Born to Be Either Rich or Noble - Chapter 12

By the next morning, the story of the seventh daughter of the Qian family storming the Cui residence to demand repayment had spread through Yangzhou like wildfire. Within a night, it had become the most popular topic in every tavern and teahouse.

“The Cui family’s daughter is now engaged to the prefect’s son.”

“Miss Qian refused to accept it, went to the Cui family’s engagement banquet, and threw a fit.”

“Miss Qian has given up on herself—she’s married some penniless ex-soldier pretty boy.”

“The Qian family’s salt wells have long since gone dry; now their business is an empty shell.”

“They’re at the end of their rope—there’s barely food left in the house.”

“The timing couldn’t be worse. The imperial court has sent inspectors to audit the four great families, and the Qians are finished this time…”

By sunrise, the Qian family had fallen from grace, ranking dead last among Yangzhou’s four great merchant houses.
And like sharks smelling blood, their creditors began to swarm.

For the past two days, Madam Qian had been busy scheming with the third and fourth madams on how to drive out her new son-in-law. When she finally heard the latest rumors that morning, she realized her daughter Qian Tong had publicly embarrassed them at the Cui estate.

This wretched girl! Hadn’t she said she didn’t care about marrying into the prefect’s family? Why go there and make a scene?

Fuming, she stormed into her daughter’s courtyard—only to find it jam-packed with people demanding repayment. Elbowing her way through the crowd, she froze at the sight of the courtyard piled high with lacquered chests, each filled to the brim with silver and promissory notes.

That’s… that’s a fortune…

Madam Qian gasped, then saw her daughter counting money and issuing payments like a seasoned banker. The sight made her vision swim.

What on earth was she doing?!

Madam Qian forgot all about scolding her for the previous day’s humiliation. Marching up with a scowl, she barked, “You—come here!”

Qian Tong didn’t even look up, busy flipping through her ledgers as she oversaw payments. “If Mother has something to say, please wait until I’m finished.”

Finished?
At this rate, there wouldn’t be any silver left by the time she was done!

Seeing her daughter ignore her, Madam Qian leaned in and hissed under her breath, “Who gave you permission to touch the funds in the treasury?”

At that, Qian Tong had no choice but to lift her eyes to meet the gaze of the family matriarch—who, truth be told, had never understood a thing about their business. She replied evenly, “These are not treasury funds. They’re debts I collected yesterday.”

Madam Qian blinked. Those bad debts? Her husband had broken his back chasing them for months and hadn’t recovered a single tael, yet her daughter had managed it overnight?

Never mind how she’d done it—the thought of her casually handing money out again made Madam Qian’s heart ache. “And now you’re paying people back?”

Without raising her head, Qian Tong called to the man beside her, “Next.”

Madam Qian turned her glare on the elegant young man seated nearby, and her temper flared anew. “Do you even know what people are saying about you outside? They’re calling you a good-for-nothing pretty boy that my daughter picked up out of pity!”

The brush in Song Yunzhi’s hand dripped a blot of thick black ink onto the ledger.

Qian Tong: …

What on earth was her mother trying to do?

Seeing the young man’s hand tighten around the brush, knuckles white with restraint, Qian Tong felt her head start to pound. She had just barely managed to calm him down—and now her mother was stirring the pot again.

She looked up, her face dark. “And what’s so useless about him? He’s keeping the books, isn’t he?”

If there was blame to assign, it was clear whose it was. Qian Tong’s gaze hardened. “Mother, apologize.”

Madam Qian gawked as though she’d heard the world’s most absurd joke. “Apologize? To whom? You must be out of your mind—” She caught herself mid-rant, realizing the courtyard was full of onlookers. Whirling around, she snapped, “What are you all staring at? So we owe you a little silver—what merchant doesn’t owe debts? Since when do decent businessmen barge in at dawn demanding repayment? Do you think the Qian family’s finished? Or do you all not want to do business with us anymore?”

“Master Liu!” she suddenly seized on one of the merchants, “We’ve bought plenty of rice from your stores, haven’t we? Last year you came crying that your stockpile was rotting—didn’t we clear it out for you without complaint?”

The man bowed quickly. “Madam Qian is right. The Qian family’s generosity is known to all. If not for a temporary cash flow problem, I’d never—”

Madam Qian wasn’t one for diplomacy. Once angry, she showed no restraint. “Temporary? Your shop’s expanded halfway to the city gates and you call that struggling?”

At this point, Qian Tong could only stare at her mother like she was a walking firecracker—one spark away from disaster. She exchanged a glance with her maid Fuyin.

Fuyin hurried forward, taking Madam Qian’s arm. “Madam, the sun is too strong out here. Let me take you inside to rest.”

“Let go of me—what are you doing?”

“Qian Tong!”

“Fine! You won’t listen to me, I’ll tell your grandmother—”

Her noisy exit left the creditors awkwardly shifting their feet.

Qian Tong didn’t seem to mind. She smiled and reassured them, “It’s true my family owes you money. You don’t need to feel uncomfortable. Even if the Qian family has to sell our house and beg in the streets, we won’t owe a single coin to anyone here.”

By midday, the rumors outside grew wilder.

“The Qians are so deep in debt they’re selling their estate!”

“Madam Qian blamed her daughter and took it out on her new son-in-law!”

The Cui family, by contrast, basked in newfound glory.

“The Cui family’s engagement banquet alone cost tens of thousands of taels!”

“I heard they’ve just opened two new teahouses.”

