Born to Be Either Rich or Noble - Chapter 22

The one who had returned was Shen Che.

A man-made shipwreck had nearly cost him his life. When he fainted in the dark, churning sea, he truly thought he would never wake again. But when he opened his eyes, he found himself inside a fishing boat, the air thick with the sharp, salty stench of fish.

“Young Master Song, you’re awake?”
The very man who had pushed him into the water came over, holding out a bowl of water. “Good. Since you’re up, shall we stay out here for a few more days? There’s so much fish this season—it’d be a shame not to haul it all in.”

Stepping out of the small cabin, Shen Che saw the wreckage of the Cui family’s ships scattered across the vast sea.

Ten entire ships—filled with tea leaves, all of it contraband—gone overnight. He didn’t know what had happened or who had set it off, only that he was desperate to return to the city and meet with His Lordship Song to discuss their next move. But the fisherman insisted on staying, catching fish as though nothing had happened.

And so, Shen Che, the son of a duke’s house and the empress’s own nephew, spent three or four miserable days at sea, hauling nets beside a fisherman of the Qian family.

When they finally docked, the first person he saw was that female thief.

She claimed she had come to fetch him—but in truth, she escorted him under guard all the way to the Qian residence.

By now, he had reached the limits of his patience. Seeing Song Yunzhi again, he no longer needed to endure. He turned sharply to her and said, “I have words for my brother. Could you step aside for a moment?”

He stank of salt and sea, a rank odor that clung to every thread of his clothing.

Qian Tong pinched her nose, her voice nasally muffled. “Fine—but on one condition. Without my permission, you’re not going anywhere.”

It had only been a few days, yet her wounds seemed to have healed; the slyness had returned to her face. She gave Song Yunzhi a playful wink and smiled. “You two brothers have a good talk. I’ll stay out of the way.”

Then she called out, “A’jin, prepare a fresh robe for our guest—and a bath.”

Our guest?

Her pinched nose and expression of disgust stabbed straight into Shen Che’s pride. Was he really that foul?

He stubbornly refused to change, shut the servants out, and pulled Song Yunzhi into the room with him.

The door closed, and Shen Che immediately launched into his account of recent events.

“That night, the Qian people led me to the alley and onto Cui’s ship…” He glossed over the humiliating details—being knocked out, stuffed into a sack, and waking up already aboard. The Qian family’s black-hooded man had handed him a guard’s uniform from the Cui household, along with a filthy rag.

He had nearly lost his temper—until he realized what was inside the ship’s hold.

Tea leaves. Crates and crates of them.

Tea had long been under state control. Every year, the Great Yu dynasty traded limited amounts of tea with neighboring nations in exchange for horses. Yet Cui’s people had loaded ten ships’ worth. If smuggled across the border, it would seriously weaken the already fragile empire.

Before the ships set sail, he had sent word to the covert guards, reporting his position.

Then he pretended to cooperate with the Qian family, posing as a spy they’d planted aboard the Cui ships. For the sake of the nation, he bore every humiliation imaginable—scrubbing floors, stoking fires, hauling cargo, standing watch.

When he overheard that their next target was none other than the eldest son of the Park family, he’d been elated. Once the Park heir appeared, he would light his signal, and when the court’s forces arrived, they could seize all three major families in one sweep.

But the Qian family acted too soon.

All his efforts went up in smoke—literally. His plan ruined, his life nearly lost.

Shen Che’s face hardened. “Brother Song, that woman is not simple. She’s no ordinary girl. I’m certain she’s connected to Cui’s smuggling operation. We can’t wait any longer. We must arrest and interrogate her immediately.”

“Not simple,” he’d said that phrase three or four times now.

Song Yunzhi had never underestimated Qian Tong—but she was impossible to predict. Every time he thought he understood her, she turned the game around.

Shen Che leaned too close. His breath reeked of sea brine. Song Yunzhi instinctively leaned away.

Shen Che blinked.

Song Yunzhi said bluntly, “You should wash first.”

