When Song Zhicheng returned to his own yard with his hands behind his back, his wife was flipping through a book under the lamp. Seeing him return, she tossed the book aside and came over to greet him.
"Other people's wives are sewing under the lamp, but you, this woman, are reading those far-fetched stories," Song Zhicheng teased her as he enjoyed her service.
Jiang Shi spat at him, "Sewing, really? Why do I need to do that? What's the point of the embroidery girls in the house, and the maids I'm raising beside me? They're paid monthly salaries, not being raised as ladies who do nothing."
"You, you say that, but I've never really seen you treat the ones around you as maids," Song Zhicheng poked her forehead.
Jiang Shi proudly tilted her head, "Qing Yang and the others are different. They're like my sisters; it's fine to keep them, someone else can do the work."
Song Zhicheng chuckled.
