Chief Bao stood unblinking in the churned dirt, grease from the jeep exhaust drifting past his boots. Yingtao tilted her head, batting her lashes with wide-eyed innocence as she hummed a cheerful, tuneless ditty. Then, a low rumble started in Chief Bao’s chest. It wasn't a growl, nor a cough. It was a laugh. A deep, hearty, booming laugh that echoed off the surviving walls of the burned-out storage yard. He threw back his head, the sound reverberating, dispelling the gloom like a gust of wind. “A transmigrator? Magical space? Ha! The woman’s lost her mind! Prison will do that to some, I suppose.” He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, shaking his head. “Desperate ramblings of a cornered rat. Nothing more. Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say.” Yingtao clapped her hands together, a sunny smile blossoming on her face. “Oh, Chief Bao, you’re so wise! It must be all the stress of getting caught. Cousin Lihua always did have a vivid imagination, didn’t she? Remember that time she swore a fox demon stole her chickens? Silly girl!” She giggled, a light, tinkling sound. Zongyan’s hand found hers, a warm, reassuring pressure against her palm. His knuckles brushed hers, a silent communication of relief and shared triumph. Chief Bao, still chuckling, waved a dismissive hand. “Very well, the matter is settled. The real criminals are apprehended. The missing rations accounted for. Our commune's good name is restored thanks to Mr. Shen’s timely investments and—ahem—a diligent young citizen like yourself, Miss Wei.” He gave Yingtao a brief, almost-too-knowing look, before finally turning to his jeep. “I’ll be sending a full report up the chain. Expect some commendations soon.” With a final nod, he climbed into the vehicle, and the jeep rumbled away, leaving only the lingering scent of damp earth and victory. As the exhaust thinned into the morning chill, Zongyan turned toward Yingtao, his gaze steady and warm. The cheerful act faltered, just for a moment, as she met his serious gaze. He loosened his grip on her hand, then, with a fluid motion that drew every single eye in the now-gathering crowd, he sank to one knee in the churned mud of the yard. A collective gasp rippled through the small cluster of onlookers. “Wei Yingtao,” Zongyan’s voice was low, resonant, carrying clearly in the crisp air. He reached into the inner pocket of his finely tailored tunic and produced a small, velvet box. It wasn’t a ring he offered, but a thick stack of aged, official-looking papers, bound with red ribbon. “I know you value security, a safe future for the twins above all else. I offer you that, and more. My family’s ancestral lands, the Shen family estate, the largest agricultural holding in the prefecture, all of it, legally transferred into your name. And with it, my lifelong dedication. Wei Yingtao, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” Yingtao’s mouth parted slightly. The chattering crowd of villagers had fallen utterly silent. Wang Daniu, standing frozen with a half-eaten pork bun in his hand, dropped it in the mud with a soft thud. Xiaofeng and Xiaoli toddled closer, grease from breakfast still shining on their plump cheeks. This was not part of the plan. Her original goal was simply to spoil her kids rotten, not to become a land baroness! Looking at Zongyan kneeling in the muck, offering deed rolls that guaranteed the little ones would never starve, Yingtao beamed. “Oh, Mr. Shen! My, my, aren’t you just the most forward gentleman! And all that land? For *me*? Oh, very well, then! If you insist!” She laughed, a bright, bubbly sound, and reached down to help him up. “But you’ll have to learn how to properly cultivate late-season gourds. My grand-aunt’s recipe is top secret!” Zongyan rose, a slow, relieved smile spreading across his face. He didn't just take her hand; he enveloped her in a gentle, firm embrace, heedless of the shocked gasps and murmurs that erupted from the villagers. *Earlier that morning…* Wang Daniu ran. He ran until his lungs burned and his legs felt like lead weights. The forged government documents, carefully wrapped in oilskin, were tucked securely into his waistband. “Just get these into the town center, Wang Daniu. Ask for ‘Iron Fist’ Li