That hit deep. Shen Che had never felt so humiliated. Without a word, he stood, opened the door, and said to the servant outside, “Bring me two buckets of water. I’ll bathe.”

Waiting outside was A’yin, one of Qian Tong’s four “Gate Gods.” He raised his voice cheerfully. “This courtyard belongs to the young master-in-law. The young master’s room is over there—we’ve already drawn your bath, sir.”

Young master-in-law?

Shen Che froze and turned sharply back.

Inside the room, Song Yunzhi stood still, his head slightly turned away, expression hidden in shadow.

Shen Che sucked in a sharp breath. His indignation vanished in an instant, replaced by stunned pity. Compared to what his brother had suffered, his own grievances were nothing.

“So that’s her game,” he muttered. “The nerve of that woman, how dare she—”

“Young master, the water’s cooling…”

Half an hour later, Shen Che had bathed and changed into a robe of Sichuan brocade identical to Song Yunzhi’s. His hair was neatly wrung dry and bound with a jade coronet.

Sitting opposite the heir of Song, Shen Che struggled for words before finally offering, “Marriage matters are but the babble of matchmakers. Rest easy, Brother Song. When we return to Jinling, I’ll testify on your behalf—that you had no choice.”

Just then, A’jin entered, carrying the cloak Qian Tong had borrowed days ago. “My lady says the weather’s fine today. She’s taking the young master-in-law out for a stroll—to thank him for the roast chicken he bought her.”

Song Yunzhi’s eyelid twitched.

Roast chicken? Shen Che stared, wide-eyed, at the reddening tips of his brother’s ears. Clearly, something had happened during his absence.

But Song Yunzhi was not a man to share. He merely cast Shen Che a brief look before rising. “I’ll be out for a while. Rest here.”

Shen Che: …

The thief had forbidden him to leave—but said nothing about Song Yunzhi. Watching his brother walk off and the thief’s henchmen block his way, Shen Che didn’t know who to pity more.

When Song Yunzhi reached the gate, Qian Tong was already waiting beside the carriage.

To ward off bad luck, she’d dressed in bright colors today: a crimson spring blouse paired with a pomegranate-red skirt, a pearl-and-jade crown in her hair, and a golden bell at her waist. Gold, silver, and gems glittered all over her—no one could outshine her.

Song Yunzhi stared at the lively, radiant girl before him, finding it impossible to reconcile her with the drenched, half-dead figure he’d seen days earlier.

As he approached, Qian Tong climbed into the carriage first.

When he bent to follow, his eyes met a burst of blossoms inside.

It was her private carriage, and she’d decorated it exactly to her taste. Seeing his look of surprise, she said lightly, “Spring’s the best season for flowers. Miss it now, and you’ll wait a year. Why not enjoy the feeling of being surrounded by them? Don’t you think it’s lovely?”

“It’s… fine,” he replied curtly.

Qian Tong turned her head to stare at him.

He ignored her. The carriage had been moving for quite a while now, and still she stared. Finally, he lost patience, turning to meet her gaze. “What are you looking at?”

Perhaps she hadn’t expected him to confront her. For an instant, surprise flickered in her eyes—but she quickly recovered, smiling. “Just admiring how stubborn your mouth is.”

The double meaning was deliberate. Song Yunzhi’s expression stiffened, his hand tightening over his knee in discomfort.

So the physician must have told her about the roast chicken.

“I’m sorry,” Qian Tong said honestly. “I forgot about you that day. My family sent word that the Park family’s eldest son had returned to mourn our late matriarch.”

Song Yunzhi always doubted her sincerity, yet at that moment, he couldn’t help but glance her way.

Noticing his curiosity, Qian Tong went on, “You know the Park family, right? The most powerful of the Four Great Houses in Yangzhou. Every merchant in the city—big or small—would die for a chance to curry their favor.”

So she was going back to curry favor as well?

Merchants, after all, lived for profit. The Qian family’s salt license was about to expire—they had to prepare for both outcomes. If they couldn’t renew it through the court, they’d have to turn to the back channels once used by the Cui family.

