Born to Be Either Rich or Noble - Chapter 21

Wang Zhao personally boarded the fishing boat to search.
Just as the Qian family’s fishermen had said, the vessel was nothing more than an ordinary fishing boat. There wasn’t a trace of gunpowder or weaponry to be found—and no sign of Miss Seventh either.

What they did find was a hold full of fish, shrimp, and other seafood.

So after the Cui family’s ten cargo ships were blown up last night, the Qian family was… busy fishing?

Seeing the disbelief written all over Wang Zhao’s face, A’Zhu scratched his head awkwardly. “It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, sir. Would’ve been a waste not to haul them in. After I drop off this batch, I still have to head back out again. Be a shame to let all that spoil in the sea…”

To a merchant, everything was money.

Wang Zhao didn’t bother replying. He turned back to the government ship and reported to Song Yunzhi. “Your Grace, I’ve searched everywhere. There’s no one on board—doesn’t look like anyone’s hiding, either. I couldn’t find a single trace of gunpowder. The whole boat’s just loaded with seafood.”

Seafood?

Even if there had been gunpowder, the overwhelming stench of fish would’ve drowned it out by now.

Song Yunzhi gazed across the sea. Overnight, all traces of what had happened were wiped clean. There wasn’t a single clue left behind. He refused to believe that the eldest son of the Cui family would die for love.

But why had ten of the Cui family’s cargo ships exploded all at once?
And why had the Cui heir perished without even a body left to bury?

Then he remembered—the copper coin signal flare streaking across the night sky.

A bright, cunning smile flashed through his mind. His eyes narrowed sharply. “Turn back. Immediately.”

She must have already returned to the city.

When the Cui family’s ships went up in flames, Qian Tong had already set out on a small boat prepared in advance, carrying her eldest sister’s remains.

They sailed through the black waters all night and reached the Qian estate at dawn.

A servant boy had galloped ahead to deliver the dreadful news. By the time the carriage reached the gate, the entire household was already waiting in the alley outside.

Thick sea fog followed them all the way back, pressing dark and heavy over the Qian residence. Qian Tong stepped down first, her face pale. Her light peach-colored gown was stained with spots of blood.

Though they had heard the bad news earlier, the Third Madam still clung to a shred of hope. Her voice trembled. “Tong’er… your eldest sister—she’s all right, isn’t she?”

Qian Tong lowered her eyes and stepped aside silently.

The guard, A’Yin, lifted the curtain.

The cloak that Qian Tong had draped over her shoulders before departing now covered the eldest sister’s face. One purpled hand stuck out from beneath it.

The blood drained from the Third Madam’s face. She crumpled to the ground, wailing, “Ling’er, my poor Ling’er—!”

Servants rushed to help her up.

The family head quickly ordered a stretcher to be brought. Five years ago, the eldest daughter had left the Qian house in bridal red, beaming with joy. Now, she was carried home as a corpse.

Qian Tong followed the Third Master and Madam back to their courtyard.

She stopped outside the door, not daring to enter, and knelt straight-backed under the eaves. From within came waves of anguished cries.

“Ling’er, you’ll break your mother’s heart—how could you be so foolish…”

“I told you to come home sooner, why wouldn’t you listen? How am I supposed to go on living like this?”

Madam Qian tried to comfort her gently. “Sister-in-law, please—don’t make yourself ill.”

“I’m old and useless. Let me die. Ling’er’s gone—what’s left for me to live for…”

“Don’t say that. We still have a whole family depending on you. Ming’er just got married—she’ll need your support for the rest of her life.”

The Third Madam’s voice was hoarse from crying. “If not for Ming’er, I’d have dashed my head against the wall already.”

“Exactly. Ming’er will be back soon. When she sees her sister like this, she’ll be devastated. We must stay strong—for Ling’er’s final journey.”

When Fu Yin arrived, she saw Qian Tong kneeling alone outside.

Her gown was still damp from sea spray, her face streaked with dried blood.

Fu Yin’s heart twisted with guilt. She knew this trip had nearly cost her mistress her life, and she hated herself for not being there. She knelt beside her and said softly, “My lady, please get up. It’s not your fault. You’ve been up all night—let’s go back and change clothes, all right?”

Qian Tong didn’t move or speak.

After half an incense stick’s time, Granny Xing—who served the Old Madam—arrived. “The Old Madam asks for Miss Seventh.”