at the print shop. Tell him the ‘Sparrow’ sent you. And there will be extra, extra pork buns. Unlimited, Daniu. Unlimited.” Yingtao’s voice, though playful, had held an undercurrent of steely resolve that had spurred him on like nothing else. He wouldn’t let her down. He wouldn’t let his magical pork bun supply dry up. He’d bribed a cart driver with his last silver coin for a lift to the district border, then sprinted the remaining ten li through the pre-dawn darkness. Iron Fist Li, a grizzled man with ink-stained hands and surprisingly nimble fingers, had taken one look at the documents, heard the code phrase, and simply nodded. The documents, freshly stamped and dated, had been pressed back into Daniu’s sweaty hand just as the first rays of sun pierced the horizon. He’d sprinted all the way back, fueled by the promise of buns, arriving at the perimeter just as Zongyan began to present the papers to Chief Bao. *A few months later…* The sun beat down mercilessly on the pigsty at the provincial labor farm. Old Madam Wei, her back permanently hunched, her hair streaked with grey and perpetually smelling of effluent, shoveled a fresh pile of pig manure into a waiting cart. Ten years, they’d said. Ten years for hoarding state property, for black market dealings, for attempting to frame a good citizen. Every shovelful was a bitter reminder of Yingtao’s cheerful, waving face as the jeep had driven away. The twins' chubbiness, the new clothes, the endless supply of meat on their plates—it all haunted her waking hours. Her teeth ached for a proper meal, not the gruel and moldy flatbread that was her daily fare. And the pigs… they were everywhere. She hated pigs. Back in Xiaoshui, the aroma of spiced braised pork and sweet potato pancakes wafted from the Wei-Shen residence. Wang Daniu, now impeccably dressed in a crisp, clean tunic, his chest puffed out with a newly acquired sense of authority, oversaw a busy crew of farmhands. “Careful with those wax gourds! We don’t want any bruising! And remember, crop rotation is key! As Mrs. Shen always says, ‘A happy soil makes for a happy harvest!’” He even had a small notebook, diligently logging the daily yields. His belly, already rounded, proved the steady worth of the steaming, savory meat buns that appeared mysteriously on his desk each morning. He had become the most diligent overseer the valley had ever seen, his loyalty absolute, his methods surprisingly effective. Inside, Xiaofeng, now a plump, rosy-cheeked toddler, meticulously sorted brightly colored beans into separate piles, counting under his breath in a surprisingly complex sequence of numbers. Xiaoli, equally robust, sat across from him, sketching fantastical flying machines on a slate with remarkable detail. They giggled as Yingtao placed a large, steaming platter of shimmering, sapphire-colored parcels onto the low table. “Eat up, my little geniuses! These are space-grown ‘Azure Dream’ bundles, perfect for growing big, clever brains!” Yingtao watched them devour the savory mouthfuls with boundless satisfaction. Her toddlers were thriving, spoiled rotten in every way imaginable. Zongyan entered, a slight smile playing on his lips as he took in the scene. He kissed her temple, then leaned in. “The district chief called. The new grain quotas have been approved. Your ‘accidental’ suggestion for the new hybrid rice strain just boosted our yield by another fifteen percent.” Yingtao blinked, her expression one of wide-eyed innocence. “Oh, did it? How marvelous! I just told him it was such a pretty shade of green, and wouldn’t it be nice if it grew extra tall? Silly me, I don’t know anything about farming, really!” She giggled, then turned back to the twins, spooning more parcels onto their plates. “Eat up, darlings! We must make sure we have plenty for our cold-season stores!” Outside, the sun shone brightly on Xiaoshui. The village buzzed with new prosperity, with healthy crops, and thriving livestock. And at its heart, the bubbly, seemingly clueless Mrs. Shen, who, with her doting, quietly powerful husband, pulled the strings of the entire commune’s economy, ensuring her twins would forever be spoiled rotten, safe and secure in their rapidly expanding, magically abundant world.

Spoiled Rotten