Born to Be Either Rich or Noble - Chapter 1

The spring waters of March began to swell, hundreds of boats racing downstream. The last shards of winter ice fell into the surging waves, drifting in the flickering light, tracing a slender golden ribbon across the porcelain-blue sea.

Housekeeper Cao from the Qian family squinted against the sunlight as he made his way toward a small teahouse built on the waterway ahead.

The thatched tea shed was raised above the tide. Climbing a few wooden steps, he looked inside and saw a young lady standing there, gazing out toward the vast sea. She wore a half-sleeved Song brocade jacket threaded with gold, a pale jade pendant hanging from her waist, and an emerald-green tassel fluttering in the wind, brushing against the edge of her gauzy skirt like the tender sprigs of early spring willows.

Housekeeper Cao stepped forward, clasped his hands across his chest, and reported, “Miss Qian, we’ve received word from the prefecture.”

The young lady turned her head. The gauze of her sun veil lifted to both sides, revealing a face as radiant as morning light—dark hair, bright eyes, skin like jade, lips like blossoms. One glance at her brought to mind the first snow of winter or the moon on a summer’s night.

The Qian family’s wealth rivaled nobility; their daughter’s upbringing was no less grand than that of any official’s household.

By beauty alone, there was no man in the world she did not outshine. Yet the dissatisfaction in Housekeeper Cao’s eyes could not be hidden. “The prefect says… they’ll think it over.”

Merchants, since ancient times, were regarded as the lowest class. The Qian family had never harbored ambitions of tying themselves to power—but fate had taken a cruel turn. Five years ago, during the wars that decided the empire, the now-reigning emperor had once sought aid from the merchants of Yangzhou.

And they had refused.

The Qian family had built its fortune over two generations through the ancestral craft of salt mining, surviving countless upheavals and regime changes through self-reliance and strict neutrality—never aligning with any military faction.

No one could have predicted that among all those of royal blood, it would be the lowest-born soldier, the “mud-footed” son of a peasant, who would lead his straw-sandaled troops to victory, seize the empire, and sit upon the throne.

Five years later, peace reigned across the land—and the emperor showed no sign of falling.

If the emperor did not fall, it would be them—the Qian family—who would.

They had lived in cautious fear for five long years, but word had recently spread: the emperor remembered that old debt and had dispatched an imperial official to investigate the merchants of Yangzhou.

To escape this tightening noose, the Qian patriarch decided they needed a powerful ally. After weighing their options, he set his sights on the Prefect of Yangzhou—and planned to offer his only daughter, Qian Tong, in marriage to the prefect’s youngest son.

Today, the matchmaker had gone to make the proposal. The Prefect’s wife named a bride price of fifty thousand taels, and the Qian family agreed on the spot—so quickly that the other party began to think they had underpriced their worth.

For the sake of their family’s survival and their beloved daughter’s future, even emptying their coffers was a price the Qians were willing to pay.

When Housekeeper Cao heard no reply, he looked up again. The young lady had turned back to gaze at the sea. Morning light spilled across the waves in golden ripples, stretching from the clear horizon all the way to her slender figure. She stood there, luminous as spring itself—so beautiful it deepened the ache in his chest. “There’s no need for you to worry about the dowry, Miss,” he said gently. “Your mother has already arranged to meet the Prefect’s wife at the next spring banquet.”

Behind him, the servant boy craned his neck and blurted, “Young Master Lan said that if we redeem the saddle he pawned last month, the marriage will be settled. He’s the one who decides anyway!”

Housekeeper Cao glared sharply, but it was too late.

The maid Fuyin, who had been brewing tea behind them, shot up in outrage. “What kind of useless fool talks like that? The Cui family’s daughter even opened a teahouse for him—why isn’t he married yet?”

But if the young master weren’t such a good-for-nothing, the Prefect’s family would never have agreed to such a match with merchants in the first place.

Everyone knew the truth, though no one said it aloud.

Before silence could settle, a long, distant call rose from the mist over the sea. All turned their eyes to the horizon—hundreds of cargo ships, sails filled with the southeast wind, coming clearly into view.