That meant siding with the Park family.

What had they discussed? What had they planned together? Song Yunzhi wanted to know—but the girl beside him was anything but ordinary, and one careless word could tip his hand.

After a pause, he asked casually, “Are you close to him?”

Qian Tong thought for a moment. “Not really. We’ve met a few times.” She turned her head, eyes gleaming with curiosity. “You met him today too, didn’t you? What do you think?”

Song Yunzhi recalled that face—serious, elegant, composed. “The Park family’s eldest son has quite the reputation. His demeanor certainly lives up to it.”

He finished speaking—only to notice that she was still staring straight at him.

Her gaze burned, open and unrestrained, utterly lacking the slightest trace of feminine modesty. Just as Song Yunzhi was about to turn his head away, he suddenly heard her soft, lilting voice:

“But Yun Zhen isn’t bad either.”

The carriage wheels rolled over gravel, the jolt making his heart skip a beat. He turned to lift the curtain, but all he saw were a few freshly cut branches of peach blossoms blocking the window. Dew still clung to the petals—each bloom vivid and tender, bursting with life.

——

Qian Tong’s carriage stopped in the middle of the bustling street.

After stepping down, she ordered Fuyin to lift the curtain, revealing a carriage brimming with flowers. She picked up a handful herself and stuffed them into Song Yunzhi’s arms. “We’re doing a good deed today.”

“These were the ones Fuyin and I planted earlier this year. It’s pleasant enough to enjoy them alone, but even better when shared with others. Tell me, which is the happier feeling—giving flowers, or receiving them?”

Before he could answer, she nudged his elbow, signaling for him to move forward. “We’ll give one flower to each passerby. You can manage that, can’t you?”

Song Yunzhi did his best not to look at the peach blossoms in his hands. His steps were stiff—he couldn’t very well throw them away, but he didn’t know how to hold them either.

Meanwhile, the young woman beside him had already started.

“Madam, please take a flower home with you…”

“Oh, this flower is lovely.”

“Isn’t it? I grew it in my own courtyard. Keep it watered, and it’ll stay beautiful for several more days.”

“Thank you so much…”

“Sir, do you like flowers? Here, take one.”

“I’m a man—what would I do with a flower?”

“Give it to your wife, then. Or your mother, if you’re not married yet. It’ll make her smile.”

The man blinked, realization dawning. Then he chuckled good-naturedly. “You’re right, young lady. Thank you.”

Song Yunzhi’s gaze lingered on her—watching as she greeted every passerby with warmth and ease.

She was unrestrained, unembarrassed, nothing like any woman he’d ever met before. Even compared to the shy young girls now standing before her, blushing as they accepted her flowers, Qian Tong seemed to shine brighter.

Her poise drew attention without her even trying.

Song Yunzhi averted his eyes, wondering silently what purpose lay behind her sudden act of generosity.

The answer arrived soon enough.

A woman in ragged clothes approached, stopping several paces away as if afraid to dirty Qian Tong’s gown with her dust. She raised her voice nervously: “You—you’re the seventh young lady of the Qian family, aren’t you?”

Qian Tong looked up. “That’s right.”

At once, the woman burst into tears. Wiping at her face with her sleeve, she sobbed, “Thank heaven I found you! If not for the porridge stalls your family set up, my whole household would’ve starved to death in the streets. Seventh Miss Qian, I’ll never forget your kindness. Let me bow to you first—once we can stand on our feet again, I’ll repay this debt someday!”

Qian Tong hurried forward and helped her up. “Please, Auntie, don’t kneel to me. I’m just a junior—I can’t accept that. Whatever my family earns, it comes from the people. Being able to help you is our good fortune.”

Once the woman stood, Qian Tong asked gently, “Have you found work yet?”

The woman nodded. “Yes. My husband found labor work at the docks.” Her tears flowed again. “You’re a good person, Seventh Miss. Heaven will surely bless you for it.”

Once the woman recognized her, the nearby commoners, who had hesitated to approach, suddenly surged forward.

