Chapter 10
803words
A small shop called "Anna's Consulting Office" opened its doors in a dusty border town.
The modest establishment offered just one service: solving the townsfolk's problems—for a hefty fee. Its owner was a striking woman with an intimidating presence, accompanied by her elderly, perpetually smiling mother and a rather awkward assistant.
"Anna, we're out of water," said Theresa—Anastasia's older sister—while wiping down a table. Anastasia had rescued her from homelessness a few years back.
"If we're out of water, then go get some. Am I paying you to state the obvious?" Anastasia didn't bother looking up from her abacus, her tone sharp and businesslike.
Theresa's shoulders slumped with a disappointed "Oh" as she turned to leave. Then Anastasia added: "And stop by Li's shop on your way back. Get yourself some of that osmanthus cake you're always drooling over. Put it on my account."
Theresa's face brightened instantly as she hurried out the door.
Their mother set aside her knitting with a knowing smile. "You never change, do you?"
"Like what?" Anastasia snorted. "She works, I pay her—perfectly fair. The cake is just fuel so she'll work harder this afternoon. It's called 'strategic human resource investment.'"
Mother just smiled and returned to her knitting.
Over the years, Anna had flourished in the small town with her unique brand of "business logic." She'd saved the local bakery with a "buy five, get one free" promotion; humbled a predatory rich boy by circulating a forged "medical diagnosis" of an "embarrassing condition" that left him unable to show his face; and successfully defended a wrongfully accused young man using razor-sharp logic and sheer force of personality.
She never spoke of justice or kindness—only "deals" and "compensation." Yet everyone in town knew that beneath Miss Anna's razor tongue beat a genuinely good heart.
That afternoon, a plainly dressed young woman with puffy, red-rimmed eyes stepped into the shop.
"Miss Anna, I need your help."
"Save the tears," Anastasia pointed to the price list on the wall. "My services aren't cheap. First, figure out what you can actually afford."
The girl's face blanched at the prices, but she squared her shoulders. "My fiancé was drafted to the front lines. I... I don't have money, but I'll work—anything you need. I'll be your servant for life if that's what it takes. Just please, help bring him home safely."
Anastasia's brows furrowed, the dismissal "no money, no service" already forming on her lips.
But something in the girl's eyes stopped her—no calculation, no bargaining, just something pure to the point of foolishness. Something called love.
That look mirrored Ariel's gaze when she'd watched her prince all those years ago.
Something twisted uncomfortably in Anastasia's chest.
"Anna," her mother's gentle voice floated from across the room, "remember what I told you? Just like I felt back then—as long as you could live well, nothing else mattered."
Mother said nothing more, but Anastasia felt that familiar forgotten thorn prick her heart again.
The silence stretched so long that hope began to fade from the girl's eyes.
Finally, Anastasia heaved a dramatic sigh, her face a mask of exaggerated annoyance.
"Fine! Just my luck!" She snatched a piece of paper and scribbled furiously. "All this blubbering is giving me a headache! I'll just write this off as a bad investment—a total loss!"
She slapped the paper down in front of the girl.
"Pay attention," she jabbed at the paper with her finger, her voice sharp as ever. "Tell your fiancé to forget being a hero. Apply for kitchen duty—stay as far from the fighting as possible. Then use this recipe to brew a medicinal wine for the general's rheumatism. And make sure he..."
She rattled off a detailed strategy—essentially a masterclass in how to appear useful while avoiding danger, ultimately securing a safe discharge.
The girl listened in stunned silence before leaving with the paper, stammering tearful thanks. She had no money to pay, but for once, Anastasia didn't even demand an IOU.
Her mother watched with a satisfied smile playing across her lips.
Anastasia bristled like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. "Don't give me that look! I only helped her because her wailing was disrupting my business! It's called 'eliminating workplace distractions'!"
Mother just smiled and returned to her knitting.
Golden afternoon light streamed through the windows of the little consulting office.
Anastasia snatched up her abacus again, beads clicking rapidly as she tallied the day's earnings. "Another money-losing venture today," she grumbled. "Theresa's definitely working late tonight."
But at the corner of her mouth, a genuine smile appeared—one she herself didn't even notice.
She'd finally learned that sometimes, the most profitable ventures are exactly those that appear to be complete losses.
Because their dividends come in a currency no amount of gold could ever purchase.
