Born to Be Either Rich or Noble - Chapter 27

The bandits of Yangzhou were a breed apart. They had no ties to the government nor to any of the Four Great Families. Nestled deep in the mountain forests, they relied on the region’s treacherous terrain—easy to defend, hard to invade. For years, they had been a thorn in the side of the local authorities.

But at least these bandits had a peculiar sort of code. They never made a spectacle of themselves, never slaughtered innocents. Their only targets—the Four Great Families.

Back when the Cui family’s tea trade was at its most profitable, their shipments were both valuable and highly visible. To ward off bandits, the Cuis had practically hired every escort agency in Yangzhou. Yet, no matter how many guards they paid for, their shipments still got plundered.

The Qian family’s salt, the Lu family’s textiles—none were spared.

Even the Park family hadn’t escaped. Just half a year ago, a ship full of jewels had barely reached port when a swarm of “water ghosts” emerged from below the surface. They surrounded the fleet, burning and looting until the vessels sank beneath the waves. Everything on board was lost.

The Park family had sent men to eradicate them afterward, but the bandits were too cunning. Each time, they somehow got wind of the raids in advance, vanishing into thin air—only to resurface months later, stronger than before.

The Four Great Families couldn’t pour all their strength into fighting bandits forever. Over time, they ground their teeth and accepted the losses. What was gone was gone—just feed it to the dogs and move on.

That day, the Qian family’s Seventh Lady sent word up the mountain, explaining her reason for coming. Whether the other side would agree to meet—no one knew yet.

Before setting out, Song Yunzhi had already heard tales of the Yangzhou bandits. They only went after the Four Great Families and never harmed common folk.

But the court’s eyes were now on those very families. The emperor had been on the throne for five years. Jinling, Luoyang, and Chang’an had all fallen in line—only Yangzhou remained.

Yangzhou’s maritime trade accounted for half of the Great Yu Empire’s entire revenue—and it was all in the Park family’s hands. Worse still, the Parks had no intention of surrendering control. They were even scheming to marry into Prince Pingchang’s household, hoping to climb from merchant to nobility.

The court and the Park family were destined for war.

Song Yunzhi’s mission was simple—secure proof that the Parks had been aiding the Cuis’ smuggling operations. For that, he needed two shiploads of tea. Tracing them would expose the Cui family’s illegal supply network in Shuzhou.

He had no intention of fighting bandits that night. All he needed were those ships.

The night road grew more treacherous the deeper they went. Once the carriage could go no further, they switched to horseback, moving cautiously beneath the shadowed canopy until, at last, a faint lantern glimmered ahead in the trees.

“Sir, someone’s coming!” Ah Jin exclaimed in delight.

Song Yunzhi spurred his horse forward, following the light. After about half an hour, the forest opened into a wide mountain hollow. Nestled within it stood a sprawling stockade. The entire compound blazed with light—bright as day. Under every lantern stood armed men, holding curved blades or bows, watching the newcomers like wolves scenting blood.

The man with the lantern shouted into the camp, “The Qian family’s Seventh Lord is here!”

Ah Jin couldn’t hold back a snort of laughter.

Song Yunzhi turned his head sharply.

Ah Jin immediately stifled his grin, whispering, “You’re quite the celebrity now, sir. Hard to believe—when I first called you ‘lord,’ you glared like I’d cursed you. But now, look—everyone calls you that.”

He chuckled softly. “Guess people can get used to anything.”

“Seventh Lord, please.”

The stockade gates creaked open. A group emerged, dressed in coarse linen and armed with blades gleaming cold under torchlight. They “welcomed” him in their own way.

Song Yunzhi dismounted, leading the Qian family’s guards inside.

The stockade was mostly bamboo-built—crude, but larger than he expected. The structure hugged the mountainside, five stories high, its rear wall pressed against the slope.

The guide spoke in a Chang’an dialect. When he spoke slowly, Song could catch a few words. But his speech came fast and sharp—like a string of firecrackers. When he finished, he turned with a scowl and jabbed a finger toward Song.

“You. Alone. Upstairs.”

The others would have to stay behind.

It didn’t matter to Song. One man or ten, it was all the same.

