Born to Be Either Rich or Noble - Chapter 16

The moment Lan, the Prefect of Yangzhou, looked over, Song Yunzhi immediately knew the man hadn’t recognized him.

When they had both been in the capital, their paths had never crossed.

But the magistrate standing behind the prefect—Magistrate Zhang—Song Yunzhi remembered vaguely. The man was in his fifties, had passed the imperial exam quite late in life, and was unlucky enough to run into a change of dynasty. It had taken him three long years before the position of Yangzhou county magistrate finally opened up.

Before his appointment, he had traveled all the way to Jinling to meet His Majesty in person.

Song Yunzhi happened to be there that day and, in passing, offered him a cup of wine to congratulate him on his new post.

It was his oversight.

The magistrate’s surname was Zhang—Zhang Wenxian. Born in a poor, remote village, he’d hardly ever seen true nobility in his life. When he first laid eyes on the young heir apparent two years ago, he was struck dumb. He had never imagined that the Creator could craft such a striking difference between men; standing before him, Zhang had felt like a useless lump of clay. Later, when he asked around the palace, he learned that the young man was none other than the son of the Princess Royal and Marquis Yong’an—Heir Song.

That one brief encounter had stayed in his memory. For the past two years, he had even bragged to his subordinates about having once met the legendary heir. And now, catching sight of him again in person—it nearly made his soul fly out of his body.

Fortunately, his mind was still functioning. In a flash, he pieced together who the “imperial inspector” sent by the court must be.

It was him!

His knees almost gave out. Zhang Wenxian didn’t dare think about the implications. His vision darkened, his neck tingled, his tongue went numb—he could barely form words.

When Song Yunzhi suddenly called himself a “humble commoner,” Zhang blinked, completely at a loss. He didn’t dare to raise his head, unsure whether he should stay kneeling or try to stand.

As he hesitated, the young man’s footsteps approached. “Sir, do you suffer from faintness or weakness of the limbs?” Song asked calmly. “I’ve studied some medicine—I can help you restore your circulation.”

Whatever he said, Zhang nodded frantically.

Song Yunzhi took his arm, guided him to the steps, and helped him sit down. As he knelt to press and massage the man’s legs, he murmured softly, “Do not make a sound. You mustn’t reveal who I am.”

Yes, yes—he wouldn’t say a word.

Zhang Wenxian nodded so hard his head nearly came off. But could this young man please stop kneading his legs like that? Every press made his breath catch; he could hardly bear it. “I—I’m all right now…”

And indeed, miraculously, he was. He didn’t even know where the strength came from, but he leapt to his feet, bowing repeatedly. “Thank you, young sir—what miraculous skill you have in medicine!”

Prefect Lan frowned when he saw the magistrate still unsteady. “Are you certain you’re well?”

“It’s an old ailment,” Zhang quickly replied, wiping sweat from his brow. “If I skip breakfast, I get lightheaded and weak.” He still didn’t dare meet the young heir’s eyes. Yet this scare had left him strangely energized. He suddenly turned toward the teahouse and shouted with surprising vigor, “Where are the members of the Cui family? Bring them all out!”

His righteous roar startled even the prefect beside him.

Zhang Wenxian continued, wiping sweat as he spoke, “His Majesty has always cared deeply for the people! How dare you bullies oppress the innocent? Today, Prefect Lan and I shall uphold justice and restore fairness to the common folk!”

When he finished his speech, he turned to Lan with an ingratiating smile. “Don’t you agree, Prefect?”

Zhang was not the sort to take bold stands—he was a timid man by nature. Yet his words now sounded grand and noble, like Judge Bao reborn. Lan Mingquan eyed him suspiciously but couldn’t afford to show doubt. He too needed to distance himself from the Cui family after today’s scandal; otherwise, when the imperial envoys arrived, he’d find it impossible to wash himself clean.

“Magistrate Zhang is right,” he declared loudly. “Anyone who dares to exploit the people in my Yangzhou will face the full force of the law—no mercy, no leniency. Seal the building and bring them in.”