Qian Tong nodded and rose to her feet.

Being summoned now could only mean trouble.

Fu Yin followed anxiously, pleading, “Granny Xing, please, talk to the Old Madam for her. My lady did everything she could—it was my fault for being late. She hasn’t even rested yet…”

“Fu Yin,” Qian Tong interrupted, pulling out a folded document she had taken from her sister’s body—a letter of divorce.

“Take this to Old Master Cui. Have him press his seal. Even in death, my sister must not remain one of the Cui family.”

“My lady…”

“Go. Now.”

At Jingyue Pavilion, the Old Madam was kneeling before the Buddha, chanting sutras.

She didn’t rise when she heard footsteps outside. Only when Granny Xing brought Qian Tong in did she finally open her eyes.

“Kneel with me. Recite a passage.”

Qian Tong slipped off her shoes and knelt behind her grandmother, taking the scripture handed over by a maid. She began reading softly, but her thoughts were scattered; she stumbled over several verses.

The Old Madam didn’t correct her. After a moment, she asked quietly, “Tell me—what keeps a person safe in this world, money or power?”

Qian Tong lowered her gaze. “Grandmother, I will remember your teachings.”

“Your uncle’s courtyard—if no one cleaned it, the weeds would be taller than a man.” The Old Madam rose slowly, supported by Granny Xing. “A family’s prosperity does not lie in its wealth, nor in its temporary power. It lies in the people who carry its name.”

Qian Tong said nothing.

The Old Madam stood straight and turned to face the young woman kneeling before her. Her face hardened. “As the head of this household, have you protected its people?”

Qian Tong bent low and pressed her forehead to the floor. “I have failed, Grandmother.”

“I warned you—the Cui family’s main branch still had your sister. I told you to leave them a way to live. But you rushed to crush them completely. Did you think you’d won?” Her voice suddenly sharpened. “Arrogant child!”

Qian Tong didn’t move.

“Go take your punishment,” the Old Madam said coldly, turning and disappearing into the inner room.

When she was gone, Granny Xing stepped forward softly. “Miss Seventh…”

Everyone knew that the true head of the Qian family wasn’t the Second Master, but the young woman kneeling before her—barely nineteen.

Nineteen, at an age when other girls cared only about pretty dresses and suitors, she bore the weight of an entire clan. Even Granny Xing, who had lived long enough to grow a heart of stone, couldn’t help feeling pity.

“The Old Madam only scolds you because she cares. You need somewhere to release your guilt, child.”

Qian Tong smiled faintly. “I know. It’s fine. You can start.”

By the time Qian Tong left her grandmother’s courtyard, it was afternoon—and raining.

She borrowed a paper umbrella from Granny Xing and slipped out through the back gate.

The rain wasn’t heavy, but it was enough to soak through her thin clothes.

Few people were out. She followed the familiar streets slowly.

She hadn’t eaten all day, so she stopped at a bun shop and bought two pork-filled buns. Instead of sitting, she ate as she walked.

But just as she took a bite, someone’s umbrella swung past her, splashing a sheet of cold rainwater right over her food.

Qian Tong: …

He was so dead.

She turned, ready to curse—and froze when she saw the familiar back. “Yunzhi?”

The careless gentleman paused mid-step, turned toward her, and looked equally surprised.

She really had come back.

He’d feared she might suspect his movements, so after disembarking, he’d walked alone under the rain, glad the downpour masked the smell of sea salt on him.

He hadn’t expected to run into her halfway.

Where was she going now? What secret thing was she up to?

She’d known all along that the Cui family’s ten cargo ships were smuggling tea. From her position, she should have kept that evidence—used it to threaten them, maybe even seize their goods.
Yet she had destroyed everything instead, leaving no trace behind.

What was she planning?

“What are you doing here?” Qian Tong asked, amusement glinting in her eyes. “I’ve been gone two days. Were you out shopping?”

Song Yunzhi didn’t answer. As she stepped closer, he countered, “And you? Where did you go?”

He could’ve easily ordered Wang Zhao to bring her in for interrogation, but he knew she was too cunning—she’d have ten explanations ready.

He wouldn’t learn a thing that way.

So instead, he used his role as the Qian family’s “Seventh Son-in-Law” to test her, to see how she’d lie to him this time.

