Transmigrated into a fat wife, farming, raising children, and picking up husbands

As the sun began to set, Lin Xiuer finished her work.

In the garden, from the main gate to the main hall, the weeds have been mostly cleared away.

The knee-high weeds were gone, revealing the uneven, muddy ground underneath. Although it was still broken, at least it looked brighter.

"That's enough for today." Lin Xiuer looked at the cleared area. "Everyone's tired. Let's keep going tomorrow."

Wu Liangcai slammed his hoe on the ground and rubbed his back: "Alright, what time tomorrow?"

"Same time as always, come when you're done selling the pancakes."

Lin Xiuer looked around and pointed to the piles of hay, "Let's pile the hay here for now. After it dries, we can burn it to make ash for fertilizing the fields."

Hu Yidao nodded: "That's a good idea. The first year is when wasteland is most in need of fertilizer."

Lin Xiuer then pointed to the west wing, "Tomorrow we'll clean that room up first, rebuild the stove, and then we can cook here."

"Tomorrow, Lao Hu, you save some pig offal, and I'll bring some seasonings and buy some plates and bowls. We'll braise a pot of it and treat everyone."

"Everyone works so hard, they deserve a good meal."

Hu Yidao's eyes lit up: "Great! Braised offal is good. I've been craving your braised dishes since the last time I had them. I'll save the best for you tomorrow."

Wu Liangcai immediately chimed in, "Then I'll definitely come tomorrow! Braised offal with wine, it's absolutely amazing!"

Everyone laughed, and the fatigue of the day seemed to dissipate a lot.

Chen Mingxuan fanned himself, surveying the garden that was gradually taking shape, and sighed, "Xiuer, I'll ask my father to borrow two helpers to work together tomorrow."

"At this rate, people will be able to move in within a few days."

Lin Xiuer smiled and said, "It's too early for anyone to move in. We still need to rebuild the roof. It would be good enough if we could cook meals first. There's still a long way to go, so let's take it one step at a time."

The group packed their things, shouldered their hoes, and left the garden.

"See you tomorrow, I'm off."

"See you tomorrow!"

At the intersection, they parted ways.

Lin Xiuer and Ping An pushed the cart toward Qingshan Village. As soon as they reached the town entrance, they saw a group of people gathered under an old tree ahead.

Lin Xiuer didn't want to join in the fun, but she had to pass by with her cart, so she only glanced at it briefly before slowing down.

A woman, around forty years old, stood in the middle of the crowd. She was wearing a dark red silk blouse; the material was nice, but the color was gaudy.

Her hair was combed sleekly, without a single stray hair, and held in place by a silver hairpin. Her face was covered in makeup, quite thick, but it couldn't conceal her shrewdness and meanness.

Lin Xiuer was all too familiar with that kind of look in a crowd that could tell who was easy to bully at a glance.

Standing next to her were three or four men, all burly and thick-waisted, standing with their arms crossed, their eyes scanning the onlookers with hostility.

Behind the woman stood seven or eight people, men and women, all quite young, the youngest looking only twelve or thirteen, the oldest no more than seventeen or eighteen.

They all had their heads down, their clothes were drab and gray, and their faces showed either numbness or fear, like a group of goods waiting to be picked over.

Seeing this scene, Lin Xiuer's heart skipped a beat. Could this woman be the legendary matchmaker or slave trader?

She had heard that there were human traffickers in town who bought children from poor families and then resold them to wealthy families as maids and servants.

Or, sell it to an even worse place.

In front of the woman stood an old man in his forties or fifties and a little girl.

The old man was hunched over, wearing a tattered jacket covered in patches, and his face had an unnatural redness, the kind that comes from years of drinking.

He was pulling the girl's arm tightly with one hand, trying to bring her closer to the matchmaker.

"Look, look!"

The old man, with a fawning smile and a spitting laugh, pushed the girl forward, spitting as he did so. The matchmaker waved her handkerchief away in disgust.

"This girl is only fourteen, pretty, and hardworking! You should give her a good price!"

The little girl stumbled and almost fell after being pushed.

She had her head down, so her face was obscured; all that could be seen were a pair of thin, bony hands nervously clutching the hem of her clothes.

The matchmaker glanced at the girl sideways, her lips pursed, looking down on her.

"That's it?" She fanned herself with her handkerchief and snorted through her nose in a high-pitched, shrill voice.

"Too skinny, like a stick. Looking like that, in a wealthy family, she'd be nothing more than a lowly maid. And what's a lowly maid worth?"

The old man grew anxious, his face turning even redder: "Look at her again! She's so capable! Washing clothes, cooking, feeding the chickens and ducks—she can do everything! She does all the housework!"

The matchmaker didn't say anything, but covered her nose with a handkerchief in one hand and reached out with the other to pinch the girl's arm.

"This girl's arms are as thin as firewood sticks; you can pinch them right to the bone."

She massaged her shoulder again, but it was still bone. Then she let go in disgust, took a handkerchief and wiped it, as if she had touched something dirty.

"I have no energy," she concluded, her tone languid and undisguised in her disdain.

"Wealthy families want people who can work, not people who are like ancestors to be worshipped."

"There are plenty of pretty maids in the city. Your daughter might be passable in the village, but in the city, who would even give her a second glance?"

People around were whispering.

"That old man is here again..."

"Didn't you just sell your eldest daughter last month? Why are you here again?"

"Go ahead and drink. Once it's all gone, you can just keep selling. I heard he even sold his son to pay for the alcohol."

"Oh dear, what a terrible thing to do..."

The matchmaker heard this and her lips curled into an even wider sneer. She glanced at the old man from head to toe and gave a sneer.

"Besides, I've seen plenty of people like you who sell their daughters to pay for alcohol."

"If I make money today, I'll drink it all tomorrow. I'm running a business, not a charity. I won't do business at a loss."

The old man's face turned bright red, whether from embarrassment or anger, it was hard to tell. But he didn't let go, still holding onto the girl's arm tightly.

"Please, have mercy..." he muttered, his voice lowered, carrying a hint of humble pleading.

The matchmaker, too lazy to look at him any longer, waved her hand dismissively, as if shooing away a beggar: "Two ounces. That's the most I can give. I'm even worried about losing this much."

"Two ounces?!" Upon hearing these two words, the old man's lips trembled with anger, and he started arguing with the matchmaker, his voice red and his neck thick.

"Two ounces? Are you trying to fetch a beggar? I sold my eldest daughter for three ounces last month."

"No, two ounces is too little. It's not even enough for my monthly liquor budget."

The girl never looked up. But her hand, which was clutching the hem of her clothes, trembled slightly.

The matchmaker scoffed, her laughter shrill and piercing, and fanned herself even faster with her handkerchief. She glanced sideways at the old man, sizing him up.

"I think this is too much even though it's only two ounces." Her impatience was barely concealed.