The constables rushed inside to make arrests.

Qian Tong, having already secured what she came for, had no interest in watching the farce of “justice” play out. She turned to the young man who had helped earlier. “Yun Zhen, let’s go.”

Zhang Wenxian’s face turned pale green.

The Seventh Miss of the Qian family had good taste—but clearly terrible eyes. She’d abducted the emperor’s own nephew, the Marquis’s heir, and made him her prospective husband.

Absurd.

Did she have a death wish?

Seeing her about to leave, Zhang hurried forward to stop her. “Madam Qian, wait! Please come to the magistrate’s office. I swear we’ll see that you and your companion get justice!”

“There’s no need,” Qian Tong replied coolly. “The Cui family’s eldest son has already paid compensation. As long as you and the prefect see that the injured citizens get proper restitution, I have no more complaints.”

“How can you simply let it go?” Zhang blurted, finally daring to glance at the two of them. “Look at Miss Qian’s hair—those scoundrels really dared to lay hands on her! And the young man too, he’s—”

“He’s fine,” Qian Tong interrupted. “It’s just a scratch. My husband’s weathered wind and rain; he’s used to hardship. Thick skin, strong bones—nothing to fuss over.”

“Se—Seventh Miss…” Zhang broke into a cold sweat, not sure which of her words had frightened him more.

But the heir clearly wished to keep his identity hidden, and there must have been a reason. If Zhang said more, he risked drawing suspicion. He could only watch helplessly as Miss Qian led the “husband” away.

A storm was brewing.

Prefect Lan noted Zhang’s strange behavior throughout the day. On the ride back, he prodded lightly, “You seem rather different today, Magistrate Zhang—so righteous all of a sudden.”

Zhang Wenxian dropped to his knees with a thud, tears streaming down his face. “Your servant is ashamed! To think I’ve been a magistrate for two years without realizing such cruelty festered under my jurisdiction! Seeing the people’s anger today—I am deeply moved. I came from humble roots myself, yet I’ve failed to protect them. I’ve shamed His Majesty and disgraced this official’s robe…”

Was that sarcasm?

Lan found the display tiresome. He waved the man away and, once alone in his carriage, allowed a faint sneer. “Now that the imperial inspectors are on their way, even Zhang Wenxian suddenly remembers to act like a virtuous official.”

If only his wife were as prudent.

Instead, she’d taken their youngest son to attend a betrothal banquet—stirring up scandal and leaving him to clean up the mess.

No sooner had he returned home than the head of the Cui family came calling. Lan scowled and waved his attendants off. “I’m not seeing anyone. Call off the marriage.”

The Cui patriarch had come to plead for help—the tavern incident needed to be suppressed quickly. If the imperial envoys arrived before it was handled, the Cui family would never clear their name.

But before he could even get an audience, the prefect’s aide delivered a message: “The Cui family, great merchants of Yangzhou, not only fail to support the local people, but also bully and harm them. How could the prefectural household possibly maintain such a disgraceful alliance?”

The engagement was over.

Still unwilling to give up, the Cui patriarch circled the prefect’s courtyard, shouting that he wished to see him—lamenting their supposed brotherly bond over wine just days prior.

Lan feared the commotion would draw attention and finally allowed him in.

“What do you expect me to do?” he snapped the moment they met. “Haven’t you seen how the Qian family’s won the public over? The streets were packed with people today—refugees and beggars flocking to support them. Do you want the court officials arriving tomorrow to see that spectacle?”

The Cui patriarch bowed deeply. “Please, my lord, you must help my family think of a way…”

“Too late.” Lan’s tone was cutting. “If your family hadn’t clung so tightly to your silver, you wouldn’t be in this mess. You can’t come up with ideas of your own? Then copy someone else’s. The Qian family set up soup kitchens—why can’t the Cui family?”

The patriarch looked miserable. “Does my lord think I don’t want to? There’s no money left!”

Who would believe that? A wealthy family owning over a dozen taverns and shops in the city, claiming they had no money to hand out porridge?

