Born to Be Either Rich or Noble - Chapter 23

What’s wrong with him?

Qian Tong couldn’t recall doing anything that might have offended him. Just a moment ago, she’d seen him chatting cheerfully as he handed out flowers. Turning to Fu Yin beside her, she asked in confusion, “Did some girl take advantage of our son-in-law?”

With a face like that, several young women had been eyeing him like wolves circling prey earlier—had he perhaps failed to protect himself?

Fu Yin shook her head. She’d been too busy to notice.

Qian Tong kept racking her brain, trying to figure out who might’ve provoked him, when she saw him step toward her. Though his expression was cool, there was no real anger in his eyes.

Was she seeing things?

On the way back, Qian Tong realized it wasn’t her imagination. Something was indeed wrong—today, Mr. Song was in a terrible mood. No matter how she tried to start a conversation, she couldn’t get a single word out of him.

“Come with me somewhere,” Qian Tong said. “I guarantee it’ll cheer you up.”

He disliked crowded places, so she decided to take him somewhere quiet.

To Song Yunzhi, her words went in one ear and out the other. From this day on, he swore he would never again believe a single word that came out of her mouth. Since the Qian family had dealings with the Park family, he now suspected collusion between them—and the matter of the salt permits would have to be handled with even greater caution.

Half an hour later, the carriage stopped at the entrance of a secluded alley.

It couldn’t go any farther, so Qian Tong climbed down, holding the few remaining peonies he hadn’t yet given away. Looking up at the man still sitting in the carriage, reluctant to step out, she said, “Come on. There’s no one around.”

Under her insistent gaze, Song Yunzhi finally got down.

Yangzhou was a city of water in the south—its alleys stretched in all directions, some wide enough for horses and carriages, others so narrow two people could barely walk side by side. Song Yunzhi had no idea where she was taking him.

Unlike the high white walls and green tiles of the wealthier courtyards outside, the deeper they went, the older and smaller the houses became.

After several turns, the girl finally stopped in front of a weathered courtyard gate and knocked a few times. “Aunt Liu, are you home?”

A woman’s voice called from inside a moment later, “Coming, coming…”

The door opened to reveal a woman in her sixties. When she saw Qian Tong, her face lit up with delight. “Seventh Lady! What brings you here today? I wasn’t expecting you at all—oh dear, the courtyard’s such a mess…”

“Aunt Liu, no need to be so polite. I’m not an outsider.”

The woman gave a shy smile and motioned her inside. “Please, Seventh Lady, come in.” Then, noticing the man standing behind her, she froze. “And this fine-looking young gentleman is…?”

Qian Tong winked at her and smiled. “My husband.”

Song Yunzhi happened to be looking straight at her then—and had to admit, her shamelessness was truly impressive.

“Such a handsome husband!” Aunt Liu quickly looked away, embarrassed, and stepped aside to let them in. Qian Tong handed her the peonies. “I brought you a few flowers. Aren’t they fragrant?”

“They are…” The woman rubbed her hands on her skirt, hesitant to accept. “Such fine flowers—wouldn’t I be ruining them if I took them?”

“Who says that? I know you love flowers,” Qian Tong said, pushing them into her arms. “Put them in a jar—they’ll bloom for a few more days.” She glanced around the courtyard. “Where’s Little Black?”

The woman looked around too, muttering, “Was just here a moment ago—who knows where it’s gone now? Probably back to its nest again. Please, Seventh Lady, Seventh Master, sit for a bit…”

She went inside and came back carrying two wooden stools, apologizing profusely. “The house is such a mess, I’m afraid this is the best I can do.”

For those with nothing but bare walls, the greatest fear was entertaining guests of high status.

As he accepted the trembling tea cup from her hands, Song Yunzhi broke his long silence. “It’s fine. Thank you.”

Aunt Liu went inside again, then returned with a black kitten in her arms, smiling. “Found it! The nest you made for her last time was so warm, she’s been sleeping in it nonstop lately.”

