Born to Be Either Rich or Noble - Chapter 2

Soon, Shen Che realized that the “savior” he had been counting on—Young Lord Song—hadn’t escaped their fate either.

The two of them were tossed into a carriage, bound back-to-back through rough burlap sacks. No matter how hard they thought about it, neither could have imagined ending up like this.

Two imperial envoys, sent by the Emperor himself on an undercover mission—after months of careful planning and secret travel—hadn’t even managed to assess their target’s background before setting foot in Yangzhou… only to be kidnapped the very moment they arrived.

It was a cosmic joke.

The little girl’s drug hadn’t made them unconscious, only robbed them of strength. And because their minds were still clear, the humiliation of being so utterly powerless cut even deeper.

Furious and defeated, Shen Che’s hatred for this city of greedy merchants boiled over. He twisted and thrashed in the sack, but quickly realized that aside from the pitiful muffled noises coming from his gagged mouth—making the two of them sound even more pathetic—his efforts were useless. Finally, he gave up struggling, falling silent beside his unlucky companion like a lamb waiting for slaughter.

The carriage rattled forward. Outside, the street noise grew louder—the sound of hawkers, the clamor of the marketplace.

They were traveling through a busy district. That alone spoke volumes about how brazen their captors were.

After the time it took to drink a cup of tea, the carriage came to a halt. Someone pulled aside the curtain, and a woman’s voice floated down from an upstairs loft:

“Those are the men I wanted. Be careful with them.”

A woman’s voice.

A female thief.

Shen Che saw black for a moment, rage and shame flooding through him. What vile woman dares this? She must have a death wish. Open your dog eyes and see who you’ve laid hands on!

Of course, she couldn’t hear his thoughts. And her order to “be careful” didn’t mean gentleness—just that two burly men lifted the sacks, one at each end, carried them over the threshold, stumbled up the stairs, and dumped them roughly onto the floor. Then, like peeling a melon, they ripped the sacks open.

At last, the world returned to light.

Shen Che glared furiously toward their captor—

—but instead of the dungeon or the savage-faced shrew he’d imagined, his eyes met a bright, sunlit room faintly scented with tea.

At the far end stood a window of carved shell lattice, half open to the spring air, revealing a few branches of crabapple blossoms stretching in from outside. And by the window, bathed in sunlight, sat a dazzling young woman.

Her hair was neatly coiled beneath a golden coronet inlaid with pearls the size of a thumb. She wore a Song brocade jacket over a gauzy skirt, and held a white porcelain teacup in her hands. When she noticed the two men being dumped before her, she turned her head from the blossoms.

Sunlight spilled across her face—soft apricot eyes, skin pale as snow, lips like the first bloom of spring. She was breathtaking.

Even in Jinling, a city famed for its beautiful women, Shen Che froze on sight.

The young lady, too, seemed momentarily taken aback. A flicker of astonishment crossed her gaze—then it softened into admiration, blooming like a spring flower.

But her eyes weren’t on Shen Che.

They were on the man beside him—Song Yunzhi.

Indeed, when Qian Tong (the “lady”) had chosen her target at the tea shed earlier, she hadn’t actually seen his face. She’d selected him by his tall frame and the plain, practical way he dressed.

She liked tall men.

And between a scholar and a warrior, a warrior was far more suited to the Qian family. Someone who could protect himself… and live long enough to protect her.

Besides, the warrior looked poorer—more desperate.

The poor are easier to control.

She hadn’t expected, however, that beneath the tattered clothes, the young man would have such a face.

Though the journey in the sack had been rough, he didn’t look the least bit disheveled. His features were sharp yet refined—pale skin, dark eyes, and brows as fine as brushstrokes. Behind those eyes, restrained fury simmered—a quiet defiance that said, Don’t you dare underestimate me.

Qian Tong was no villain.

She tried to project gentleness, but staring too long at anyone—no matter how kindly—was a kind of intrusion. When she noticed the growing hostility in the young man’s eyes, she finally relented, set down her teacup, and stepped forward.

As she moved, her golden coronet caught the sunlight, a burst of brilliance so bright that the young lord instinctively squinted.

Caught off guard by the glare, Song Yunzhi turned his head aside. When he looked again, the young woman had already leaned close, her face emerging from that dazzling halo as she gently pulled the cloth from his mouth and said softly,

“Young sir, what if I promised you a lifetime of wealth and glory?”

She was close—too close.

He could see every detail: the warm amber hue of her pupils, the serene purity of her smile. Her expression was so calm, so disarming, that one could almost believe she had nothing to do with the madness unfolding around them.

The light hurt his eyes; they stung faintly. Song Yunzhi shut them for a moment, piecing together the situation in silence.

The Great Yu Empire had been ravaged by eight years of war. Even now, after five years of peace, countless citizens still went hungry and half-naked.

