A Tale of Golden Heiress: Lady Wanjin - Chapter 8

Suddenly recalling Wenwan’s bold declaration to the elder uncle at noon, Madam Liu’s anger turned to panic. “If you knew the Qis’ intentions, why set this half-month wedding deadline?”

Her mind raced back to how she had spent the afternoon scouring the city for tailors and embroiderers, announcing Wenwan’s impending marriage to anyone who would listen. Now half of Ping County knew the Wen family’s eldest daughter would wed in fifteen days—

Madam Liu collapsed onto the stool as if her bones had dissolved, eyes wide with dread, “It’s over… When the time comes, who will you marry?”

Yet Wenwan’s demeanour remained unshaken, “No need to fear. Fifteen days is enough for me to find a suitable groom.” Her fingers tapped the armrest rhythmically, “Surely in all of Ping County, there’s at least one man willing to marry into our family.”

“Yes! Yes!” Madam Liu’s fighting spirit ignited. She clenched her fists, “Plenty of fish in the sea! If not Qi Guili, then Zhao Guili! Even if we have to kidnap—”

Her eyes gleamed with increasing conviction, “I’ll ask my father and brothers to help! There’s a handsome hunter in the western hills—just has a blind old mother to care for, never found a wife. We’ll abduct him tomorrow—”

“Not so hasty, Auntie.” Wenwan rapped the strange paper on her desk, sliding it toward Madam Liu.

The concubine squinted at the incomprehensible script before growling in frustration, “Out with it! What does this say?”

Ah. Wenwan had forgotten—Madam Liu was illiterate.

“A certificate of manumission.” She forestalled the impending outburst with a firm hand on Madam Liu’s shoulder, “Three hundred taels, plus the small courtyard in the southern district—enough for five or six people. Once registered with the authorities, you’ll be free of the Wen clan’s grasp forever.”

Madam Liu’s initial outrage gradually gave way to dawning realization.

This wasn’t abandonment—it was an insurance policy.

As she studied the young mistress—the sharp jawline, the smoldering gaze—a thought struck her: Since when did Wenwan become so formidable?

“Should the worst come, we’ll have resources to rebuild.” Wenwan’s voice softened. “And if we survive this crisis… I would be honored to call you mother.”

It was the most generous offer she could make.

Wenwan trusted Madam Liu—but not blindly. A decade of service didn’t erase the need for contingencies.

This was precisely why she’d only allotted Madam Liu three hundred taels.

Never put all your eggs in one basket.

In this world of treacherous hearts, caution was paramount.

Yet when Madam Liu heard Wenwan mention Wen Weiming’s possible death, her eyes reddened instantly, her voice turning thick with emotion, “What use is being a proper wife… if your father isn’t there?”

She shot Wenwan a tearful glance, “You’re his flesh and blood. However, you see me—whether you acknowledge me or not—I won’t abandon you.”

The words pierced Wenwan like needles.

She’d been grateful for this second chance at life, diligently adapting to this era. But only now, facing Madam Liu’s swollen eyes, did she truly feel something resembling… belonging.

Madam Liu was a warrior of pure love.

With just two sentences, this love warrior had obliterated all her carefully constructed defenses, leaving her so remorseful she’d probably sit up in bed later and slap herself twice.

Damn it.

She’d actually tried scheming against someone with such unwavering devotion.

Wenwan’s lips twisted awkwardly as she hastily changed the subject, “Then I’ll have to trouble you to endure some hardships for now.”

Madam Liu waved it off, “What about that western hills hunter… still want him?”

“No.” Wenwan opted for honesty, “An outsider with no local ties would be easier to manage.”

And more convenient to discard if needed later.

She kept that last thought to herself.

Madam Liu nodded absently, “Makes sense. Though finding someone suitable in such a short time…”

“We’ll manage.”

——————————————————————————

The next morning, servants gaped as Madam Liu departed with ten overflowing trunks—her exit as dramatic as Madam Cui’s had been quiet.

As the senior concubine who’d borne Master Wen a daughter, her status had always been different. For years, with no official wife and Wenwan too young, she’d effectively ruled the Wen household.

Her departure sent panic rippling through the staff:

—The Wen family is truly finished.

Whispers spread like wildfire:

—Both concubines are gone! The master must be dying!

Bolder servants began making plans.

Following Wenwan’s instructions, Nanny Chen retrieved the household tokens from Madam Liu’s quarters and delivered them to Wenwan—along with a sobbing Wen Jing.

The seven-year-old Wen Jing was a tearful mess, burying herself in her sister’s arms the moment she saw her. “Elder Sister… Auntie left… She doesn’t want me anymore…”

Truthfully, this Wen Jing bore little resemblance to the sister from her past life.

Yet—

They shared the same name.

The other Wen Jing had abandoned a bright future to return to their hometown, devoting five years solely to caring for her. As if Wenwan had become her entire world.

Grief is a relentless downpour.

No matter where you flee, you’re always drenched to the bone.

Even in this distant era, Wenwan could still hear her sister’s voice—hoarse from crying—echoing in her final moments.

Now, gazing at this little Wen Jing, she saw echoes of the child who once trailed after her like a shadow.

Her heart softened instantly.

Kneeling, Wenwan wiped the girl’s tears with gentle fingers, “Auntie didn’t abandon you…”

Then, a strategic pivot, “She went to find medicine for Father.”

But Wen Jing was precocious. Tugging her sleeve, fresh tears spilled, “Then why take all her trunks? I saw her empty rooms… She’s gone like Madam Cui! Lanxin said—”

Wenwan lowered her voice conspiratorially. “That’s just a cover. The medicine grows in a secret place in Bozhou. If others knew…”

The tears halted mid-splash. Wide, trusting eyes searched hers.

“Would Auntie really leave Father and you?” Wenwan pinched her cheek lightly. “Never.”

A sniffle. Then a tiny “Mn.” The storm passed.

Mama Chen chuckled, “Only Young Miss could calm her. We’d been trying all morning.”

Just then—

“Young Miss!” Hongmei’s frantic voice cut through the courtyard, “The master—he’s awake!”