Qian Tong rose and took the kitten, cuddling it tenderly in her arms. Stroking its back, she cooed softly, “Have you been good, Little Black? Let your sister see—have you gained weight?”

Her Jiangnan accent was naturally soft and lilting—sweet as if she were speaking in a gentle whine.

The sound brushed past Song Yunzhi’s ears like a tickle. For a brief moment, he thought of his younger sister—whenever she saw kittens or puppies, her voice would catch as if something had gripped her throat, words tumbling out clumsily.

Women really are all the same, he thought.

Song Yunzhi had no fondness for flowers or animals. Sitting quietly to the side, he sipped his tea.

Though coarse, the tea carried a faint floral fragrance. Yangzhou, rich in textiles and seafood, was too cold in winter for tea trees to survive; most tea came from Sichuan.

This household, clearly poor, couldn’t possibly afford to buy any.

It must have been a gift.

He turned toward the girl beside him—just in time for a soft, furry bundle to be shoved into his arms. “Hold it for a bit. I’m going to check on Aunt Liu.”

The small, warm creature nestled against him—and that familiar sensation, something he thought he’d long forgotten, suddenly stirred from the depths of his memory. He froze.

Qian Tong, already standing, blinked in surprise. “Why are you blushing?”

Song Yunzhi’s eyes twitched. “You’re seeing things.”

He must like cats, she thought. But she didn’t press him further. Instead, she went inside, calling over her shoulder, “There are chickens and ducks all over. Lots of droppings. Don’t let it touch the ground.”

That left the noble son alone with the little black kitten curled in his lap—its fur so dark only its bright eyes stood out, glimmering as it turned its head.

He held back a sigh and let it stay.

Animals had instincts. They could sense who liked them and who didn’t. Feeling his reluctance, Little Black tilted its head, then suddenly leapt from his arms.

Song Yunzhi glanced toward the house, calling instinctively, “Qian Tong.”

No answer.

“Qian Tong, it ran away.”

Still no response.

He exhaled slowly—for the first time in his life, he found himself chasing after a cat.

But the kitten wasn’t giving him any chance. Stretching its legs, it arched its back lazily, then pranced toward the house with elegant indifference.

The equally proud young man narrowed his eyes and followed. The kitten sensed danger, abandoned all pretense of grace, and bolted right under his nose, vanishing in an instant.

Song Yunzhi was a man of his word. Even though he hadn’t actually promised to watch the cat, the image of her accusing look when she came back was enough to make him pursue it.

As Aunt Liu had said, there wasn’t much to see in the house.

A clay stove mixed with straw and earth, an iron pot, a few earthen bowls. On a small wooden table sat a dish of leftovers—so blackened he couldn’t tell what it once was.

He stepped further in. Another room lay ahead, the air thick with incense—it must be a shrine.

He turned to leave, but Aunt Liu emerged from the shrine, lowering her voice as she said, “Careful, sir. The floor’s dirty—you wouldn’t want to soil your fine boots.”

He turned back toward her, gaze flicking past her shoulder.

The woman, mistaking his purpose, said softly, “You’re looking for Seventh Lady? The one who used to live here has been gone for years. Seventh Lady has a kind heart—she still visits us widows whenever she can. Every time she comes, she insists on burning incense for the departed. You can’t stop her.”

Aunt Liu stepped aside, and Song Yunzhi saw her then—kneeling before the altar, back to him.

He couldn’t see her face.

“How did your husband pass away?” Song Yunzhi asked quietly.

“My family has worked in the Qian family’s salt wells for three generations. Two years ago, the mine collapsed. My husband, my son, and my grandson were all inside… they were buried alive…”

True grief could never be healed by time. Not two years, not even decades later — until death itself — those memories would still tear open a person’s heart.

The woman wiped her tears, choking out, “It was fate. Before the accident, Mistress Qian had warned everyone to wait a few days before going down. But my husband was greedy. He wanted to get the salt out early. Who would have thought it’d cost over a dozen lives…”

Song Yunzhi said nothing.

