Lester Liew dashed into the Liew family's old estate, only to find—he'd missed them.
Old Walter Liew was no longer at home.
The previous night, those who could scrape together enough silver had already handed it over to the village chief. At the break of dawn, the village chief took the silver into town.
To everyone's dismay, the competition was fierce. Liew Clan Village was only granted five substitute labor slots. When divided up, the old estate only received one, still leaving one person required for conscription.
When Old Walter heard the news, he was utterly shaken. Holding the six taels of silver the chief returned, he stood frozen, unsure what to do.
As Clara had just finished submitting Lester's name for service and happened to pass by the old estate, she gave Old Walter a suggestion.
"Go find Frank Liew."
His household was supposed to provide two men, but they'd only secured one substitute. No matter which son went, it would be hard on him.
What was a disaster for one family was an opportunity for others. Among the poor, this sort of thing could be turned into business—if one had the money, there were always those desperate enough to sell their lives.
As soon as Frank Liew heard the chief's news, he hitched his cart and headed into town with silver in hand.
Following Clara's advice, Old Walter took all the household's remaining silver and chased after Frank. They entered town together.
Once there, they found a crowd already holding up signs—ten taels for someone to take your place.
For those who could afford it, they didn't hesitate. The moment you did, the substitute would be snatched up by someone else.
At that very moment, Old Walter was finalizing paperwork with the man taking the job.
The local authorities simply turned a blind eye. So long as a surrogate was registered—whether a distant cousin, a godson, or an adopted brother—it was allowed.
So Lester had no chance of finding his father.
Unable to find Old Walter, Lester felt half-dead already. Regret gnawed at him. He smacked his forehead hard.
All for Scholar Fan's wine and meat—and worst of all, that shrew caught him red-handed! But what use was regret now?
His name was already written on the conscription list. Who could remove it now?
Unless… he spent silver to hire someone else to take his place?
And the only person with that kind of money—was Clara.
If he could just win her forgiveness, there was still time.
"Clara!!"
He burst through the door, knees ready to drop in front of her.
Clara was in the children's room reviewing their studies. When Lester stormed in, wailing and hollering, her brow furrowed, her expression instantly frosted over.
The children were startled. Luckily, Clara reacted fast—just before he could kneel, she grabbed his arm and shoved him back outside.
Turning to the children, she smiled calmly. "Alright, everyone passed today's review. Go play."
As they filed out, Clara cast Lester a warning glare. Don't you dare scare them.
Lester swallowed his panic and forced a sheepish grin. "Sorry! I, uh, slipped on the way in. Haha…"
Chad and Deb immediately burst out laughing, miming a shamed expression and fleeing as Lester playfully lunged toward them.
"Big brothers, let's go play ball!"
Adam nodded, grabbed the bamboo ball from the chest, and joined Ben chasing after the twins.
In an instant, the house fell silent.
Clara took a seat at the desk, casting a cold glance toward the door.
Lester's smile collapsed. He slid across the floor, clutching at her legs, tearful and desperate.
"Clara, you've misunderstood! Let me explain—"
She raised her hand. "No need. I don't want to hear it."
He shuffled closer, wrapping his arms around her leg. "It really wasn't what it looked like! I swear, what you saw that day in town wasn't the whole story—"
"I never gave you a chance?" she cut in coldly.
With a twist of her leg, Clara sent him flying three meters.
Lester gasped in pain, clutching his rear. This time, the tears were real. He shook his head wildly. "Clara, please—don't—!"
His cries twisted into a pitiful wail, echoing off the walls.
Clara rose and walked to him, towering above. She lifted his chin with a cruel grip—so strong it nearly dislocated his jaw.
The murderous impatience in her eyes made every hair on Lester's body stand on end.
Dear gods—someone save me!
But with his jaw clenched in her hand, he couldn't utter a word.
Clara sneered and released him with a disdainful pat to the cheek. "Lester, Lester, Lester. I gave you a chance. You just weren't worth it."
"If you've got any self-awareness, walk out of this house on your own. If not…"
She didn't even finish the sentence. Lester scrambled up and bolted for the door.
"I'll go! I'll serve! As long as it makes you happy, Clara, my worthless life is yours to toss away!"
At the doorway, he turned and wiped his face, putting on a defiant look.
"If I make it back alive, Clara… promise you'll hear me out."
Clara snorted. "I won't. Now get lost."
Lester: "…"
Fine. Lost it is!
He stormed back into his room, flopped onto the bed, and stared at the latticework on the window, overcome with grief.
He couldn't even cry—because he still wanted to live.
The children came back right before dinner, cheerful and clueless, completely unaware of their father's breakdown.
Clara's sharp gaze kept Lester in check. Determined not to traumatize the kids, he forced himself to act breezy.
By dusk, he seemed to have had an epiphany.
Facing reality, Lester no longer clung to delusions. He shifted gears—from avoiding conscription to maximizing survival.
Right after dinner, he even went to the old estate—probably to cry to Old Walter, but Clara didn't care.
When he returned, he dove into survival prep like a man possessed.
He shaved down a long branch to make a polearm, affixed a kitchen cleaver to the top, and fashioned a crude saber.
Clara raised an eyebrow. Making weapons now?
Then he pulled out a sewing kit and thickened the soles of his shoes—stitching two new pairs in one night.
Clara clicked her tongue in surprise. So he does have some domestic skill.
Next, he overhauled all his clothes, adding secret pockets to the thickest set of winter gear—stuffing them with salt, sugar, flint, anything useful.
The night before departure, he even conned Ben's copper coins and hid them in his inner pockets.
Out in the wild, nothing's more valuable than coin.
Time was short—this was all he could manage.
Hugging his fully loaded coat, Lester lay down with tears in his eyes, savoring one last night at home.
Clara had half-expected to see his corpse hauled back one day. She was already considering a good coffin to bury him in.
But when she reached under her pillow—
Her steel dagger was gone.
(End of chapter)
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