Born to Be Either Rich or Noble - Chapter 26

The one-month extension was nothing more than a delayed execution. The family was still doomed to worry themselves sick.

After three sleepless days, everyone’s lips were cracked and blistered from anxiety. One month—at this rate, someone might drop dead from the strain before it even ended.

Master Qian the Second quickly stepped forward, bowing low. “My lord, please rest assured, the Qian family has always abided by the law and served the court with loyalty and devotion. We harbor no selfish intent. But for us salt merchants, a month is far too short. The salt well hasn’t even begun operating again and the deadline will be upon us. Might you, perhaps…”

“The lord is right,” Qian Tong suddenly cut him off. She took the one-month salt permit from Wang Zhao’s hand, crouched down, and bowed deeply. “Thank you, my lord, for granting the Qian family this opportunity. We will not disappoint you.”

Wang Zhao left.

Master Qian the Second and Madam Qian stared dumbly at the permit in Qian Tong’s hand. They had thought there were only two possible outcomes—either none, or one. Never in their wildest imagination did they expect this.

Even Madam Qian, who usually knew how to fawn over officials, couldn’t hold back her temper. “That dog of an official—what a venomous heart he’s got!”

Song Yunzhi was there too.

At her words, his eyes flickered slightly.

Over the past few days, he had gained Madam Qian’s approval. She called him over for meals daily—four people, one table. Just before the officials’ visit, she’d even said warmly, “We’ll share hardship and fortune alike. As long as our family stays together, we won’t starve.”

They truly wouldn’t starve—just choke on their own rage.

Wasn’t this nothing short of mockery?

After Madam Qian finished cursing, guilt began to creep in. On the way back to their courtyard, she clutched Qian Tong’s arm and confessed in a small voice, “I… I sometimes take a bit of salt from the storehouse. Just small amounts—to help out a few friends. Sometimes I gift it, sometimes I sell a little. Could it be that they found out?”

For a salt merchant, such petty “side profits” were hardly worth mentioning. Madam Qian was far from the only one who did it.

But when the authorities wanted to punish you, they would always find a pretext. Giving the permit late, and only for a single month at that—it had to be a trap. A chill crept through Madam Qian’s chest. Were the court’s people waiting for them to confess their crimes?

Her face went pale, then flushed, then pale again.

She was frightening herself—which was exactly the kind of person officials loved best: timid, wealthy, and easy to bleed dry.

“What are you panicking for?” Qian Tong said flatly.

She handed the permit to Master Qian the Second. “Sell while you can. Tell everyone to keep to their duties—don’t worry about what’s next. If our family really can’t stay in this trade, every coin we owe will still be paid.”

It was what Master Qian wanted to say himself, but he didn’t have her confidence. Without salt permits, they’d have to surrender their wells and storehouses. Without those, the Qian family’s wealth would dry up completely.

“With what little we’ve got left, how could we possibly cover the losses…”

The three walked ahead, murmuring about the court’s intentions and what might come next. Song Yunzhi followed a few steps behind—neither near nor far. The distance was just right for him to hear their words, and just right to keep himself apart, like an outsider.

After a while, the young lady suddenly turned around.

His steps halted. Their eyes met.

Tonight, Young Master Song was dazzling as ever—dressed in a moon-white robe with a rounded collar, his refined features glowing under the light, noble and untouchable, like a figure carved from frost and jade.

She stared at him steadily, eyes intent, gaze deep. Even someone as composed as the young heir of Song couldn’t quite keep calm beneath it. Finally, he asked, “What is it?”

Her eyes gleamed, as if she had just discovered a priceless treasure waiting to be claimed. She smiled. “I’ve found something perfect for you to do.”

Song Yunzhi’s expression tensed with wariness.

“I plan to open a teahouse,” she said. “How about you help me purchase a batch of tea leaves?”

His hands, clasped behind his back, tightened slightly.

So—she couldn’t sit still any longer.

Before he could answer, Master Qian and Madam Qian overheard and turned in surprise. “A teahouse?” Master Qian exclaimed.

Qian Tong nodded. “Since the Cui family has fallen, everyone in Yangzhou’s teahouse business is waiting to see what happens. I hadn’t planned to intervene, but Father can see it himself—the salt permit was nearly impossible to obtain. Before, we held back out of respect for my older sister and wouldn’t compete with the Cui family. Now there’s nothing stopping us. Before their case is settled and before anyone dares to take over, Father should buy two of their teahouses. As for the tea leaves, my husband and I will handle that.”