But she didn’t lie. She smiled faintly. “Are you worried about me?”

He averted his gaze, answering softly, “Yeah.”

Qian Tong didn’t notice his hesitation—or perhaps she’d forgotten that the man before her was bound to her only through a parasitic charm, not true affection.

She took his words at face value. “The Qian business is large,” she said quietly. “I’ll be going out more often from now on. But next time, I’ll leave a note—so you won’t worry.”

His eyes drifted downward—and froze.

“Come on,” she said, turning. “Since I’m back, let me buy you some tea.”

As her umbrella tilted forward, the sight of her back caught his eye—and suddenly, he understood what had been bothering him.

From her shoulder down, her entire back was soaked in blood. It had seeped through her gown, dripping into the puddles at her feet, tinting the rainwater red wherever she walked.

Song Yunzhi stood stunned. “You—”

Before he could finish, she collapsed—body, umbrella, and all—onto the wet ground, as if her strength had simply run out.

He snapped to action, throwing aside his own umbrella and catching her. “Qian Tong!”

Without cover, rain poured down on her back. The blood mingled with water, splattering over his hands and robes. He lifted the umbrella over her and held her up, trying to make sense of it.

Who could have hurt her—a woman so ruthless and cunning?

And where was her formidable maid?

The wounds on her back were whip marks. He didn’t dare touch them. He hoisted her onto his back instead, one hand holding the umbrella, the other steadying her as he hurried toward the nearest clinic.

By logic, he had no reason to save her. In fact, this was the perfect chance.

If he killed her now, all his troubles would end.

If she were in his place, she wouldn’t hesitate.

But he was Song Yunzhi—an honorable man. He would never strike someone who couldn’t fight back. And besides, there were too many unanswered questions.

The parasite in his body was still alive. The Cui family’s smuggling case was unresolved.

She couldn’t die yet.

He carried her through the rain, water splashing at his boots, soaking his hem. Before long, he was just as drenched and disheveled as she was.

“Don’t go home,” she murmured weakly against his shoulder. “Go to the Haitang Pavilion… the teahouse where we first met.”

Her wounds were severe—if untreated, she’d die.

“Why not the clinic?” he asked.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

He frowned, waiting for her to continue.

“There’s medicine there,” she whispered.

Song Yunzhi heard her words and hurried to the Begonia Teahouse.

Perhaps because of the rain, the teahouse was closed; the doors were tightly shut. He knocked twice, but no one came. Losing patience, he raised his foot and kicked the door open. Just as he stepped across the threshold, a middle-aged man dressed like the shopkeeper appeared, his face full of anger, ready to scold—until he caught sight of the person on Song Yunzhi’s back. Startled, his expression froze. “Seventh Young Lady, what happened?”

Having been there before, Song Yunzhi was familiar with the place. He carried her straight into the nearest private room.

Her injury was on her back—she couldn’t lie down. Song Yunzhi placed her gently onto a chair, helping her sit upright. Then he turned to the shopkeeper behind him. “Bring medicine. Find someone to take a look at her.”

The shopkeeper was dumbfounded and blurted, “Th–there’s no medicine here! This is a teahouse, not a clinic. Seventh Young Lady’s hurt—why bring her here? Sir, hurry and take her to a physician!”

Song Yunzhi’s gaze lingered on the girl in front of him.

The girl resting in his arm had a flushed face and blinked hazily before murmuring apologetically, “Oh, I forgot. I think… there’s no medicine left.”

Song Yunzhi inhaled deeply and said coldly, “You were the one who said it.”

She didn’t argue—just stared at him, dazed and still.

Noticing the bright flush on her cheeks, he reached out to touch her forehead. Unexpectedly, she leaned into his palm, her head pressing against his hand. He instinctively wanted to pull back—but her skin was burning hot.

There was no reasoning with someone running a fever.

Gritting his teeth, Song Yunzhi lifted her onto his back again and strode out of the teahouse.

The shopkeeper led the way through the rain to a nearby clinic. With the weather so foul, there weren’t many patients. As soon as they entered, the shopkeeper waved urgently at the physician. “Quick, take a look at the Seventh Young Lady!”

The physician froze in surprise. “After all these years, how is it her again…”

The shopkeeper didn’t explain, only urged, “She’s hurt badly—be quick about it.” Then he turned to Song Yunzhi. “Sir, carry the young lady inside.”