“It’s Seventh Miss Qian!”

“The Qian family’s seventh young lady is here—come, everyone!”

Within moments, a crowd of poor townsfolk and displaced refugees surrounded the carriage, all tearfully thanking her.

“Thank you, Seventh Miss!”

So many knelt that Qian Tong couldn’t possibly lift them all back up. She raised her voice instead:

“Everyone, please rise. I, Qian Tong, have always said—what we take from the people, we must return to the people. Helping the common folk is my family’s duty. There’s no need to thank me. Live well. When you can stand on your own, when you have a little more to give—help those beside you in need. That will be the best way to repay me.”

Her voice rang clear and bright, but her eyes were slightly red at the corners.

Her crimson gown blazed like sunlight, and in the crook of her arm, a cluster of pear blossoms lay pale and pure as snow.

The crowd was moved.

“The Qian family truly has a conscience—not like the wicked Cui family, who prey on innocent people! If not for Seventh Miss Qian’s courage in exposing the corruption behind the brokers, who knows how many more lives would’ve been destroyed!”

“The people trapped in that broker’s house were rescued by the Qian family too! I heard they went knocking on the physicians’ doors in the middle of the night—Seventh Miss and her husband worked until dawn before the officials even arrived!”

“The Qian family is the true blessing of us Yangzhou folk!”

Someone called out from the crowd, “Seventh Miss, did you get the salt permit yet?” (t/n: “Salt permit” or “salt license” was a government-issued authorization to produce or sell salt—highly regulated and politically sensitive in ancient China.)

Qian Tong shook her head. “Not yet.”

Song Yunzhi had been silently observing her all this time—nearly swept away by the emotions of the moment—until he realized her true purpose.

For the salt permit. She was rallying the people’s support.

“Thank you all for your concern,” she continued. “The Qian family conducts its business honestly and openly—we have nothing to hide. Please also trust that the court’s officials are fair and just. They would never wrong a merchant who serves the people’s good. We’ll earn the salt permit on skill alone. The quality of our salt speaks for itself, and I believe the court will see that too.”

She knew where to stop. Qian Tong didn’t stir unrest—she inspired faith. Then she resumed handing out flowers.

“Since everyone’s here, take one flower each. Let’s give them all out before we go.”

——

Finally, someone noticed the motionless man beside her. A kindly woman pointed to the flowers in Song Yunzhi’s arms. “Young Master, may I have a bunch?”

He nodded.

“You must be the seventh young master! So handsome!”

“A perfect match for our Seventh Miss!”

“A pair made in heaven, if ever there was one!”

And so, the proud heir of a noble household—who had just given away his first flower—soon found himself handing out the second, and then the third, drawn helplessly into their little charity.

The crowd swelled larger.

A soft nudge brushed his elbow. “Your Grace…”

Song Yunzhi caught the signal immediately. He slipped quietly out of the throng and turned into a narrow alley. When he was certain no one was watching, he spoke. “What is it?”

The man lurking in the shadows bowed his head. “My lord, the magistrate interrogated Lan Mingquan today and uncovered some news. The Four Great Merchant Clans appear to be at odds, but in truth, when it comes to matters of principle, they protect one another and hide the truth.”

“There’s more,” the man added.

Song Yunzhi’s brows furrowed. “Go on.”

“It’s said that Seventh Miss Qian once had a relationship with the eldest son of the Park family. If not for their elders’ objections, the two would already be betrothed.”

——

By the time all the flowers were given away, Qian Tong turned to ask, “So—now do you know which feels better, giving flowers or receiving them?”

No one answered.

Puzzled, she looked around—only to realize he was gone.

Where had he gone?

Scanning the street, she rose on her toes—just in time to see Young Master Song standing apart from the crowd, still holding the last few stems of medicinal herbs he hadn’t distributed.

He stood perfectly still, eyes fixed on her from across the distance.

She couldn’t make out his expression, but she could feel it—that sharp, seething stare that made her think he might crush her into dust if he could.