As he started forward, Ah Jin took two steps closer and murmured, “Sir, when you meet him, don’t hand over the letter right away. We don’t know the layout here. Find a good escape route first. If anything happens, I’ll be waiting below.”

Song Yunzhi gave a curt nod.

Then he followed the guide up to the top floor—alone.

From below, the upper stories had looked like they were suspended in air. But once he climbed up, he realized the slope beneath was solid earth. The guide pushed open a wooden door.

“Wait here, Seventh Lord. The young master’s just woken and hasn’t changed yet.”

The title “young master” told Song roughly what kind of person he was about to meet.

Sure enough, after a stick of incense’s time, a young man entered.

He wore a robe of muted blue, with a half-mask of dark jade covering the lower half of his face. Only his eyes were visible—clear and gentle as spring water, though different in temperament from Song’s own restrained calm.

He stood there quietly for a while, studying Song Yunzhi.

There was a flicker of uncertainty in his gaze, as if he hadn’t expected someone so refined and dignified to show up here of all places.

“The Qian family’s Seventh Lord?” he asked at last.

Song Yunzhi, too, had been observing him. Despite the coarse linen, there was no mistaking the scholar’s grace in his bearing—this man was no common bandit.

“And you are?” Song asked.

“A mere nobody—the young master of this stronghold.”

The man sat opposite him, pouring tea with practiced grace, every movement cultured and restrained. Then he raised his eyes and asked mildly, “The Qian family wishes to purchase tea. How much?”

The Cui family’s cargo ships carried ten thousand stones per vessel. Song needed both.

“Three hundred thousand catties.” (t/n: “Three hundred thousand catties” refers to roughly 150,000 kilograms or 330,000 pounds of tea. “Catties” or “jin” was a traditional Chinese weight unit.)

The young master froze for a moment. “And you have the authority to decide that?”

Song reached into his robe and drew out the sealed letter Qian Tong had given him. “Once the shipment arrives, the Qian family will provide silver drafts in full.”

The young master took the letter and unfolded it. Song hadn’t opened it—he wasn’t in the habit of reading others’ correspondence. Besides, he trusted that Qian Tong truly needed this shipment.

And he trusted her.

But the young master’s expression changed the instant he saw what was written. His eyes darkened. When he looked up again, the polite veneer was gone.

“You really think you’ll leave here alive tonight, Seventh Lord?”

Song’s gut tightened. His hand instinctively went to the bronze sword at his waist.

When the young master flung the letter aside, Song’s eyes caught a glimpse of the message within:

The ledger is in my hands. Is it worth two ships of tea?

A chill shot through him. Damn that woman!

But it was too late.

Chaos erupted below. Someone shouted, “Catch him! He’s stolen the ledger!”

The stillness of the forest shattered under the clash of steel and the shouts of men. Song knew instantly—Ah Jin had succeeded.

He had been set up. Again.

But he’d memorized the entire layout of the stronghold. The moment the young master’s soft sword slashed toward his throat, Song twisted back, hooking the table leg with his foot and using it to propel himself into a spin. His bronze blade flashed cold as moonlight, slicing toward his opponent’s waist. The young master dodged, and Song dove through the nearest window.

He had been trained under the Princess herself—an expert at scaling walls and rooftops.

His boots barely made a sound as he darted across the bamboo rafters, swift as a swallow in flight. But the masked young master was no novice either. He pursued relentlessly, each strike deadly, determined not to let him escape.

While all eyes remained fixed on the fight above, Ah Jin and the others had already fled with the stolen ledger. One by one, the Qian guards broke through the gates and disappeared into the night.

Only Song Yunzhi remained, surrounded and outnumbered.

These weren’t pampered house guards—they were killers, hardened by blood. They closed in from every side, hemming him in for the kill.

Flames from overturned lamps licked at his robes, the mountain wind whipping his sleeves. His moon-white tunic—chosen by Qian Tong herself—shone like a beacon in the dark, turning him into the perfect target.

Yet Song Yunzhi stood firm, sword in hand.

If gods barred his path—he’d cut down gods.
If buddhas stood in his way—he’d cut down buddhas.

Alone against a horde of mountain bandits, he fought on—each stroke clean, fierce, unyielding.