Song Yunzhi carried her into an inner room and sat her carefully on the bed, wondering how best to position her when the physician’s voice came from behind the curtain.

“Sir, cut open the young lady’s clothes and expose her back so I can see the wound.”

Song Yunzhi stiffened and looked down at the girl.

She had fainted again.

To have him cut open a young woman’s clothing? Impossible.

“It’s raining tonight,” the physician called from outside, “and the female doctor’s gone home to nurse her baby. Don’t waste time—hurry up. If that wound’s been soaked through and gets infected, not even an immortal could save her.”

Before Song Yunzhi could retreat, the physician’s words left him cornered.

There were only men in the clinic.

This task could only fall to him—the Seventh Young Lady’s supposed husband.

He’d carried her all this way to save her; he couldn’t just stand by and let her die. During campaigns, he had treated wounded soldiers before—life and death made no distinction between male and female.

He shut his eyes, slipped an arm under her chest, doing his best to ignore the soft weight pressing against him, and gently turned her over until she lay on her stomach. Only then did he open his eyes again.

The back of her dress was soaked through with blood—its original color unrecognizable.

Scissors lay in a bamboo basket beside the bed.

Song Yunzhi picked them up and slowly began to cut the fabric…

—

Half a cup of tea’s time later, he came out, lifted the curtain, and said to the doctor outside, “It’s ready.”

The doctor went in, while Song Yunzhi stayed outside waiting.

The shopkeeper also waited beside him. Earlier, he had already sent word to the Qian household. Pacing anxiously back and forth, his steps made Song Yunzhi’s eyes ache. Suddenly, Song Yunzhi asked, “Who did this?”

The shopkeeper paused, then quickly cautioned, “Sir, you mustn’t seek revenge.”

Song Yunzhi found the warning unnecessary—he was only asking.

“It’s family punishment,” the man explained quietly. “She’s taken beatings like this since childhood—likely got into serious trouble again this time.”

The death of the Qian family’s eldest madam hadn’t yet reached them; the shopkeeper didn’t know.

Song Yunzhi’s eyes darkened slightly.

He recalled the faint traces of old scars beneath the fresh wounds—so that’s where they came from.

Wasn’t she supposed to be so capable? And yet, even she couldn’t escape her family’s punishment.

Half an hour later, Fu Yin burst into the clinic dressed in mourning. Only then did everyone learn that the Qian family’s eldest madam had died.

Her account matched word for word what the servant girl Ah Zhu had told Wang Zhao on the official ship—the eldest madam had been forcibly taken by Young Master Cui, resisted to the death, and took poison rather than submit. Stricken with grief, Young Master Cui perished at sea, taking the entire Cui family down with him.

“That bastard Cui—dead and still bringing harm,” someone muttered.

Song Yunzhi believed only half. The Qian family’s eldest madam was indeed dead—but as for whether Young Master Cui had truly died for love, that remained to be seen.

So the girl was beaten because of the madam’s death?

He was certain of one thing—she had been on that ship last night. Whatever had happened there, the Cui family was gone, and the dead couldn’t speak. Everything now depended on the Qian family’s version of events.

Outside, the rain continued to fall, blurring the streets in a gray mist. When the physician emerged, he said, “I’ve applied the medicine. Best not to move her tonight. Let her rest here until morning—if she can make it through the night, she’ll recover.”

Fu Yin nodded. “Understood. Thank you, doctor. How is my lady?”

“I’ll prepare the herbs. Go decoct them.”

The Qian family still had funeral matters to handle, and only Fu Yin had come. If she stayed to watch over her mistress, someone else would need to make the medicine.

She knew full well how this man had become their “young master.”

She dared not let him handle the medicine—what if he added poison out of spite?

And she couldn’t trust the clumsy shopkeeper either.

“Sir,” she said carefully, “please stay and watch over my lady. I’ll go prepare the medicine.”

This was a public clinic—he wouldn’t dare harm her openly.

So long as his status as her “husband” remained, Song Yunzhi could not refuse.

He’d already cut her clothes; there was no need for modesty now.

The girl still hadn’t woken. Lying on her side on the pillow, her face was flushed red again, her lips vivid as cinnabar.

She was clearly feverish.

