Liu Ruoxi skipped away happily with the banknotes in hand, while Liu Ziyuan trailed behind her, looking as though a dark cloud hung over his head.
Song Anhao planted her hands on her hips and shook her head with a sigh. “What’s wrong with making money? Why can’t Young Master Liu understand that?”
A faint smile curved Song Jinzhao’s lips as she reached out and stroked Song Anhao’s soft, fluffy hair.
“Beliefs ingrained since childhood are difficult to change, especially when most people think the same way.”
Song Anhao lifted her chin, gazing at her beautiful and clever elder sister with admiration.
“Just because most people believe something doesn’t mean it’s right. Other people’s opinions deprive women of the opportunities they deserve to display their talents. That is a form of restraint and suppression.”
“Take Eldest Sister and Second Sister, for instance. You are more capable than many men. If you had cared about what others thought, how could you ever have come this far?”
Song Jinzhao’s lashes trembled slightly, and the hand resting on Song Anhao’s head gradually grew warm.
Though this child had been raised by her own hands, Song Jinzhao had never expected an eight-year-old to say such things.
Softly, she said, “Ideas that have endured for thousands of years cannot be changed in a day. We must take it slowly.”
She believed that day would not be too far away.
…
The cement factory recruited another two thousand workers in its second round of hiring.
Seeing the now-empty Guanyin Temple, Song Qiming could not help but smile in relief.
“At least they didn’t come all this way for nothing. If they earn a little more silver, they’ll be able to enjoy a prosperous New Year.”
The eight main streets had been completed a day ahead of schedule. Looking at the cement that had not yet fully dried, Song Qiming smiled with quiet satisfaction.
“It seems like snow is coming soon.”
The late-autumn wind felt faintly rough against his face.
Once winter arrived in the southwest, the first snowfall would not be far behind.
In the middle of winter, Gu Zhongxun’s carriage arrived in Suining City after a light rain.
After receiving word from the gate official, Song Qiming hurriedly led the officials of Suining City to the South Gate of the inner city to welcome him.
“My lord, we have arrived.”
A soldier lifted the carriage curtain, and Gu Zhongxun, dressed in a purple brocade robe with a round collar, stepped out.
“This subordinate, Song Qiming, Prefect of Suining Prefecture, pays his respects to Your Excellency, the Provincial Administration Commissioner.”
More than a dozen people dropped to their knees in a dark mass. Shi Simian’s calves were trembling.
The last time Gu Zhongxun had come to Suining City to inspect official affairs was ten years ago. At the time, Shi Simian had been nothing more than a low-ranking minor official. He could only kneel at the very back of the crowd and had not even had a chance to speak.
Standing atop the carriage, Gu Zhongxun looked down at the kneeling officials. His gaze paused briefly on Song Qiming’s head before moving on.
“Rise.”
He stepped down from the carriage onto the remarkably hard cement road. Before him stretched a broad, straight avenue.
Wide, clean, and orderly—it was truly thousands of times better than even the Imperial Street along the capital’s central axis.
“Prefect Song, you have truly impressed me. With you overseeing Suining Prefecture, I can rest assured.”
Song Qiming gave a small nod.
“You flatter me, my lord. It is all thanks to my elder sister’s brilliance. I have merely fulfilled my duty.”
Seeing that Gu Zhongxun had no intention of returning to his carriage, Song Qiming and the other officials could only follow slowly at his side, keeping half a step behind.
“Prefect Song, is the prefectural yamen ahead along this road?”
Song Qiming nodded. “After passing through the next three intersections, we will arrive.”
Noticing that there was no standing water on the road, Gu Zhongxun looked around, then walked past a vendor’s cart to the roadside.
Long rectangular bricks covered the mouth of the drainage channel, with finger-width gaps between them. Bending down, he could still see rainwater inside that had not yet dried up.
“Where does all this water flow?”
Song Qiming replied, “Into the Yongning River.”
The large contingent of officials and soldiers behind them had blocked Tongbao Street completely. The commoners who had come to set up their stalls after the rain hurriedly moved their carts and baskets back, afraid that offending such important figures might bring disaster upon them.