Yet this woman—her clothes alone were worth more than a commoner could spend in years. Such extravagance could belong only to one of Yangzhou’s four great merchant families.

Pu, Qian, Lu, Cui.

So which one are you?

“You’re wondering if this is a dream, aren’t you?” Qian Tong said, reading his expression with ease. “It’s not.”

To drive the point home, she reached out and pinched his arm sharply.

He hissed in pain, his clear black eyes flashing with cold fury.

Qian Tong released him with a smile. “See? It’s real. A pie from heaven landed right on you today, sir. Aren’t you happy?”
(t/n: The idiom “a pie falling from the sky” means an impossible stroke of luck. Qian Tong uses it ironically here—she’s the “pie,” and she’s offering herself to them.)

Song Yunzhi was perfectly lucid.

He’d simply been caught off guard—once—and now lacked the strength to resist. The ache in his arm spread, but the intensity in his eyes only deepened.

Shen Che, on the other hand, was livid.

He was the Emperor’s favored general, the pampered darling of the Empress Dowager and the Princess Royal—the moon that others could only look up to. His name was enough to make men tremble, his face enough to make women swoon.

And now, here he was—bound and humiliated by a random young woman.

Worse, she’d pinched his companion’s arm.

To Song Yunzhi, such insult was worse than death. Shen Che let out a furious, muffled roar: “Mmmph! Mmmph!”

Qian Tong turned toward him, studied his face for a moment, and misunderstood completely. “Ah, you’re friends? Then I’ll take you both.”

She sighed as if doing them a favor—as if she were the one forced to choose whom to abduct.

Her words made Shen Che’s blood pressure spike. You’ll ‘take’ me? I’m the Empress’s nephew, you lunatic!

“Mmmph! Mmmph!” he howled even louder.

Qian Tong ignored him. She had no patience for pointless chatter. Turning, she called to her maid, “Fuyin, you convince them.”

And with that, the task of persuasion fell to the servant.

Fuyin stepped forward dutifully, offering a sweet smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Gentlemen,” she said, “my lady has taken a liking to you both. That’s your good fortune. Don’t be ungrateful…”

Yangzhou was a land overflowing with abundance—its riches extended beyond silk and silver to the people themselves. Even if the two young men before her were undeniably handsome, fine appearances were hardly rare here. What was rare, however, was a woman with money like hers.

“Ugh—uh—uh!”
That pitiful sound came from Shen Che, still gagged and struggling against his restraints.

“Plenty of young fools come to Yangzhou hoping to make a living,” said Fu Yin cheerfully. “You can find them by the handful down at the docks. But none of them are as lucky as you two—meeting our lady. Do you even know who she is?”

Her voice lingered, expecting awe.

Both men turned to look at the woman in question, waiting for her to reveal the answer.

Shen Che thought darkly: Go on—say it. Once you do, you’re dead.

Fu Yin continued, “You’ll find out soon enough… Yangzhou isn’t the land of gold people imagine. The streets are filled with headless flies—outsiders running in circles with nowhere to go. But you two—meeting our lady—is a blessing earned over three lifetimes. From today onward, you’ll never have to worry about silver again.”

Having said her piece, Fu Yin puffed up her chest proudly. “Stay or leave—it’s your choice, gentlemen.”

No one hated money. Fu Yin was certain they’d stay, and she gave a small nod for the ropes to be untied.

The drug in their systems had already worn off halfway. As soon as Shen Che regained some strength, he spat out the cloth gag, eyes blazing at Qian Tong. He was ready to teach this reckless little woman a lesson—pretty face or not. “You insolent thief! Do you even know—”

He never finished.

Song Yunzhi cut him off coolly. “Your good intentions are wasted on us, miss. We cannot accept them.”

Before leaving, his sharp gaze flicked to the jade pendant hanging at the young woman’s waist. Without another word, he grabbed Shen Che’s arm and strode toward the door, ignoring his companion’s protests.

“Brother Song…” Shen Che’s face turned dark with humiliation. This was unbearable. “We’re just letting her go like that?!”

Song Yunzhi didn’t answer. He only gave him a warning glance that said: Keep quiet.

Shen Che seethed. “Damn Yangzhou…”

Fu Yin watched their retreating backs in stunned silence. Had she not been clear enough? How could men so broke have the nerve to refuse fortune when it practically landed in their laps? She turned back to her mistress in confusion. “My lady…”

Qian Tong was equally baffled.

Are men these days all this proud? she wondered. If someone had told her, “I’ll grant you a lifetime of luxury,” she’d have gladly gone along—even if it meant being tied up like they were.

As the two men’s figures vanished from sight, with not even a backward glance, Fu Yin exhaled in relief. “Good thing you had a backup plan, my lady.”

—

The two men ended up in a teahouse.