Song Yunzhi glanced at her bandaged back. A thin layer of white gauze covered the wound, but the whip marks were still visible beneath. The physician had cleaned them and applied what looked like golden wound salve.

Whoever had beaten her hadn’t held back—completely forgetting she was a young woman.

If his own sister had been struck like that, the household would have been in an uproar. Yet this girl had still been walking the streets as if nothing had happened.

Ruthless.

Ruthless to others—and to herself.

Fu Yin soon returned with the medicine. Since the girl was half-conscious, the two worked together: one propped her up, the other fed her the liquid spoon by spoon.

Even in her fevered sleep, her will to live was strong—once the spoon touched her lips, she swallowed greedily without being coaxed.

—

The shopkeeper stayed the night too, sitting outside. With hours to kill, he tried to make conversation. When Fu Yin went to prepare the second batch of medicine, he spoke quietly through the curtain to Song Yunzhi.

“You probably don’t know, sir—when the eldest madam married, it was the first union between two of the Four Great Families in over twenty years. All of Yangzhou envied them. And yet in the end… they couldn’t escape the curse.”

Only a curtain separated the two rooms.

The girl on the bed was still asleep when Song Yunzhi asked, “What curse?”

“Whenever two of the Four Great Families intermarry,” the man said gravely, “it ends in tragedy.”

Before coming to Yangzhou, Song Yunzhi had studied the connections between the Four Great Houses, but not their inner scandals. “Other than the Qian and Cui families, none of the others have married?”

The shopkeeper sighed. “That so-called curse is mostly rumor. The Four Great Houses marry for profit, but profit changes—when power and money shift, alliances crumble. After a few disastrous marriages, people began calling it a curse.”

“And now, seeing what’s become of the eldest madam—it’s hard not to believe it.” He paused, then muttered, “I suppose we should be grateful the Seventh Young—”

“Cough!”

A pointed cough cut him off. Fu Yin entered with the medicine bowl, giving him a warning glance. “Manager Qin, if you’re sleepy, why not find a room to nap for a while?”

Knowing he’d said too much, the shopkeeper flushed, pulled his sleeves together, and shut his eyes—and his mouth.

—

After two rounds of medicine, Qian Tong broke into a sweat at midnight.

When the fever finally receded, her complexion turned pale again. Dewy beads of sweat clung to her forehead like morning dew on white porcelain—clear and delicate.

Song Yunzhi’s gaze followed one droplet as it slid downward; before it could reach her eye, he reached out and wiped it away with his fingertip.

Then another.

He took out his handkerchief.

Seeing the dried blood on his sleeves, he rose once she had quieted, fetched water, cleaned his cloak, and hung it over the fire to dry.

Fu Yin was still busy with the medicine. Song Yunzhi stayed to watch, the cloak draped loosely over the back of a cane chair.

Midnight passed quietly.

He wasn’t sure when he’d fallen asleep—but when he woke, the sky outside was tinged with the faint green-gray of dawn. He turned, meaning to check her fever, and found himself staring into a pair of bright, clear black eyes.

She made no sound—just looked at him calmly.

Qian Tong had been awake for a while. Seeing him stir, she immediately said, “I’m starving.”

“The day before yesterday, I skipped lunch because I was busy. Yesterday morning I bought two meat buns, but just as I was eating them, you hit me with your umbrella—so they got soaked. I haven’t eaten for two days now. Go buy me two buns to make up for it.”

Song Yunzhi stared at her. She had survived the night, though her wounds would take far longer to heal. Yet she didn’t groan in pain—only complained of hunger.

She could’ve just asked him to get food, but she had to twist it into a grievance.

Still, he stood up.

“If possible,” she added eagerly, “I’d like a roast chicken too. Or roast duck will do…” The more she spoke, the hungrier she became. She turned her head on the pillow and swallowed hard. “Hurry up—I’m starving to death.”

Watching her so ravenous, he felt an odd flicker of amusement. In that moment, her expression reminded him faintly of his younger sister—

When hungry, she simply asked.

He lifted the curtain. The shopkeeper and Fu Yin were both slumped over a table, fast asleep. Without waking them, he stepped out into the gray dawn to find her food—buns, roast chicken, roast duck.

But the hour was too early; every tavern and teahouse was still closed. After circling the streets, he found nothing.

—

After lying still all night, Qian Tong’s neck ached. She pulled the pillow under her chest for support, tilted her head to stretch it, and just then, Fu Yin woke and went to fetch the doctor to change her dressing.

