“Why would you think I’m unwilling?” Mu Shi’an gazed intently at Song Nianchu.

Ahem…

Song Nianchu cleared her throat awkwardly.

She couldn’t very well tell him that she believed he wouldn’t defy his parents’ wishes for her sake.

“You might have some misunderstandings about me,” Mu Shi’an said, reading her thoughts from her expression.

“Hmm?” Song Nianchu looked puzzled.

“I am me, and my parents are my parents. They raised me, so of course I have a duty to care for them in their old age. But that doesn’t mean I’m a puppet with no will of my own. My decisions are mine alone to make,” Mu Shi’an emphasized each word.

Song Nianchu was momentarily stunned. Was he saying that even if his father objected, he wouldn’t go back on his word?

“Do you know what my mother said to me today when I took my father home?” Mu Shi’an continued, seeing her lingering doubt.

“What?” Song Nianchu instinctively asked.

“My mother wanted me to ask you if you could arrange an easy job for my younger sister in your kitchen studio,” Mu Shi’an replied honestly.

“That’s the first thing they brought up as soon as you got back?” Song Nianchu frowned.

“Yes,” Mu Shi’an nodded.

“Did they even ask how you were doing after spending days alone in the hospital caring for your father? Whether you were exhausted, if you’d eaten properly, or slept well?” Song Nianchu pressed, disbelief in her voice.

Mu Shi’an chuckled and shook his head.

“Parents might have favorites, but isn’t your mother taking it too far?” Song Nianchu studied him for a moment. “Tell me, have you ever gotten checked at a hospital? Are you sure you’re her biological child?”

Mu Shi’an burst out laughing at that.

“I was born at home. My father hired the most experienced midwife for her.”

“Then why is she so harsh with you?” Song Nianchu couldn’t wrap her head around it.

Weren’t people in this era supposed to favor sons over daughters? Why was it the opposite in Mu Shi’an’s case?

“Actually, my family isn’t much different from most. My grandfather and father are both deeply traditional—they value sons over daughters.”

“From the moment I was born, they groomed me as the family heir. When my sister was born, they didn’t even come home.”

“They were strict about my academic performance but never demanded anything from my sister.”

“Ever since I can remember, I’ve lived with my grandfather. I could count the number of times I saw my mother in a year on one hand.”

“My father was always away on business, so it was my sister who kept her company. On top of that, my mother had a difficult life in the past, so she became obsessive about compensating for it through my sister.”

Song Nianchu’s brows furrowed. “Your family dynamics are a complete mess.”

“I never really noticed it before. But now that my family’s circumstances have changed, all those overlooked flaws have come back tenfold,” Mu Shi’an said calmly.

“And you’re not even angry?” Song Nianchu huffed.

“Why would I be? If their demands are unreasonable, I can just refuse. Isn’t that what you taught me?” Mu Shi’an shrugged.

“When did I ever teach you that?” Song Nianchu was taken aback.

“Didn’t you tell me to focus more on myself?” Mu Shi’an said, his lips parting slightly.

“And then you figured it out just like that, and outright refused your mom?” Song Nianchu’s voice lifted at the end, incredulous.

“Otherwise?” Mu Shi’an didn’t quite grasp her point.

Song Nianchu genuinely didn’t know how to describe her current emotions.

Logically speaking, shouldn’t he be torn between resenting his mother’s favoritism and clinging to gratitude for her upbringing, trapped in endless self-torment?

How did Mu Shi’an manage to see through what could’ve filled half a novel’s worth of drama so effortlessly?

Not even a symbolic emotional struggle?

All the comforting words she’d painstakingly prepared to soothe his wounded heart—ready to swoop in during his vulnerable moment, ignite passion, and spend the night in fiery devotion—were now utterly wasted.

“What’s wrong?” Mu Shi’an asked, his expression growing more bewildered as he took in Song Nianchu’s visibly aggrieved face.

Had he said something wrong?

Probably not. He’d only followed her advice, hadn’t he?

“Nothing. Just wanted to praise how sharp your mind is,” Song Nianchu forced a smile.

Sharp indeed—straightforward to the point of bypassing any twists or turns.

“People have always said that since I was little,” Mu Shi’an replied, oblivious to the subtext.

Song Nianchu: “…”

Her temple twitched. No wonder someone this good-looking had stayed single for so long. There was a reason.

“By the way, how many weaving machines do you need? I’ve finished the second one,” Mu Shi’an changed the subject, mistaking her silence for disinterest.

“The more the better. But one every few days is a bit slow,” Song Nianchu’s focus shifted, as expected.

After all, making money was the top priority right now.

“I’m working alone. This is my fastest pace,” Mu Shi’an frowned slightly.

The tools here were outdated. With better equipment, he could speed things up.

“What if I found you some helpers? Would you be willing?” Song Nianchu ventured.

“Of course,” Mu Shi’an agreed without hesitation.

“Really?!” Song Nianchu lit up.

This tiny weaving machine held massive commercial potential—trade secrets, in other words. No one would willingly expose their trump card to others.

Even she had only taught Aunt Wu and Hua how to cook after building deep trust. Yet Mu Shi’an had agreed without a second thought?

“Do you realize what this thing represents?” Song Nianchu pressed, needing confirmation.

“At its current efficiency, one person can weave a fishing net in about seven days with practice. Compared to the old method—one net per month—it’s roughly four times faster,” Mu Shi’an explained earnestly.

Qinghe Fishing Village specialized in large fishing nets, which were high-value and profitable but labor-intensive.

“You clearly know how much efficiency this machine you’ve built can bring, yet you’re willing to let others observe your process? Aren’t you afraid someone might steal your techniques?” Song Nianchu hadn’t expected Mu Shi’an to have calculated everything so meticulously.

“Why do you always assume I wouldn’t be willing? Isn’t the purpose of learning knowledge to create more advanced productivity? The machine I’ve built can greatly improve the efficiency of net-weaving. Shouldn’t I be delighted if others come to learn? After all, that’s the fastest way to spread it and help more people.” Mu Shi’an’s eyes held a trace of confusion, as if he couldn’t understand why Song Nianchu would ask such a question.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep