Becoming the Cannon Fodder Wife of Crazy and Powerful Official - Chapter 6

Xin Yueying sat on the ground, tilting her head up to face the towering and furious Huo Qi.

She raised her eyebrows and flashed an ingratiating smile, “So… what do you think? Pretty neat, huh?”

Huo Qi froze, looking down at the wheelchair frame before him.

Xin Yueying gave it a gentle push, and the lightweight structure swayed smoothly. Her fingers tightened around it like a lifeline.

“Huo Qi, look—this is for Second Master. I made it so he can— AHHH! LET GO OF ME!”

Before she could finish, Huo Qi grabbed the back of her collar and yanked her up like a ragdoll, dragging her before Shen Qingqi’s wheelchair.

“Master!” Huo Qi barked. “I investigated—the butcher Wang is dead! And everyone in town says she was his mistress! But there’s more—”

“I had nothing to do with him!” Xin Yueying cut in desperately. “If we seemed flirtatious, it was because he forced me! If I’d acted nervous while reporting your movements, wouldn’t that have been even more suspicious?!”

Huo Qi sneered, “You’re dead either way. But there are more important things to discuss.” He glared at her before turning back to Shen Qingqi, “Master, I discovered—”

Xin Yueying suddenly realized something and blurted, “I asked around too! Half a year ago, strangers came to the village—they went shop to shop with wanted portraits!”

She locked eyes with Huo Qi, her mind racing as she recited exactly what he’d been about to say next.

The pressure shifted to Huo Qi, who gaped at her in shock.

Shen Qingqi’s icy gaze didn’t flicker toward Xin Yueying. Instead, he lifted his chin slightly, waiting for Huo Qi’s response.

Huo Qi swallowed hard and nodded, “…Yes. I found that too. And—”

Xin Yueying, “—And the portrait was of Meng Ruxin’s father!”

Huo Qi’s jaw dropped.

Again, she’d stolen his lines.

Shen Qingqi’s dark eyes finally slid to Xin Yueying. He tilted his head, lazily amused, “You’ve seen Meng Ruxin’s father?”

“Wasn’t he the old man who delivered duck eggs half a month ago?” Xin Yueying gulped, “Didn’t I… uh, argue with him?”

Huo Qi’s face twisted in anger, “You dare bring that up? He came out of kindness, and you sneered, “What’s so special about a few lousy duck eggs? Bring golden ones next time!”

“I was protecting him!” Xin Yueying cried, “I knew his identity was dangerous! But I could see he cared for Second Master—I couldn’t say it outright, so I had to drive him away! And guess what? He never came back, did he?!”

Huo Qi faltered. Even he looked uncertain now.

He narrowed his eyes, “…You really meant it that way?”

“Of course!” Xin Yueying bit her lip, sniffling for effect, “Old Wang must have discovered your secret—that’s why he threatened me into provoking Second Master. Probably to weaken his spirit, make him drop his guard… so those assassins could strike.” She wiped an imaginary tear, “Do you think it was easy for me? Playing the villain here while reporting back to that butcher?”

The room fell dead silent.

Shen Qingqi’s gaze pinned her like a knife—dark, bottomless, and glinting with something sharp. Suddenly, his lips twisted into a grin, spreading across his striking features. But this smile, wild and unhinged, chilled her more than Huo Qi’s blade ever had.

“I’m a fugitive too.” His voice was light, almost playful, as the smile turned predatory.

Xin Yueying’s scalp prickled,”I… I figured. But I’d never turn you in! Why else would I string Old Wang along? I—”

“Doesn’t matter.” Shen Qingqi cut her off with a flick of his fingers.

“Next time someone comes for you, send them straight to me. Let them try Shen Qingqi.”

Huo Qi jerked as if struck, “Master! You’re sparing her? She knows everything! You even gave her your real name?!”

Shen Qingqi didn’t stop smiling. Just a slight tilt of his eyes toward Huo Qi—and the latter clamped his mouth shut, trembling.