Ten lashes—she’d taken worse before. Qian Tong didn’t think much of it.

Her body could handle it. Originally, she’d planned to eat some buns before heading to the clinic—but she hadn’t expected to run into Song Yunzhi on the road, or to collapse in the street like that.

A lapse in judgment.

And humiliating.

She wondered if he’d laughed when he saw her fall.

It surprised her that he’d saved her—but on second thought, he’d had no choice. The antidote for the parasite was still in her hands.

Fu Yin was weeping again. As the doctor redressed the wound, she wiped her eyes with her sleeve, and when it was done, she was still crying. Qian Tong teased her lightly, “How much water did you drink today? Your tears never run dry.”

“I failed to protect you, my lady…”

Not wanting to see her cry anymore, Qian Tong said, “I’m hungry. Your young master’s been gone half the day looking for roast chicken—he’s probably out of money. Find me something to eat.”

Luckily, Fu Yin had made porridge last night, fearing her mistress would wake hungry. She quickly went to fetch a bowl.

After sleeping an entire day, Qian Tong had no idea what had happened outside. As she ate, she asked, “Do you know who the imperial official is?”

Whenever it came to serious matters, Fu Yin sobered at once, wiping away her tears. “Wang Zhao, from the Ministry of Justice.”

“What rank?”

Ayin reported, “The Assistant Minister of Justice.”

“Just him alone?” Qian Tong frowned slightly. The official rank was rather low. “And what about that mighty figure from the Shen family of the Duke’s manor—he didn’t come?”

Earlier, the prefect’s wife had invoked the name of that illustrious young master from the Shen family to intimidate the Qian family’s matron. If the man himself failed to show up now, the prefect would hardly be able to justify it.

“The servant heard he’ll arrive a few days later,” Ayin replied.

Fuyin then recounted everything that had happened during Qian Tong’s two-day absence in detail.

Three days ago, after the imperial envoys arrived, the prefect noticed that the Shen family’s young lord was not among them—and no one was more anxious than he was. A sixth-rank official like Wang Zhao could hardly suppress the mighty Cui clan on his own.

But to everyone’s astonishment, Wang Zhao immediately commandeered government ships and set sail overnight to intercept the Cui family’s eldest son.

Outside the Cui estate, dozens of armored cavalry surrounded the compound, sealing it tight. By the next day, the Cui household had been raided and their property confiscated. His decisiveness and ruthlessness went far beyond anyone’s expectations.

When Qian Tong returned from the deep sea that night, she had seen those government ships herself. Judging from their formation, it was clear that Wang Zhao’s aim had been to sweep both the Cui and Qian families into one net.

She couldn’t help but murmur in praise, “This Wang Zhao is quite the man.”

Fuyin then seemed to recall something and drew a folded document from her robe. “Yesterday morning, I went to the prison to find Madam Cui. I’ve obtained the divorce letter for the First Lady.”

Thinking back to Madam Cui’s words made her stomach turn. “Now that the First Lady is dead, that woman finally knows fear. She begged me to plead with you, saying that since the Four Great Families once shared one heart, you should spare the Cui family’s life… She wants to live—but she couldn’t spare the First Lady hers?”

The moment Fuyin mentioned the First Lady, Qian Tong fell silent.

Knowing how much that loss pained her mistress, Fuyin said no more. After handing her the divorce paper, she rose to go add more porridge to the pot when a sudden commotion sounded outside the door.

Two maidservants entered—one from Madam Qian’s quarters, the other from the Fourth Madam’s.

“Seventh Young Lady, why are you here…”

The maid from the Third Madam’s side had a voice as shrill as her mistress’s temper. Qian Tong recognized her immediately. Since Fuyin had helped her change clothes last night, the back of her undergarment had been cut open to avoid aggravating her wound. She quickly took the cloak draped over a nearby chair and gestured for Fuyin to help her put it on.

The maid from Madam Qian’s quarters—named Dongzhi—entered and, seeing Qian Tong’s pale and wan face, let out a wail. “Heavens above, how can such misfortune only befall our Qian family! Seventh Young Lady, even you are ill now…”

Qian Tong had come to the clinic precisely to avoid such pointless disturbances.

