Chapter 4

My sister and I held each other’s hands tightly.

That night.

Neither of us could sleep.

“Do you want to study?” I asked softly.

She did not answer for a long time. When she finally spoke, her voice was scarcely a whisper.

“There’s only enough money for one of us. And someone has to do the work.”

Children who are too considerate always lose out.

She thought of too much, made too many allowances. She never asked because she did not want to make things difficult for anyone else.

Someone with a conscience would notice her, feel for her, and offer without waiting to be asked.

Someone without one would comfortably ignore her and enjoy her thoughtfulness. If anyone pointed it out, they would look utterly bewildered.

“Why didn’t you say something? I’d have known if you’d told me.”

But people who truly care have eyes. They have a scale inside them called a conscience. They do not take another person’s sacrifices for granted.

I closed my eyes, a stubborn determination building inside me.

My sister was right.

We could not afford the academy. But children who could read were generally cheaper.

A teacher charged a tael of silver in tuition. A child who knew his letters asked only a few copper coins.

We took out the money we had saved from our needlework and paid a neighbor’s boy to teach us.

He was thrilled and taught us with earnest enthusiasm. If there was something he did not know, he would ask his teacher the next day, learn it, and bring the lesson back to us.

His parents turned a blind eye. They were even rather pleased that their son could teach and earn money at such a young age.

And so we kept learning our characters.

Sometimes my sister went; sometimes I did. One studied while the other worked, and afterward taught the other what she had learned.

Later, our parents opened a shop, and we went to help.

They wanted to hire someone to keep the accounts.

I recommended my sister.

They were astonished.

“How could she possibly keep accounts?”

I was the one who persuaded them.

“Surely you’d trust family with the books more than a stranger. Besides, she’s so diligent. If she doesn’t keep accounts, what will she do? Sit at home playing the pampered young lady?”

Playing the pampered young lady was out of the question.

We already had one such lady in the family, our youngest sister, raised in silk and finery. We could not afford another.

Our parents agreed, but gave her only a month.

Even that was a wonderful opportunity.

She was so happy she nearly cried.

People who rarely receive recognition or a chance will cling desperately to one when it comes.

If her handwriting was ugly, she practiced it over and over.

If she did not know how to keep accounts, she learned.

We took the muddled account books to the manager of the shop next door and asked for help. He frowned in distaste, but when he saw the frightened uncertainty on my sister’s face, he accepted our gift and taught us patiently.

Little by little, we got the accounts in order.

Then I wanted to take charge of buying stock.

Our parents refused.

They thought I was in open rebellion, trying to take what belonged to them.

But I had understood something by then.

I did not need Father’s agreement. If I wanted to do it, I would.

In the shop, I carefully noted the maids who came to buy things for wealthy households. Sometimes I paid for small gifts to add to their purchases. Gradually, we began talking. I learned their preferences and noted what they bought.

One day, a girl frowned at our wares and said her mistress favored understated colors. Everything in our shop was too gaudy for the ladies of the household. Even their maids would not like it.

I remembered her words and thanked her.

When Father next went to buy stock, I made a point of going along and selected a batch in different colors from his.

He did not want them, but he cared about appearances. He glared fiercely at me, hoping I would back down. Only after I offered to pay part of the cost myself did he agree.

When the goods went on sale, my choices sold well and quickly.

After being proved wrong several times, Father had little choice but to leave the buying and selling to me.