Handle it—how?

Master Qian had been thinking along similar lines. If they couldn’t get salt permits, they’d have to switch trades. Taking over the Cui family’s tea business wasn’t the worst idea—they couldn’t just wait around to die.

A restaurant might work. But a teahouse…

They had no tea.

The Cui family had monopolized the market for years. Every batch of tea entering Yangzhou was controlled by them. Other merchants could only buy through Cui intermediaries.

When the Cui family’s eldest son fled recently, he’d taken all the stock—ten cargo ships’ worth—only for them to sink at sea. Now, the loose tea sold in Yangzhou teahouses had skyrocketed to three hundred copper coins per catty.

Where could they possibly buy any now?

Qian Tong drew her gaze back from the young man’s face and reminded her father, “Didn’t two of Cui’s ships get hijacked by bandits before all this?”

“I’ll go buy from them.”

Bandits—every wealthy merchant’s nightmare. Even in times of peace, no one could ever truly guard against them. The Yangzhou authorities spent funds every year on anti-bandit campaigns, but still the raids continued.

Over the years, the Qian family had lost plenty of goods to such attacks. Hearing that his daughter meant to trade with bandits, Master and Madam Qian turned pale.

“That’s too dangerous. Absolutely not!” Master Qian exclaimed. “You’ve been driven mad by that one-month permit! It’s not come to that yet—the extension gives us time. Perhaps the situation will turn around…”

“Alright,” Qian Tong said with an absent nod. She stopped walking, veering onto a side path, and called back, “Yunzhi.”

Once Qian Tong decided something, no one could change her mind.

Madam Qian knew that too well. She quickly turned to the “son-in-law” following them and urged, “Please talk some sense into her. She’s brave to the point of recklessness—you can’t just let her run wild.”

After several days together, Song Yunzhi had grown familiar with the couple. He no longer remained silent all the time, occasionally exchanging polite words. His ingrained sense of propriety wouldn’t allow him to ignore the plea of his elders. He stopped, bowed slightly, and said courteously, “I’ll do my best.”

As he promised, Qian Tong turned her head, amusement gleaming in her eyes.

The man was poor—but well-bred, she’d give him that.

She waited, curious to see how he would try to persuade her. They walked side by side down the long corridor toward the courtyard. Qian Tong tilted her head to study him several times before he finally spoke. “You truly intend to go?”

“Are you scared?” she countered, one brow arching in challenge.

That look—clearly meant to provoke.

When Song Yunzhi had decided to grant the one-month permit, this was precisely what he’d been waiting for. She refused to confess to the Cui family’s smuggling operation, so he’d left her no choice—forced her to seek out the tea herself.

He knew she had access to it. That day in the alley, he’d tasted the tea brewed by the widow she helped—tea from Shuzhou.

Once the salt business collapsed, she would inevitably set her sights on the tea trade.

He needed to know where that tea came from.

But as he looked at the pride burning in the young woman’s eyes, he remembered the whip scars on her back, the way she never placed a bowl of bird’s nest soup in front of herself, and he realized—she had never truly harmed anyone.

Quite the opposite. She had fed the poor, shut down corrupt brokers, and supported widows and orphans. To the people, she was a benefactor.

Scheming she might be, but the results of her schemes had done genuine good.

And in that moment, Song Yunzhi knew her heart wasn’t evil. He shouldn’t be using her this way—forcing her into danger just to uncover the truth.

So he said quietly, “Tell me where. I’ll go alone.”

Before launching his raid on the bandits, the young heir of Song made one more visit—to personally interrogate the head of the Cui family.

No mask. No disguise.

By now, Old Master Cui had no fear left. Certain there was no evidence against him, he barely spared the newcomer a glance. “Ask as much as you like,” he sneered. “I’ll still say the same—our family was framed by Lan Mingquan.”

Footsteps drew near and stopped in front of him. A calm, unfamiliar voice spoke. “Who told you the Cui family still had a way out?”

The man’s tone was youthful, but his voice carried a cold, restrained menace.

Old Master Cui stiffened, eyes snapping open. The young man before him was robed in fine silk, elegant and radiant as if carved from gold and moonlight. Yet his face—it seemed familiar.

Then he remembered.

That day, when Qian Tong had brought her so-called husband, the “seventh son-in-law,” the young man’s beauty had been unforgettable. He’d glimpsed him once through the crowd and never forgotten since.

What was he doing here?