“These past two years, there’s been talk everywhere that the Qian family’s salt wells have gone dry,” the woman continued, her voice trembling, “but only those of us who’ve worked inside know the truth. Mistress Qian is just being careful — she’s terrified something like that could happen again. She always says, ‘It doesn’t matter if we harvest less salt. Lives matter more.’”

By the time she finished, tears were streaming down her face. Embarrassed to be crying in front of him, she turned away and muttered, “Listen to me, carrying on again… Sir, you shouldn’t stand here — I keep chickens and ducks, they run around making a mess. Go sit in the courtyard. Mistress Qian will be done soon.”

After burning the incense, Qian Tong took out a small embroidered pouch from her sleeve and set it in front of the memorial tablet. “That’s three months’ allowance. Keep it safe.”

When she stepped out, she found the little black cat lying across the threshold.

Qian Tong blinked, picked it up, patted the dust off its fur, and cradled it in her arms. “Did he abandon you already? Come on, let’s go find him and demand an explanation.”

But what she saw outside stopped her cold.

Song Yunzhi was trying to give the old woman some silver. The woman refused again and again. He left it on the stool; she hurriedly picked it up and tried to hand it back. After a few exchanges, they ended up tugging at each other’s arms, both refusing to give in.

Qian Tong couldn’t help it — she burst out laughing. “Pfft—” Then she said to the slightly flushed Song Yunzhi, “Don’t bother. She won’t take it.”

The woman exhaled in relief. “I’m already grateful you two came to see this old widow. I’ve still got both hands and feet — how could I take your silver?”

Qian Tong walked closer and saw that Song Yunzhi still held a ten-tael silver note.

If she remembered right, that was the one she’d given him before — and he’d kept it all this time? A frugal man, clearly. Qian Tong smiled. “Aunt Liu is right. Keep your silver. Next time, just bring some treats for Little Black instead.”

She didn’t stay any longer.

For someone living like Aunt Liu, serving tea was already the highest form of hospitality. Knowing she couldn’t prepare a proper meal, the old woman didn’t insist they stay.

Once they left the alley, Qian Tong said softly, “They may be poor, but they still have their pride. You meant well, but they won’t take charity.”

Song Yunzhi looked at her.

The girl’s smile was faint, touched by the bitterness of the world’s suffering — it dulled the brightness of her face with quiet sorrow.

There were too many faces to her, so many that he didn’t know which one was real.

And she changed them too quickly.

Just when one began to fall into her rhythm, she would already have slipped free, wearing another mask — one of lightness. “That’s the thing,” she said, “poverty narrows people’s hearts. If it were me, I would’ve gladly accepted your kindness.”

She took two steps forward, avoiding his gaze. “It’s getting late. Let’s go home. I’m starving.”

The Cui family’s case could no longer be delayed.

The next day, Wang Zhao sent people to ask Song Yunzhi how he intended to proceed.

Running a black shop that cheated the people, causing deaths, bribing officials — those crimes alone were enough to destroy the entire Cui clan. But compared to smuggling and colluding with enemies, they were nothing.

Master Cui insisted he knew nothing.

Madam Cui played the lunatic, screaming that she wanted to see the Prefect’s wife — that it was the Prefect’s wife who had ruined their family.

Wang Zhao investigated and found that all the estates, shops, and courtyards the Prefect’s household had acquired from the Cui family were dirty — none of them clean, all tied to the same shady brokers.

When Lan Mingquan, the Prefect, saw the list and account books, his face went dark. The Prefect’s office had never taken part in Cui’s illegal dealings — yet the evidence was irrefutable, with every servant’s deed registered.

Those deeds had passed from Cui’s eldest son to Qian Tong, then from Qian Tong to Song Yunzhi — and Song had been present the entire time.

Wang Zhao traced the people listed in the deeds and found them — in Lan Mingquan’s own residence. What could the man possibly say in his defense?