Housekeeper Cao was about to ask whether Miss Qian had come to the docks to receive cargo or meet someone when she turned first, smiling with a graceful curve of her lips. “I understand. Thank you for making the trip, Uncle Cao.”

Housekeeper Cao took the servant by the ear and led him away.

When they were gone, Fuyin stepped up beside her mistress, torn between resentment and helplessness. “Miss, shall we redeem it?” she asked softly.

Qian Tong tilted her chin toward the docks below.

Following her gaze, Fuyin saw the dazzling scene below—sunlight glinting off countless sails, merchants bustling, the air thick with shouting and laughter. The docks of Yangzhou were the beating heart of the Great Yu Empire’s commerce. But in this first month after the river ice broke, only the Pu family held the monopoly on river transport. The Qians had no stake in that trade. The rest of the boats were passenger ships, bringing in out-of-town merchants and poor commoners seeking their livelihood—none of whom had anything to do with the Qian family.

Fuyin couldn’t understand why her mistress had come here at such an early hour. “Miss, what are you looking at?”

“People,” Qian Tong replied.

“What kind of people?”

Her mistress’s voice was calm but certain. “A man about seven feet tall, in his early twenties. Good-looking, in rags. The poorest soul on the entire dock.”

Fuyin blinked, utterly bewildered. Her lady was clearly looking for someone—but when had a daughter of the Qian family, one of Yangzhou’s four great merchant houses, ever known anyone so destitute?

Her curiosity got the better of her, and she scanned the crowd.

A passenger ship had just docked nearby.

People rushed off the gangplank, eager to set foot on this land of wealth and opportunity. Those on shore pushed forward, straining to get a closer look.

Fuyin frowned as she recognized a few familiar faces. “The Cui family’s brokers dragged off a group of people to work in their buildings a few days ago. One man escaped, bleeding all over their doorstep—it caused such an uproar that even the Prefect got involved. And now they dare to…”

Before she could finish, she spotted them again. “Miss, look—another poor soul caught in their net.”

The Cui family ran taverns, brothels, and labor markets. All required manpower, and they were masters at acquiring it. Once their brokers set eyes on someone, they rarely missed. In their most notorious raid, they’d taken over a dozen people off the docks in one day.

Today’s targets were two young men—one scholar, one warrior.

The scholar was tall and refined, his simple clothes unable to hide his grace, though he looked uneasy and impatient.

Beside him stood a man in a straw rain hat, face hidden, holding a bronze sword with a torn leather hilt.

Poor enough, thought Qian Tong.

His clothes were shabbier still, his boots soaked through with seawater, dark stains spreading up to his calves.

Pitiful enough.

If the two of them were dragged into the Cui family’s clutches, they wouldn’t leave with their bones intact.

Moments later, when the scholar pushed his way out of the crowd, Fuyin thought, relieved, At least he’s not stupid. But then she heard a quiet voice beside her say, “Grab him.”

Fuyin turned in shock, staring at her mistress.

Wind lifted the veil from Qian Tong’s face again, sunlight spilling across her flawless features. Her skin was pale as carved jade, her eyes dark as ink, her smile bright and tender as dawn. Yet if one looked closer, one could see something else glinting beneath that gentleness—a flicker of daring and wild ambition.

“Miss…” Fuyin stammered, nervous. “Are we… opening a labor market now?”

She tried to reason quickly. “You’re in the middle of a marriage negotiation with the Prefect’s son. If this reaches the Prefect’s ears, it’ll ruin everything. Maybe we should wait—”

But her mistress wasn’t listening.

“The one in the straw hat,” Qian Tong said. “That’s the one I want.”

At the docks—

The Cui family’s broker still refused to give up. He chased after the two men, smiling obsequiously. “Gentlemen, you might not know—Yangzhou’s full of travelers this time of year. Our inn is spacious, clean, and I’ll give you the best rooms. You won’t find another like it!”

“No need,” the scholar replied curtly.

“Then perhaps our tavern or teahouse? Half price for both!”

Still no response.