“No wonder the prefect’s family chose them!”

Society ladies began flocking to the Cui household, eager to curry favor.
After five years of rivalry between the Cuis and Qians, the hierarchy was finally clear.

Madam Cui was smug; her sixth daughter, even more so—parading through the market from one end of the street to the other, terrified no one would see her.

But on the third day, while everyone was still gloating over the Qian family’s supposed ruin, the Qians suddenly opened four large porridge stalls—one at each city gate—distributing free rice gruel to the poor laborers and refugees who had come to Yangzhou seeking work.

Before long, more stalls appeared across the city—ten in total, feeding the hungry.

At first, skeptics scoffed. “The Qians are just putting on a show to save face.”
But soon, people realized the porridge was made with fresh, high-grade rice—no husks, no filler, no pretense.

By noon, the lines at the Qian porridge stalls stretched around the block.

“Didn’t they go bankrupt? Where’d they get the money for this much rice?”

“Merchants are all liars. Who knows what game they’re playing.”

“At least they’re feeding people. Some gratitude wouldn’t kill you.”

“Who cares about their motives? The porridge is real, and it’s keeping us alive. That’s all that matters.”

Gradually, the tide of public opinion began to turn.
More and more people spoke in defense of the Qian family.

The rumor soon reached Madam Cui. Alarmed, she summoned her bookkeeper. “Release some silver. However many porridge stalls the Qians built, we’ll build more.”

The accountant’s face went ashen. “Madam… there’s no silver left.”

“What do you mean, no silver?”

He sighed heavily. “For the engagement, we gifted the prefect’s family one hundred thousand taels in silver notes—not counting the banquet or the dowry. And as for the remaining two hundred thousand… well, yesterday, you personally handed all of it to Miss Qian.”

Madam Cui swayed, dizzy. “How much?”

The accountant raised two trembling fingers. “Two hundred thousand taels, Madam. Every last coin went to her.”

Ever since the eldest Miss Qian had married into the Cui family, their teahouses and taverns had never once paid for salt—five years of credit notes, all unpaid. The Qians had asked many times; even the Cui heir had admitted he couldn’t repay yet.

Only Madam Cui had the authority to settle the debt—and yesterday, desperate to save face, she’d done just that.

Now, hearing it laid out so plainly, her face drained of color.

The money was gone, and there was no taking it back. Regaining her composure with effort, Madam Cui ordered, “Then pull some silver from the teahouses. The porridge stalls take priority.”

The accountant only shook his head again. “The young master already withdrew most of the funds last month. We’ve been running the taverns on credit ever since.”

Even if they scraped together a few hundred taels, it wouldn’t last two days—not enough to compete. If they started now, they’d only dig their own grave.

By the Qian family’s third day of porridge giving, every teahouse in Yangzhou was buzzing with the same question:

“Has the Cui family started distributing porridge yet?”

“No. Not even a sign.”

“The Qians are supposedly broke, yet they’ve built ten stalls. The Cuis spent ten thousand taels on one banquet and their daughter nearly bought out half the city, but they can’t feed the poor?”

“Guess it depends whether they care about people or not.”

“Keep hoarding and you’ll choke on your own wealth.”

Meanwhile, in a private room across town, Qian Tong slid a small wooden box across the table to the young man sitting opposite her, smiling. “Fuyin told me you bought a peachwood comb last time. The air here is damp—wood molds easily and can cause illness. I had a jade comb made for you instead. Tell me, do you like it?”

As she leaned forward, a strand of dark hair slipped down her shoulder, tied with a pale blue silk ribbon.
It reminded Song Yunzhi of his younger sister—who loved ribbons like that, though she would throw tantrums when he picked the wrong color. They were only two years apart: one naïve and innocent, the other… sharp as a blade.

Qian Tong, of course, knew the Cui family was smuggling tea. She’d had them followed, gathered evidence, and now—she’d pushed them right to the edge of a cliff.

When the scandal broke, the court’s focus would shift entirely to the Cuis.
Not only would she protect her own family, she might even help him earn a commendation.
And the Cuis… would be the first of the four great houses to fall.

She had chosen her moment perfectly. Clearly, she already held proof of the Cuis’ crimes.
Testing the waters, Song Yunzhi asked quietly, “How is my younger brother?”

“He’s fine,” Qian Tong replied without a flicker of guilt. “No need to worry about him.”

She lied so smoothly it was almost artless—her face calm, her pulse steady.
If he hadn’t already known the truth, he might have believed her again.

He turned away, unwilling to look at that deceitful smile any longer.

Qian Tong noticed the change immediately. Ever since her mother had called him a “pretty boy,” he’d gone cold again.

She couldn’t let her progress crumble now.

Taking a breath, she said softly, “I owe you an apology for what my mother said that day. She’s just… that kind of person—sharp-tongued, soft-hearted. You’ll see, she’s not truly bad.”

“Don’t take it to heart.”

“Harmony brings prosperity, after all—we’re a family now—”

That last line broke his patience.
“I’m not—” He caught himself mid-sentence, biting the words back.

When he finally looked up, the little lady across from him was smiling slyly, winking as she teased, “I know you’re a forgiving man, Yunzhi.”

Her grin curved like a crescent moon. “And since you’re so generous, I think it’s only fair I avenge you today.”

Before he could ask what she meant, she turned her gaze toward the grand tavern across the street, eyes glinting with mischief.

“Remember the man who hit you that day? Let’s go pay him back.”