Xin Yueying staggered to her feet, legs jelly.

I’m… safe?

The storm of Xin Siniang’s past sins seemed to dissolve with Shen Qingqi’s casual dismissal. But when she glanced at Huo Qi, his expression still screamed I’ll bury you later.

Snapping back to reality, she dragged the half-woven wheelchair forward, “This—this is for you.” Her voice shook despite her forced smile, “It’s lightweight. You can move it yourself.”

She gripped a bamboo strip, steadying herself, “Once it’s done, I’ll sell it to the carpenter. Three taels of silver—no other wheelchair here is this easy to use. The money can buy your medicine.”

A calculated pause.

Thirty coins for Huo Qi’s rabbits vs. three taels for my work. Who’s more useful now?

Shen Qingqi’s lips quirked. He’d caught her meaning,”How diligent of my wife,” he drawled, mocking, “Toiling so much for a cripple.”

Xin Yueying shut her mouth and bent over the wheelchair, weaving furiously. But every time she glanced up—

Shen Qingqi was still watching.

Though his gaze remained icy and detached, Xin Yueying couldn’t help but recall that Shen Qingqi had never once looked directly at Xin Siniang before—no matter how much she’d screamed or raged. He’d been like a terminally ill tiger, indifferent to the yapping of a weak little dog at his side.

But now, that tiger had opened its eyes, watching her with something almost like… curiosity.

The intensity of his stare even made her wonder—Had he seen through her? Did he know she wasn’t the real Xin Siniang?

By dusk, the wheelchair was finished.

She looked up at Shen Qingqi, forcing a smile, “Try it.”

His eyes flickered over the chair—then dulled again.

No wheelchair, no matter how well-made, could replace a pair of healthy legs.

When he didn’t move, she hoisted it up, “Then I’ll sell this first. The money can buy medicine.”

The marketplace was lined with carpentry shops, bustling except for one at the end—Yang’s Carpentry, its business choked by the neighboring coffin store’s unlucky aura.

Perfect.

The shopkeeper, Old Yang, was carving floral patterns into a vanity when she entered, “What’ll it be, miss?”

“I’m here to sell this.” She gestured to the wheelchair.

Old Yang inspected it, intrigued by the lightweight bamboo frame and intricate weaving.

“How much?”

Xin Yueying’s original three-taels plan evaporated, “Thirty taels.”

“WHAT?!” Old Yang recoiled as if burned, “Thirty taels?!” He pointed to a half-finished rosewood vanity, “That set—with mirror, drawers, and chair—takes months. Sells for twenty!”

“This is innovation,” Xin Yueying said smoothly, sitting in the chair and spinning its wheels, “No need to rely on others. Freedom to move.”

Old Yang hesitated. It was novel, but thirty taels for bamboo? “Can’t you lower—”

“No.” Thirty taels to humiliate Huo Qi’s thirty coins. Not a penny less.

She leaned in, “I’m selling you the idea. Study it, replicate it—profit forever.” A nod toward the coffin shop, “And think: sick people buy coffins to ‘ward off death.’ Why not sell them comfort before that?”

Old Yang’s eyes gleamed. But thirty taels…

“I came to you first because your business is struggling,” she pressed. “If you refuse, I’ll go next door. By summer, bamboo chairs will be everywhere—and you’ll starve.”

And this did it.

“Deal.” Old Yang gritted out, “But you can’t teach others!”

“Tomorrow, I’ll show you the technique myself.”

The weight of thirty taels of silver in her palm was intoxicating. A year’s worth of feasts.

Back home, Xin Yueying worked tirelessly under the fading light, weaving a replacement chair for Shen Qingqi. Her fingers ached, but she didn’t dare stop—

Until a voice dripped honey and venom behind her,

“Well, well. Since when does Xin Siniang work?”

Oh? And who might this be?

Xin Yueying turned, meeting the hostile gaze of a young woman smirking in her doorway.