The only one who truly pushed him to the brink was the bandit leader. When that man attacked, even the bronze sword in the young lord’s hand could no longer keep up. His long robe grew darker with spreading bloodstains, yet he fought like some unkillable ghost, escaping time and again from the bandit leader’s strikes and flashing blades. Despite the chaos, his figure remained tall and steady—unyielding.

Beyond the flames, the night wind howled through the forest. Seated on horseback, Qian Tong had been watching for quite a while. Seeing him single-handedly face hundreds of men without falling, she couldn’t help but exclaim, “He really can fight.”

A’jin, holding the stolen ledger, grew restless. “I can’t just stand here. I’ll go save the young master.”

“Wait.” Qian Tong’s tone was calm. “He hasn’t called for me yet.”

She wanted to see just how capable he really was.

But the next moment, as if sensing her gaze, the man trapped within the circle of fire suddenly turned his head toward her. The forest was dark—no torches, no moonlight—but she wasn’t sure if he could truly see her.

He must have suspected something. In that case, she might as well go to him herself.

Otherwise, once all this was over, he really would kill her.

Qian Tong tightened the reins, spurred her horse, and before A’jin or anyone else could stop her, the mare galloped into the burning stronghold. She shouted toward the crowd, “Master Duan, have mercy!”

But even as she spoke, she tossed several explosive charges toward a nearby bamboo building. The moment they hit the ground, they burst open—flames flaring high. The bandits panicked, scattering to avoid being caught in the blasts.

Qian Tong seized the moment and called out, “Yun Zhi, get on the horse!”

Song Yunzhi had not summoned his shadow guards. Even cornered with death breathing down his neck, he refused to expose his true identity in front of her. He wanted to take his revenge slowly—to make her understand that he was not someone to deceive, not someone to toy with.

He was certain she had come tonight just to watch him die.

Too bad for her—he wasn’t so easy to kill.

Even when he saw her charge in alone to save him, his first thought was still that he would never forgive her.

Her hand reached out to him; his grip was so tight that it nearly crushed her fingers. Even after he swung up behind her on the saddle, he didn’t let go. The poor woman in front sucked in a sharp breath from the pain, but hearing the hiss that slipped from his lips, she gritted her teeth and held on, urging the horse forward. They burst through the gate, and she shouted to A’jin and the others waiting outside, “I’ve got the young master—retreat!”

The Qian family’s cavalry surged like a storm down the mountain. Gone was the panic they’d shown earlier; now they rode in perfect formation. Their horses thundered through the woods, scattering birds and beasts, until they reached the wide official road.

The main road to Yangzhou was busy day and night, lined with courier stations every few miles—bandits wouldn’t dare follow them here.

They were safe.

But no one spoke. The silence was suffocating.

Only the rhythmic drumming of hooves filled the air. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath, waiting to see who would crack first. A’jin finally couldn’t stand it and forced a dry laugh. “We did it! When we get back, we should drink and celebrate!”

Qian Tong said nothing.

The chill radiating from the man behind her was practically freezing her in place. She had the distinct feeling that if she agreed to that celebration, his bronze sword might just find its way to her neck.

He was furious. She could feel it in the way he breathed. Right now, even breathing wrong could provoke him. Best not to say anything.

Her silence spread through the ranks—no one dared speak. After all, every one of them had been part of the group that fled first and left their young master behind.

Half an hour later, the normally rowdy team arrived at the gates of the Qian estate in absolute silence.

Once dismounted, the young lord stood by his horse like a statue—tall, unmoving, eyes fixed on her—waiting.

Qian Tong climbed down slowly, avoiding his gaze. But no matter where she looked, guilt clung to her. His robe was soaked with dark patches of blood. She brushed back the loose strands of hair at her forehead and said sincerely, “You’ve had a hard night. Go rest. I won’t keep you up. Later I’ll have A’jin fetch a good doctor—one with real skill—and use the best, most expensive medicine. Whatever it costs, your wounds must be treated properly.”

She meant to slip away to her own quarters, but didn’t get far before he caught her wrist. His grip was unrelenting, his face cold as he dragged her back.

Qian Tong didn’t flinch. She merely patted the back of his hand and said gently, “You’re hurt. Don’t strain yourself. You’ll make it worse.”