Dongzhi prattled on, “With the First Lady gone, the Third Madam is half-dead herself. The mistress spent all yesterday arranging the funeral. Only this morning did she learn you were here at the clinic, so she sent me to check on you—asked whether you’re feeling any better.”

The noise made Qian Tong’s head spin. “More or less.”

“More or less? Look at you—pale as paper! How can that be ‘more or less’?” Dongzhi shot a glance toward the door, then leaned in close to whisper, “The eldest son of the Park family is here.”

At last, something worth hearing.

Dongzhi watched Qian Tong’s face carefully. When she failed to detect any hint of emotion, she probed, “If you’re not feeling well enough to receive visitors, I can help you decline him.”

“No need.” Qian Tong lifted her head, snuffing out whatever faint hope the maid had. “He’s come a long way—he’s a guest. I can’t not see him.”

Dongzhi’s expression changed. She dropped the pretense of concern. “The mistress says your health is most important. It’s fine if you don’t see him. The master will entertain him properly.”

It had been two years. Just when both sides had finally settled down, he suddenly appeared again. No one knew why.

At dawn, Song Yunzhi returned to the clinic, carrying a roast chicken and a jar of freshly made fish porridge.

Since no restaurant had yet opened, he’d gone to a small shop, knocked on the door until the owner got up, and paid him extra silver to prepare the food. Besides the roast chicken, he had also asked the man to cook a pot of light fish porridge—something suitable for a wounded person.

With nothing else to carry it in, he had brought the entire clay jar along. After a long walk, he arrived just as the doctor and several apprentices were cleaning up the room.

The physician looked startled. “Young Master Qi—why are you still here?”

Song Yunzhi blinked, not understanding.

The doctor explained, “The Seventh Young Lady already left.” He had been busy wrapping medicine earlier and hadn’t noticed that Song Yunzhi was still inside.

“Did she have breakfast?”

The doctor nodded. “She did. The girl Fuyin made porridge for her last night.”

As soon as he said it, the young man’s face darkened. He set the food on the wooden table beside him and said quietly, “I just bought this. You can have it.”

He stepped inside the room—empty chair, empty air—and turned back. “Did you see a green cloak here?”

The doctor shook his head. “Most likely the Young Lady took it with her.”

Song Yunzhi said nothing more and left.

The physician could only sigh. So that was it—the Seventh Young Lady had simply forgotten about her husband.

Song Yunzhi didn’t feel angry. A woman like her would never lack for food or finery; better that what he’d brought went to someone who actually needed it.

All those who had participated in the Cui family’s smuggling ring had perished at sea, leaving no proof behind. But since Qian Tong knew too much, he had no choice but to return to the Qian estate—as her nominal husband—to keep a constant watch on her.

When he walked through the main gates, every servant recognized him now. No more sneaking in through side doors; everyone knew the Seventh Son-in-law of the Qian family.

Qian Tong had returned home two quarters of an hour earlier. The mansion was already draped in white lanterns. Once the First Lady’s body had been brought back, she was, by custom, considered part of the Qian family again; her funeral rites were all conducted in accordance with her title as the Qian family’s First Lady.

The mourning hall was set up in Third Master’s courtyard, and few guests had come.

Qian Tong had no idea where the Park family’s heir was at that moment. If he had gone to the mourning hall, word would spread quickly—within the hour, merchants from all over Yangzhou would trample Qian Manor’s threshold to get a glimpse.

Fortunately, A’jin came running in excitement, whispering, “Mistress, the Park heir is here—in the main house.”

Dongzhi didn’t have time to stop her.

She could only watch, heart pounding, as the Seventh Young Lady approached yet again to meet someone from the Park family. But just as they reached the veranda, Qian Tong suddenly halted, standing still beneath the eaves.

Inside the hall, conversation drifted faintly out—polite inquiries about Qian Second Master’s well-being, nothing of substance.

Half an incense stick passed, and when there was nothing left to say, the Park heir rose to take his leave.

Qian Second Master walked him to the door.

“Master Qian, no need to see me out.” The Park heir turned with a courteous smile. “I’ll visit again another day.”

As he shifted to leave, his gaze caught on the figure beneath the veranda—a young woman standing quietly in the shade.

The Park heir froze for a beat.

Then his eyes softened, settling on her like sunlight after rain. Leaning lazily against a vermilion pillar, her complexion pale, the girl’s eyes still burned bright and resilient. A faint smile of relief tugged at his lips. He nodded gently to her.

