Mom! Please Don't Marry Again. Our Place Really Is a Black Shop!

My mother is about to marry for the fourth time. Her first three husbands all died because she supposedly brought them bad luck. Clutching my abacus, I sobbed, “Mother! Please don't marry again. Our family really is a den of thieves!” She clicked her abacus and smiled. “I'm marrying! This time the betrothal gifts are eighty taels, enough to renovate three streets.” I sabotaged things while she worked on the marketing. I hid rats, and she sold them as “more children, more blessings.” I put on a ghost act, and she charged admission for an “immersive haunted house experience.” The den of thieves got more and more popular, while I grew more and more desperate. Then a man walked in with a smile. “Using a rat as a betrothal gift? That's pretty creative.” My mother's eyes lit up. “Sir, the second cup is half price.” Me: “???”