Song Yunzhi’s expression darkened further. “Enough pretending,” he said sharply. “Weren’t you hoping I’d die?”

Qian Tong’s eyes widened in exaggerated shock. “What nonsense is that? How could I possibly wish you dead? After all the effort I spent bringing you here, everyone knows you’re the Qian family’s seventh son-in-law now. Killing you would only bring trouble for me…”

When he began striding toward her courtyard, she quickly added, “You’re going to my place? It’s the middle of the night! If the servants see, they’ll start spreading rumors—”

Song Yunzhi had reached his limit. “They already call me the seventh son-in-law,” he snapped. “If I stay the night, what’s so scandalous about that?”

A man as upright and proper as he was—saying something so shamelessly direct—meant he was truly enraged.

So be it, she thought. Let him come.

Having been dragged there once before, he already knew his way around her residence. He pulled her inside, shut the door behind him, and leaned against it. Though bleeding, he didn’t seem to feel pain, waiting silently for her explanation.

Qian Tong gave him one. “I only kept the plan from you because I was afraid it might fail. I knew with your skills you’d win against the bandits. A classic diversion—while you met with their leader, A’jin would steal the ledger. And look—we succeeded.”

There was no light in the room; her face was a blur in the dark.

But Song Yunzhi no longer trusted any of her faces. “You didn’t succeed,” he said flatly.

“What?”

“Because I’m still alive.”

A stunned silence fell. Then her voice rose, full of incredulity. “How could you think I wanted you dead? What good would that do me?”

“That’s exactly what I’d like to ask you,” he replied coldly.

Why had she suddenly turned against him?

The darkness was suffocating. Qian Tong, uncomfortable in it, struck a tinder and lit a lamp. She turned back, holding the small flame as she walked toward him, her tone softer. “If I really wanted to harm you, I could’ve just stopped giving you the Gu antidote in a few days. Why would I send you into a bandit’s nest? Everyone knows you’re the Qian family’s son-in-law. I’d only be making trouble for myself.”

With the light now on, Song Yunzhi could see her clearly.

“That’s because you didn’t expect me to come back alive,” he said, his gaze icy.

Bloodshot eyes fixed on her face—so innocent, so worried—and his jaw clenched. “I almost died in there.”

Qian Tong froze for a moment, then quickly shook her head. “No—you wouldn’t have. I was coming to save you.”

A fox saving a hen. What kindness could there be in that? Song Yunzhi trusted his instincts—he couldn’t press her further, or she’d weave another perfect lie to soothe him.

“Where’s the ledger?” he demanded.

Her expression turned puzzled. “Why do you want it?”

“I risked my life for it. At least tell me what it is.”

She didn’t refuse, but her eyes flicked to the blood on his sleeve. “Sit down first. You’re hurt. Let me explain while you rest.”

Flesh and blood couldn’t withstand so many cuts. He was merely better at enduring pain than most, not immune to it. After that long ride, his wounds had reopened, blood seeping through the fabric.

Still, he managed to hold himself steady and sat down on the bed, waiting.

Qian Tong leaned closer, lowering her voice. “The authorities are investigating the Cui family’s smuggling case but can’t find proof. These past years, every time the Cui family shipped goods, the Yangzhou bandits hit them. By chance, one of those raids turned up this ledger hidden among the tea crates. When the Cui family found out, they offered a huge ransom to buy it back. The bandits, of course, knew its worth and raised the price—but before the deal could happen, the Cui family was raided and their estate confiscated.”

Song Yunzhi’s pulse quickened. He leaned in, but she suddenly stopped speaking, her eyes dropping to his bloodstained robe.

“Wait,” she said, standing. “Your wounds must be treated.”

Before he could object, she opened the door and called to the servant outside, “Bring the doctor in.”

Her words trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid. Song Yunzhi, forced to stay in her room, let her do as she pleased. She couldn’t escape now—not with him watching her every move.

The doctor arrived quickly. To treat his wounds, he would need to remove his robe.

Qian Tong turned away immediately—of course she couldn’t just watch him undress. Besides, he wouldn’t allow it.

“Turn around,” he ordered quietly. “And don’t move.”