Perhaps because of that little kidnapping incident, the owner had cleared the place completely. The building was empty; from the private room on the second floor down through the main hall, there wasn’t a soul in sight.

Beyond the doors stretched a wide, well-paved street fit for carriages.

People bustled to and fro, oblivious to the chaos that had just occurred inside.

Shen Che followed behind with fury still simmering, while Song Yunzhi walked ahead. At the threshold, he paused and glanced to the right—where a towering crabapple tree stood in full bloom. After a moment of thought, he caught Shen Che by the arm and lowered his voice. “Pretend to talk me into going back.”

“Huh?” Shen Che blinked, completely lost.

Song Yunzhi leaned in. “That woman’s one of Yangzhou’s four great merchants. She’s the very prey we came for. You still don’t want to take the bait?”

The repeated humiliation of the day had left Shen Che dazed with anger, but Song’s words brought him back to his senses. They were here under imperial orders—to infiltrate the corrupt merchant circles of Yangzhou, gather evidence, and eradicate them in one stroke.

To avoid alerting their targets, they had split from the official inspection team, disguising themselves as struggling traders, entering the most chaotic docks of the city. Even the local prefect didn’t know of their presence.

They’d expected to make a clean investigation—but had instead been caught, drugged, and tied up by that brazen young woman.

Now, Shen Che could barely contain his desire to see her face when she discovered who she had offended. Still, he frowned. “If that’s the case, why are we walking away?”

Song Yunzhi’s expression didn’t change. “She’s no simple woman. If we appear too eager, she’ll get suspicious.”

Just as he finished speaking, a sharp, mocking voice cut through the street.

“Well, well, gentlemen—still haven’t found a place to stay?”

Both men turned.

From the left alley emerged a band of men led by a middle-aged figure with sunken cheeks and a mean expression. It was none other than Chai Tou—the labor broker from the docks.

His face now twisted with hostility, Chai Tou sneered. “Two broke nobodies putting on airs! You should’ve taken the first offer. Coming to Yangzhou without knowing who not to offend—how foolish.”

He lifted a hand. “Beat them. Leave them half alive.”

At once, the thugs behind him surged forward with wooden clubs.

The street vendors and townsfolk scattered in practiced panic, leaving the street empty for the brawl to unfold.

Shen Che, still simmering with frustration, gave a short, incredulous laugh. “You’re asking for it…”

The Chai family’s men were former bandits—brutal and arrogant. Most people fled at their approach. But this time, the “destitute youths” they’d cornered weren’t what they seemed.

Especially the one in green.

The club meant to strike him was suddenly snatched midair. In a flash, Song Yunzhi wielded it like a sword, his green robe flaring with each movement, crabapple petals catching on the hem. The makeshift weapon seemed alive in his hands, striking each attacker with precise, punishing blows.

From the shadows, onlookers watched wide-eyed—this “helpless boy” was turning the fight into a massacre.

The reigning Emperor was a distant relative of the previous dynasty’s line, a man raised in Shu Prefecture among warriors. Even the Eldest Princess, though married into the renowned scholarly Song family of Jinling, had never forsaken martial training—and she’d passed that discipline to her son.

Thus, Song Yunzhi had inherited not only his father’s talent for words but also a formidable mastery of arms.

Shen Che, nephew to the Empress herself, had grown up sparring beside the Emperor. Though he later pursued a civil path, his combat skill had never dulled.

The drug’s effects had nearly worn off—leaving them more than capable of dispatching these street thugs.

Before long, Chai Tou realized the situation had turned.

“Retreat!” he barked, grabbing his battered men and limping away with a twisted expression.

Silence settled over the wrecked street.

Song Yunzhi straightened, tossing aside the broken stick. He helped Shen Che to his feet before raising his gaze upward—to the second floor of the teahouse.

There, leaning casually against the window, stood the young woman.

Petals clung to her dark hair as she toyed with a battered bronze sword—the very one that had been taken from him earlier.

Caught off guard by his sudden stare, Qian Tong blinked, tilting her head as if she hadn’t understood. Her gaze swept over the fallen blossoms on the ground below, and she sighed. “You’ve ruined my crabapple tree, sir. How do you plan to pay for it?”

Song Yunzhi followed her eyes. The ground was blanketed with crimson petals.

A single weeping crabapple was worth more than ten households’ lifetime earnings.

He stood silent for a moment, then dropped the stick and looked up again, his dark eyes calm. “How much?”

Qian Tong didn’t answer. Her lips curved slightly, her eyes bright with quiet amusement. Her smile said it all: You couldn’t afford it.

Their eyes met—one a weary, ragged man, the other radiant as gold itself.

After a long, tense silence, the man below finally exhaled, pride slipping away in the weight of his mission.

At last, he spoke, voice low but steady.

“I’ll go with you.”