His mind spun. A man of such bearing couldn’t possibly be what Qian Tong claimed—some nameless orphan.

Then who was he?

A court envoy—yes. Lan Mingquan had mentioned a high-ranking figure among the investigators, not just the Deputy Minister of Justice but also the young master of the Shen family, Shen Che.

But he wasn’t that one.

Then… who?

As Old Master Cui struggled to piece it together, the young man stepped closer and seized his arm. “I’ve heard there’s an unspoken rule among the Four Great Houses—that rivalries may get bloody, but one never destroys another’s roots.”

The words had barely fallen when the grip on his shoulder tightened—followed by the sickening crack of bone.

Old Master Cui’s eyes bulged in terror; pain tore through him as he screamed.

The young man’s face might have belonged to an immortal, but his heart was anything but merciful. He pressed harder on the shattered joint. “I am not bound by those rules. I specialize in killing crooked merchants—cutting them off at the root.”

He had fought in wars. He knew precisely how to make pain unbearable.

Watching the man’s face twist purple, he loosened his grip just enough for him to breathe. “It was the Park family, wasn’t it?”

Old Master Cui, slick with sweat, shook his head weakly.

“Thought so,” Song Yunzhi said coolly. “I’ll only ask once more. Which merchants were involved?”

He could tell this man wasn’t bluffing. This wasn’t like Wang Zhao—there was true killing intent in his eyes. Denying it any longer was pointless. Gasping, clutching his broken arm, Old Master Cui confessed, “I was blinded by greed… I lost my head…”

“Was the Qian family involved?” Song pressed, watching his expression closely. He caught a flicker of genuine surprise in the man’s eyes.

No.

He had his answer.

With one swift motion, he hoisted the man up again—this time, his hand closed around his throat. “Where did the Cui tea go? And where are the profits now?”

The man couldn’t answer—his arm throbbed with pain, and he could barely breathe.

“My lord…” Wang Zhao finally spoke up.

My lord?

Old Master Cui froze. He remembered the servant saying Qian’s son-in-law’s surname was Song…

His half-conscious mind sparked to life. The looks, the age, the skill—it all fit. The son of the Imperial Princess and Marquis Yong’an—Heir Song, Song Yunzhi.

The Emperor sent him himself?!

He had been in Yangzhou all along—hiding inside the Qian household, even captured by that girl and forced to be her husband!

Old Master Cui barely had time to pity the Qian family’s fate before realizing something else: why reveal his true identity now?

Panic shot through him.

Song Yunzhi’s eyes were icy calm. He had no intention of leaving witnesses. The old man couldn’t answer anyway. Keeping him alive was useless.

Two lanterns burned dimly in the cell.

Wang Zhao didn’t see how it happened—but when Heir Song turned around, the Cui patriarch lay dead on the floor, eyes wide open.

“I’ll be going out tonight,” Song Yunzhi said coolly. “There are guards in the shadows—you needn’t follow. If I haven’t sent word within an hour, bring the cavalry. Don’t ask questions. Arrest Qian Tong.”

Wang Zhao had grown used to seeing him play the humble “seventh son-in-law.” Now, watching him end a man’s life so cleanly, he remembered—this was the same man once known as Young General Song.

He asked where his master was headed. No answer.

Truth be told, Song Yunzhi didn’t know either. After nightfall, Qian Tong arrived with several of the Qian family’s bodyguards—and even gave him A’Jin. Leaning lazily in the doorway, she watched him polish his bronze sword. “Are you sure you can handle this alone? You really don’t want me to come?”

He didn’t reply.

She stepped closer, her voice softening. “I know you’re skilled, but I still worry. How about this—if I don’t see you back within half an hour, I’ll bring Fuyin to find you. Alright?”

He didn’t need her.

Young Master Song’s confidence in his martial skills was as absolute as her faith in manipulating people. He looked up at her and said, with quiet certainty, “Wait for me to return.”

Qian Tong took a sealed letter from her sleeve and handed it over. “When you meet the man, give him this. Once he reads it, he’ll hand you the tea. As for the payment, he’ll come to the Qian residence afterward.”

The letter was sealed with red wax. Song Yunzhi glanced at it, then tucked it into his robe.

When the time came, Qian Tong walked him to the gate, watching as he climbed into the carriage. From the window, she leaned in slightly. “Sir Song, if anything goes wrong, just call for me. I’ll hear you.”

He only hoped she would—for once—stay put and never appear in front of him again.