunfeng’s status as a commoner, she was inferior; if they were to go to court, she would lose three parts of her case before even speaking. Moreover, the underwear business relied entirely on An Chunfeng’s ideas and designs. Once the business became profitable and famous, others would inevitably covet it. If An Chunfeng were poached or backed out, her business would fall apart. The requirement for dual signatures was also a way to protect Qiushui from being bullied or suppressed by An Chunfeng once the business grew.

However, she remained puzzled as to why Song Shi had insisted on binding them together so tightly, specifically preventing An Chunfeng from privately transferring her shares or allowing her children to inherit the business without consent.

As the atmosphere was harmonious, Qiushui finally asked.