Chapter 210

"Miss, your package has arrived." Spring Peach hurried into the inner chamber, carrying a sandalwood box.

I set down the ledger I was reviewing and glanced up. The box was polished to a deep black sheen, its corners adorned with gilded copper fittings—clearly an expensive item.

"How many is this now?" I asked absently.

"Miss, this is the seventh one this month," Spring Peach answered cautiously. "All sent from the capital."

I let out a soft hum, running my fingertips over the lid. Ever since that incident, gifts from the capital had arrived like snowflakes in winter—silks, jewels, rare treasures... nothing was spared.

"Open it," I said flatly.

Spring Peach obeyed, lifting the lid. Inside lay a pair of mutton-fat white jade bracelets, their surfaces glowing softly in the candlelight.

"Fine jade," I remarked, picking one up and holding it to the light. "Pity..."

"Does Miss not like them?" Spring Peach ventured.

I set the bracelet down, my lips curling into a cold smile. "Like them? I stopped caring for such things long ago."

A commotion rose from outside the window. I walked over and saw several ornate carriages parked at the estate gates, their liveried servants carrying in yet more boxes.

"Who sent these?" I asked.

"The Li family, Miss," Spring Peach replied. "They say it's an apology."

I scoffed. "An apology? Now they remember their manners?"

Spring Peach stayed silent, head bowed.

Turning away, I went to the vanity and pulled open the bottom drawer. Inside lay neat stacks of banknotes, each stamped with the seals of the capital's most prominent financial houses.

"Miss..." Spring Peach hesitated.

"What?" I didn't look up.

"Do you... truly not intend to forgive them?"

My hands stilled. I turned to face her. "Forgive them?" A humorless laugh escaped me. "Have you forgotten how they treated me?"

Spring Peach lowered her gaze. "This servant hasn't forgotten."

I shut the drawer and walked back to the window. The setting sun cast a golden glow over the courtyard, gilding the mountains of gifts piled there.

"All these things..." I murmured. "What use are they?"

Spring Peach looked at me, confused.

I turned toward the inner chamber, leaving only these words behind: "Tell the gatekeeper—starting tomorrow, no more gifts are to be accepted."

"But... what about those already delivered?"

I paused mid-step, not turning around. "Donate them all to the orphanage outside the city."

Spring Peach's eyes widened. "Miss! Those are all—"

"I lack nothing they can give," I cut her off, my voice barely audible. "What I want... they can never return to me."

With that, I stepped into the inner chamber, leaving Spring Peach standing alone amidst a room full of treasures, utterly bewildered.

The situation was bitterly ironic.

Emily Johnson saw things clearly—whether from the countryside or the city, people bled the same red. Born under the same flag, raised in the same era, who was truly better than whom?

"Alright."

She turned toward the kitchen, and the air in the main room instantly stiffened.

John Stone Sr. cleared his throat, forcing conversation. "Mother-in-law, with the New Year coming, your factory must be busy?"

Margaret Johnson sipped her tea, expression cool. "Indeed. Henry meant to come, but his schedule wouldn't allow."

Her words were polished, but John saw through them. City folks and their favoritism toward sons—he'd seen it all before. During the educated youth return wave years back, which family hadn't pulled strings to get their boys home first?

"The village is slaughtering the New Year's pig soon. Since you're here, why not stay a few extra days?"

Margaret tapped her cup lightly. This visit was already an exception—she couldn't linger. The thought of her daughter marrying and having children without even informing the family still rankled.

"The factory only approved three days' leave."

Their exchange was a careful dance. John was probing—would this city mother-in-law take his daughter-in-law away?

The kitchen steamed with activity.

"Emily, how long is your mother staying?" Mary Stone whispered.

Emily chopped vegetables briskly. She'd already decided—she wasn't going back. Once her mother hit enough resistance, she'd leave. As for those relatives waiting to gloat...

Did she even need their pity packages now?

"Maybe tomorrow."

"So soon?" Mary fretted. "Your family's sent so much over the years. I've dried vegetables, cured meat..."

Cured meat? Emily nearly scoffed. She wouldn't waste good food on those ungrateful snakes.

"I don't have any stored. Take more dried vegetables, Mother."

Mary nodded eagerly. "Bamboo shoots, mushrooms—perfect for stewed chicken."

Consider it alms for beggars. Emily glimpsed the patches on Mary's sleeves, then recalled the disdain in Margaret's eyes earlier. Such relatives only deserved token visits during holidays.

She flipped the spatula, oil sizzling. Now she had skills—a trip to the county's black market earned her dozens. Watches weren't sustainable, but hairpins and ribbons still turned solid profits.

Who still cared for those condescending care packages?