Chapter 4: The Little Sister Rules

Su Dahu didn’t catch on right away—but Su Erhu was wide awake.

These people were clearly referring to what the old fortune-teller had once said, years ago.

That if their family had a daughter, they’d be blessed with endless wealth and prosperity…

“My sister’s just a little girl,” Su Erhu said, jaw tight. “Whether we’re rich or poor has nothing to do with her.”

She’d barely been born—and already these folks were whispering behind their backs.

If things stayed this way, if they remained as poor as ever, what would they say then?
They’d mock them for being broke. But they wouldn’t dare mock his sister.

Not while he was around.

With that, Su Erhu grabbed his older brother’s arm and pulled him away.

The whole gang of men from the Su household vanished in a rush, leaving behind a crowd still gathered under the great elm tree, chewing on gossip like roasted peanuts.

“Just one daughter—what’s so special about that? How’d they suddenly get lucky?”

A young wife, hand resting on her swollen belly, watched the brothers walk off with a sneer.

One useless girl-child. That’s all she was.
People talk like she’s some golden phoenix hatched from fire!

Old Wang Po, hair white as frost, heard the comment and instantly leaned in with a conspiratorial grin.

“Er Gou’s wife—you don’t know the full story, do you?” She lowered her voice, eyes glinting. “Years back, a master fortune-teller came through our village. Oh, he was something else—like a real immortal, robes fluttering in the wind, face like moonlight… no matter who he read for, his predictions always came true!”

She paused, savoring the moment, lips smacking softly as if tasting memories.

It wasn’t just a tale—it was legend. And she was its storyteller now.

The effect was instant. Dozens of curious young women leaned in, eyes wide.

Wang Po felt the spotlight. She loved it.

Then she continued: “He told the old Su family—‘Your home is too strong in yang, weak in yin. For generations, no daughters have been born. Your luck is fading fast. Only when you have a daughter will your fortunes rise like smoke into the sky—wealth pouring in, blessings lasting forever.’”

She spoke with such passion, it was hard to tell where folklore ended and prophecy began. Every dramatic phrase dripped with ancient magic.

“Wait… really? That’s not possible,” the young wife scoffed. “You’re kidding, right?”

She’d only been married into the village a few years. She couldn’t believe the poorest family in town could suddenly become rich just because they’d given birth to a girl.

She patted her belly proudly.

Her mother had said her shape was round—definitely carrying a boy.

Girls? What good were they?

Only boys mattered. Girls were money pits.

Funny how she never seemed to realize she herself was exactly the kind of “money pit” she despised.

***

On the path.

“Brother,” Su Erhu finally couldn’t hold it in. “Back then… did that fortune-teller actually *know* what he was saying? Is it true… are we gonna get rich now that Mama had the baby?”

Su Dahu frowned, remembering the rumors that had swirled through the village like dust storms.

“None of that stuff is real,” he said flatly. “Don’t you remember? A few years back, Old Wu’s family swore they saw golden light shining through their house at night—said they were about to get rich overnight. What happened?”

“They lost a leg the next day,” Su Erhu replied, grimacing.

“So whatever the fortune-teller said—doesn’t matter,” Su Dahu declared, stepping into his role as elder brother. “Our sister is our sister. She’s our treasure. From now on, after Dad and Mom, she comes first.”

The others nodded without hesitation.

This little girl—they’d waited so long for her. She was worth every ounce of hope.

As they reached the fork in the road, the brothers split up.

Su Dahu headed toward the foot of the mountain, hoping for luck.

Su Erhu took the younger ones down to the river.

“Brother,” Su Erhu warned, “if you don’t catch any wild chickens, fine. But don’t go into the woods. Promise me.”

“I know,” Su Dahu said, grinning sheepishly. “I’m not suicidal. I haven’t even seen my sister yet. And there’s that beast out there…”

His voice trailed off.

Something flickered in his eyes—shadowed, distant.

Su Erhu’s expression darkened.

The mood shifted instantly. The laughter died. Even the little kids, who didn’t understand why, fell silent, sensing the weight in the air.

“Brother…” Su Erhu whispered, voice cracking. “Do you think Sanhu… will come back?”

“Yes,” Su Dahu said, loud and firm. “He’ll come back. He has to.”

He didn’t believe it himself—but he said it anyway.

Maybe to convince Su Erhu. Maybe to convince himself.

Because deep down, he *knew* Sanhu would return.

But then Su Erhu asked, quieter now: “But… is he even still alive?”

“Stop talking nonsense!” Su Dahu snapped, eyes flashing. “Sanhu survived that monster once—he’s got luck written in his bones. He’s alive. Probably eating roast duck and drinking wine somewhere, laughing at us.”

Despite his usual quiet demeanor, Su Dahu had a backbone when it counted.

“Brother,” Su Erhu said, voice breaking again. “If he’s so lucky… why did he get taken by the tiger in the first place?”

He couldn’t finish.

Su Dahu clenched his fist. His gentle face hardened with sudden fury.

“One day,” he growled, “I’ll kill that beast with my own hands.”

“Count me in,” Su Erhu said immediately.

“Me too!”

“Me too!”

Even the little ones, confused but eager, shouted their promises, joining in with fierce little voices.

For a moment, silence hung heavy.

Then Su Dahu turned serious again.

“Erhu,” he said. “Keep an eye on the little ones. Don’t let them fall in the water.”

“Don’t worry,” Su Erhu waved it off. “These rascals’ve been playing by the river since they could crawl.”

Su Dahu thought about it. Yeah… that was true.

Their kids grew up unsupervised—older ones watching over younger ones, climbing trees, swimming, diving headfirst into danger before they could even tie their shoes.

He nodded, satisfied.

Then he walked off.

Su Erhu led the younger ones straight to the riverbank.

“Xiao Liu,” he called. “You and I go in. We’ll use the big net. Da Pan, Er Pan—stay on shore. No swimming today.”

Even though he knew the kids were safe, he still gave the order.

After all, today was the first day his sister was born.

If anything happened to one of them—how would they explain it to the family?

How could he live with himself if his parents blamed him?

No. Not today. Not for her.