“Ah, you look like scholars from Jinling. Are you here seeking business? We have some light work—good pay, very easy…”

He edged closer, almost blocking their path—until something hard jabbed into his side. He gasped and looked down to see the bronze hilt of a sword.

The man blocking him was the warrior in the straw hat. He was tall, his jawline sharp beneath the brim.

Even without seeing his eyes, the aura rolling off him made the broker’s knees go weak.

Knowing he couldn’t afford more trouble after his last incident, the broker could only retreat, muttering curses as the pair walked away. “Useless paupers—let’s see how far you get!”

The scholar turned, fury flashing in his eyes, but the crowd swallowed them both before he could confront the man.

Outside the docks, the flow of people only grew. Streets crisscrossed like veins, lined with grain shops, teahouses, taverns, and cloth merchants. Banners fluttered in the air—prosperity at every corner.

Shen Che, the scholar, was seething. He had never been insulted to his face before. “Those bastards are too arrogant! The Prefect of Yangzhou was once a censor in the capital—how can he tolerate such swindlers?”

The other man stopped beside a tavern by the bridge, studying the unfamiliar city with calm interest. “They’re merchants,” he replied mildly. “It’s in their nature.”

He lifted off his straw hat, revealing the rest of his face.

The tavern stood beneath weeping willows, their shadows falling over his white robes. His frame was tall and lean, his waist narrow, his hair ribbon fluttering in the wind. He looked like a man carved from jade—refined, proud, untouchable.

Heads turned immediately.

Shen Che, long used to this, led him into a quieter alley. “Brother Song, you’ve never been to Yangzhou before. How do you know so much about it?”

“I made inquiries,” Song Yunzhi replied.

The Great Yu Empire had known peace for five years now. Trade was booming, and cities like Yangzhou teemed with ships and travelers.

Where there were people, there was profit—and deceit. The docks were crawling with innkeepers, tavern owners, and brokers. They lied through their teeth, targeting outsiders who didn’t know the city. The lucky ones lost only money; the unlucky lost their freedom for life.

Seeing Shen Che’s blank look, Song Yunzhi continued, “That’s only one kind of scam. There are pickpockets, bandits—”

Shen Che shook his head, and Song explained each term one by one until his companion’s face paled. “It’s a good thing you’re here, Brother Song,” Shen said, a trace of awe in his tone.

Had he come alone, this mission would have failed before it began. But with Song Yunzhi—the emperor’s nephew, a man as skilled with the pen as with the sword—success seemed inevitable.

When the emperor had secretly dispatched Song Yunzhi to accompany him from Jinling, Shen Che had declared confidently, “With your wit and skill, we’ll cleanse Yangzhou of its corrupt merchants within a month.”

Song had only mounted his horse, gazed once at the horizon, and replied with quiet certainty, “Mm.”

To blend into the city, they had disguised themselves and traveled half a month by water. Now that they had arrived, it was time to act.

Shen Che’s excitement swelled—soon, when their mission succeeded, even the Empress Dowager, Song Yunzhi’s own aunt, would no longer call him a fool.

The narrow alley they entered was peaceful, full of laughter. People drank tea, played chess, chatted idly under the spring sun.

Then, unexpectedly—

A little girl, watching a game, knocked over a teacup. The burly man playing chess jumped up and roared. The girl burst into tears and stumbled backward—straight into the two men.

First Song, then Shen. She slipped between them and fled.

They brushed it off at first, but a few steps later, Shen Che’s head began to spin.

Before he could make sense of it, Song Yunzhi said sharply, “Hold your breath!”

Too late.

Shen realized what had happened—but he wasn’t afraid. Song Yunzhi was always prepared, always in control. Even as his knees gave out, he managed to joke weakly, “This trick’s called knockout… powder…”

He reached out for support—but instead of Song’s hand, a wad of cloth stuffed into his mouth, followed by the rough pull of a burlap sack.

Darkness swallowed him whole.

(t/n: In ancient China, abductions for labor or servitude were common at busy ports. “To be sacked” literally meant being stuffed into a sack and carried off.)