Qian Tong inclined her head in return.

Neither spoke. Neither seemed inclined to reminisce. It was as if the Park heir had journeyed all this way merely to see with his own eyes that she was still alive.

Qian Second Master hadn’t expected Qian Tong to be there, and sensing something amiss between them, quickly broke the tension. “Young Master Park, this way, please.”

But when he turned his head, he nearly jumped. “Y-young… son-in-law? What happened to you—”

A’jin had told him the Seventh Young Lady was here, so Song Yunzhi had come straight over. The cloak he’d washed for her last night—she was wearing it. His own robe, however, was bloodstained and wrinkled.

At the sound of Qian Second Master’s exclamation, everyone turned to look at him—including the Park heir.

Song Yunzhi wasn’t sure whether the man recognized him, but he certainly recognized Park Chengyu—the renowned heir of the Park family, famed both in medicine and trade, and a master of maritime commerce.

So the rumors were true—Park Chengyu was as refined and elegant as they said.

He hadn’t expected to encounter him here, unprepared as he was. But Song Yunzhi quickly steadied himself. If his identity were to be exposed now, then so be it—they could let the Parks, Qians, and Cuis all interrogate him together.

After a brief exchange of glances, the Park heir inclined his head politely. “Park Chengyu greets the Seventh Son-in-law.”

Song Yunzhi returned the gesture.

As the man passed him by, his calm, indifferent demeanor suggested he hadn’t recognized him.

Everyone in the courtyard held their breath through that fraught moment—everyone except Qian Tong, whose face filled with guilt as she looked at the disheveled young man not far away.

Oh no…

She’d forgotten he’d gone out to buy breakfast.

So when the young man’s gaze met hers, she quickly feigned weakness and collapsed lightly against Fuyin’s shoulder. “My head… feels so dizzy…”

Before she could finish her act, his cool voice cut through the air. “No need to apologize, Seventh Young Lady. The restaurant wasn’t open. I didn’t buy anything anyway.”

After that day, Song Yunzhi returned to his courtyard and did not see Qian Tong for five straight days.

A’jin said she was resting, recovering from her wounds.

Fine—he had other matters to attend to. Working in concert with Wang Zhao, he began interrogating members of the Cui family. The Park heir’s return at such a time was no coincidence.

At least now that he was in Yangzhou, Song Yunzhi wouldn’t need to travel again.

The first to be questioned was Madam Cui. Ever since she learned her second son had died, she had gone nearly mad. When Wang Zhao placed the records of the illicit trading house before her and asked if she knew anything, she merely shook her head, muttering over and over, “I want to see the prefect’s wife—he promised me…”

Next came the Cui family patriarch. He clenched his jaw, insisting, “Lan Mingquan deceived me miserably!”

According to their testimony, the Cui family had opened trading houses and underground shops to exploit the people—all under the prefect’s orders. They claimed they were nothing more than Lan Mingquan’s instruments of greed.

Gone was the patriarch’s usual cowardice. He stared straight ahead and declared fiercely:

“We are mere merchants—the lowest of the low. For the sake of survival, we risked being struck by lightning, condemned to the eighteenth level of hell, and committed unforgivable sins. We accept death. But why should punishment fall only on merchants like us? If not for you officials extorting us—always demanding our shops, our lands, our property—would we have been driven to this? If the court truly seeks justice, then start by investigating your own! Start with Lan Mingquan!”

Wang Zhao understood perfectly well—Cui was trying to redirect blame toward the corrupt officials, dragging the prefect’s office down with him to bury the smuggling case entirely.

The problem was, Lan Mingquan was far from clean.

When Wang Zhao met with Song Yunzhi afterward, he asked, “My Lord, what should we do next?”

“Don’t rush,” Song Yunzhi said calmly. “Let it drag out a bit.”

Wang Zhao frowned. “Why?”

“Because someone will grow anxious before we do,” he replied. “The salt permits haven’t been handed over yet. In three days, someone will come knocking.”

He was wrong only about the timing. He didn’t have to wait three days.

That very afternoon, Qian Tong came to find him—bringing someone with her.

The moment the man saw Song Yunzhi, his eyes reddened. Voice trembling, he said, “Brother Song… I thought I’d never see you again in this lifetime…”