Knowing the interrogation had reached a deadlock, Song Yunzhi sent word: “Tomorrow afternoon, I’ll find a way to bring the Prefect out. I’ll question him myself.”

Then, after a pause, he added, “Bring Mistress Qian as well.” He wanted to interrogate them together.

The curse still lingered in his body, but lately he had not resisted her as before. He even seemed to have accepted his “son-in-law” identity — so much so that Qian Tong and Ah Jin had both lowered their guard around him.

Mistress Qian had said the young master was confined — but she hadn’t said the son-in-law was.

So when the “son-in-law” wanted to take a stroll, Mistress Qian didn’t object. She wasn’t the kind of woman who kept her men under lock and key out of jealousy.

After lunch, Qian Tong planned to visit the salt wells.

The salt permits were still not in hand, and the workers there were growing restless.

Just as she finished preparing to leave, a servant came in to report — imperial soldiers were at the gate. Two of them, clad in iron armor, faces stern and eyes sharp, their very presence radiating a killing aura that made the servants shrink back.

“Mistress Qian,” one of them said, “please come with us to the Prefect’s office.”

No matter how powerful the Qian family was, they couldn’t defy soldiers of the Imperial Court. Everyone in the household was shaken — why would the government, investigating the Cui family, suddenly come for them?

Qian Tong herself was curious. “May I ask, officers, what matter requires a humble woman like me?”

The soldiers gave nothing away. “You’ll know when you get there.”

At least they didn’t force her to ride with them — she was allowed to take her own carriage.

Madam Qian soon heard the news and rushed over in a panic. She arrived just as Qian Tong’s carriage was about to leave. Grabbing her arm, she whispered urgently, “When you get there, mind your words. The Qian family’s salt permit expires in three days. Your father hasn’t slept — he’s been watching the wells himself, night after night. The Cui family’s finished, and the Park family won’t stoop to fighting over scraps. The only ones with the power to compete with us for the permit are the Lu family. If it comes to it, agree to give the court a little something. Even if we earn less, we must protect the family business…”

You could say Madam Qian didn’t understand the world — but sometimes, a few of her words hit the mark.

And yet when you thought she did understand, her solutions were utterly foolish. The court was currently cracking down on bribery between merchants and officials, and here she was, still talking about bribing the court.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” Qian Tong said calmly. “Just mind the household. Keep Third Aunt settled — and stop bringing up my eldest sister in front of her. You can’t comfort someone out of grief with endless pity. Find her something to do, distract her — let her move on.”

Madam Qian’s expression soured; she shot her a glare. “I don’t need you teaching me how to run my house…” Then, anxiously, “Just tell me, are you confident or not? I need to know whether I can rest easy tonight.”

Qian Tong, seeing her agitation, softened her tone. “When you want something, don’t rush to beg for it. You’ll never get it that way. You need to make them come to you. The fact that the court sent for me — that’s a good sign.”

Madam Qian stared blankly; she hadn’t understood a word.

But Qian Tong didn’t bother explaining further. She climbed into her carriage and headed straight for the Prefect’s office.

She was no stranger to the place — she’d been there a few times before and knew the way well.

Normally, the Prefect’s maids would glare daggers at her the moment she arrived, afraid she’d snatch away their precious young master. Today, however, not a single maid was in sight.

The gate guards had been replaced — now, imperial soldiers stood in their place.

Two on each side, escorting her forward under silent pressure. For the first time, Qian Tong found herself missing those petty, eye-rolling maids.

The echo of armored boots followed her down the corridor until they reached the main hall.

Just as she stepped onto the platform, Lan Mingquan, the Prefect himself, came rolling out from inside, crawling on his hands and knees.

The moment he saw her, his eyes lit up with desperate hope. He no longer asked, “Are you Mistress Qian from the Qian family?” but cried out, “Mistress Qian, thank heavens you’re here! Help me explain to them — those things aren’t mine, I swear they’re not!”