But the man swore it was true. “We really don’t! For the engagement, we gave your household one hundred thousand taels in silver, ten teahouses, ten shops, and ten deeds to houses.” He added bitterly, “The prefect’s wife said she wanted the number ten for good fortune—and to secure the marriage, we emptied everything.”

That single sentence sealed his fate.

The moment he stepped out of the prefect’s estate, constables seized him and threw him into Magistrate Zhang’s prison.

Nothing delighted the common people more than seeing the tyrannical Cui patriarch thrown behind bars.

Within days, the Cui family fell from the heavens into the mud. Their engagement was canceled, their patriarch arrested, and when Madam Cui went to beg the prefect for mercy, she was driven out by his servants.

That night, word came that the eldest son had returned home. She hurried to meet him.

He was not her biological child—she had never cared for him much. Yet he had always been perceptive, good at reading people, and so impeccable in conduct that even she, in time, had softened toward him.

“Thank heavens you’re back,” she said anxiously. “Your father’s been imprisoned, the prefect’s broken off the engagement—our family’s in ruin!”

“I’ve heard,” he said, nodding calmly.

Madam Cui paced, frantic. Their once-great household was collapsing overnight. “What about our business outside the city? Have the accounts been settled? Did the money come in?”

“Don’t worry, Mother,” he assured her. “I have everything in hand.”

He had always been the family’s pillar. She trusted him completely. “Good. Then think of a way to get your father out. Your second brother’s trade is finished—he can’t continue.”

Then she paused, frowning. “Where is your second brother, anyway? With all this happening, where has he gone to die?!”

Night had fallen, and fear gnawed at her that he, too, had been taken by the prefect’s men. Madam Cui went out herself to search.

Meanwhile, the eldest son stayed up late into the night, sorting through everything that had happened in his absence. When he finished, he suddenly recalled what Qian Tong had said earlier that day: “She’s sick, and she has something to tell you.”

He changed into clean clothes and went to the courtyard of the First Madam.

Before he even reached the doorway, he heard the shrill voice of a maid.

“That Seventh Miss of the Qian family lost her engagement through her own fault, and now she dares stir up the people to ruin the Cui family’s name!”

“They say a woman follows her husband’s fate. Even if the Cui family falls, does she think she’ll escape untouched?”

“You don’t understand—once a woman loses her child, her heart changes…”

The maids were Madam Cui’s people, standing outside, hurling barbed words meant for the woman inside—insults disguised as gossip, going on and on.

Their words grew filthier by the minute. Seeing his master’s face darken, a servant whispered, “Shall I shut their mouths for good, young master?”

“No need.”

The eldest son turned on his heel and walked away.

He could already picture her expression—tears, reproach, disappointment, regret…

There were too many things demanding his attention. He wasn’t ready to face her yet. Avoidance was all he could offer.

After returning home, Qian Tong was immediately summoned to the front hall by the family head and Madam Qian.

Their questions were predictable: why had she turned on the Cui family so suddenly? What if the Cuis sought revenge? And what of her eldest sister, who was still in the Cui household?

“My sister already promised to return,” Qian Tong said evenly. “Now that the eldest son is back, she’ll receive her divorce papers soon. She’ll come home in a few days.”

Leaving the hall, she didn’t go back to her room right away. Holding the box she had obtained that day, she went instead to Song Yunzhi’s courtyard.

As she reached the veranda, she heard his urgent voice from inside. “Qian Tong!”

She quickened her pace and stepped through the doorway. “I’m here.”

The young man froze, clearly not expecting her to appear so suddenly. His hand jerked up in panic, sleeve brushing across the corner of his mouth.

But it wasn’t blood—just the faint stain of rouge she had applied there earlier at the tavern.

She rarely carried cosmetics with her; it must have been from her own lips. No wonder people had looked at him strangely all day. Realizing that he’d been walking around with her lip color on his face, in full view of the public, his ears flushed hot.

Qian Tong waited for him to speak. Instead, his ears reddened even more until, finally, he ground his teeth and snapped, “Shameless!”