Born to Be Either Rich or Noble - Chapter 30

The four great merchant families each owned their own gambling houses in Yangzhou. The largest of them all was the Piao family’s Red Moon Heaven. The other three ran smaller, more disciplined establishments—each carefully keeping within the bounds of what the others tolerated, never daring to challenge Piao family’s dominance.

After the Cui family fell, all their properties were confiscated by the imperial court. Of the great houses, only the Qian and Lu families still operated their small casinos in the city.

And tonight, of all places, she had entered Lu family’s gambling house.

Song Yunzhi’s heart trembled slightly. When the imperial inspectors first arrived in Yangzhou, the Lu patriarch had hurried to declare his loyalty, pledging all his family’s assets to the throne.

If the Lu family was still involved in secret dealings despite that, then this supposed loyalty was nothing but a façade.

At the entrance to the casino, beggars huddled in the shadows. Song Yunzhi wore once again the faded green robe he’d donned when he first arrived in Yangzhou, a straw rain hat pulled low over his head. Hidden in the dark, he waited for the signal from within.

—

Qian Tong, too, had dressed simply that night. Beneath her scarlet cloak, she wore a fitted archer’s uniform, her movements free and easy. Before stepping inside the casino, she put on a prepared mask.

Through the crush of gamblers on the first floor, she moved quickly up the stairs and entered a private room on the second floor.

Fuyin followed close behind. As soon as they were inside, she shut the door. But by the time she turned around, Qian Tong was already at the window. Without hesitation, she pushed it open, vaulted up, and leapt out.

A shadow moved below. Ayin had been waiting. From a heap of straw, she lifted her head and called softly, “Mistress.”

Qian Tong rose from the ground, brushing the straw from her cloak. “Let’s go.” She hurried toward a waiting carriage.

Fuyin didn’t follow. Once she confirmed her mistress had left, she closed the window, adjusted her mask, and melted into the crowd below, blending seamlessly into the bustle of the gambling floor…

The carriage rolled through the narrow streets for nearly half an hour before stopping behind the Red Moon Heaven casino. Its rear door was an unremarkable slab of black lacquered wood—but the closer one drew, the more one could sense the cold, eerie aura lurking behind it.

Qian Tong alighted, stepping forward. Before she could go far, two black-clad guards blocked her way.

Removing her cloak and mask, she revealed her face beneath the dim lamplight. After several tense breaths, the guards stepped aside. “Lady Qian, please.”

By custom, she was permitted to bring one companion. Tonight, that companion was Ayin.

Red Moon Heaven was the largest den of vice in all of Yangzhou—a glittering palace of gold and jade, and for many, a bottomless night without end. Unlike the raucous noise from the public gambling hall out front, this rear section was deadly quiet, the air thick and still.

A lantern-bearer led the way. Qian Tong followed.

The horn-shaped lamp cast a soft glow that fell over her fair, tranquil face. In the flickering light, her calm gaze took on a dangerous allure—an unsettling beauty born of composure in shadow.

The guide did not lead them upstairs, but instead down to the basement.

As Qian Tong crossed the threshold of the hidden chamber, an impatient voice snapped from within:

“Lady Qian has been quite pleased with herself lately—so high and mighty that even us old relics must wait on her now. Do you think that’s fitting?”

The speaker was a woman.

Looking up, Qian Tong saw a brightly lit room. In the center was a wide aisle, with two rows of wooden chairs set neatly on either side. Two seats stood empty—since the Cui family had fallen, their absence was expected.

The woman who had spoken wore her hair in a coiled bun. She sat to the left, dressed in a dark-red Sichuan brocade robe, each of her five fingers heavy with gemstone rings.

When Qian Tong’s eyes met hers, the woman gave her a sideways glance full of disdain.

Qian Tong stepped forward and bowed. “My apologies, Third Madam. It has been two years since I last saw you, and I was afraid I might appear before you without proper decorum. I spent a little extra time preparing and came late—please forgive me.”

Third Madam gave a derisive laugh. “Forgive you? We’re equals here, both merchants of standing. What right have I to demand your apologies? Since you’re here, let’s get on with business.”

“Thank you, Third Madam.” Qian Tong sat down beside the Lu patriarch.

Lu Daozhong, the head of the Lu family, had a naturally pleasant, smiling face. He turned and greeted her warmly. “Master Qian, I just arrived myself.”

Third Madam clearly despised his eagerness to please. She turned away with a snort, resting her gaze on the empty chair beside her. “Cui Wanzhong won’t be joining us. It’s just the three families tonight. Whatever plans you have, speak openly.”

Then she gestured to the Lu patriarch. “Lu Daozhong, you start. Since the imperial envoys came to Yangzhou, has the Lu business suffered?”

Lu Daozhong’s round face lit up in a placid smile. “Thanks to your kind support, Third Madam, the Lu family can finally breathe a little easier these days.”

“You’re thanking the wrong person,” Third Madam sneered. “You should thank Lady Qian here. She drew the fire away from you. The first flames of the court’s wrath burned entirely on the Cui family.” She turned toward Qian Tong. “Isn’t that right, Lady Qian?”

Qian Tong remained serene. “You overestimate me, Third Madam. It was merely a matter of personal grudges. Nothing worth mentioning.”

At the mention of grudges, Third Madam’s lips curved. “Speaking of grudges—when your eldest sister married into the Cui family, how glorious that was! So many envied her, saying that union might finally break the old rule forbidding marriage among the four great houses.”

She paused, then sighed with feigned pity. “Ah, what a shame…”

Qian Tong’s lips barely moved, her faint smile unchanged.

Seeing that calm expression only fueled Third Madam’s satisfaction. “People say the young never listen to reason—that they only learn through pain. I see that’s true. Your sister’s tragedy must have taught you well. Now you finally understand why my sister-in-law opposed that marriage so fiercely, don’t you?”

Everyone knew the death of Qian Tong’s elder sister was a deep scar upon the Qian family—and the scandal two years ago, when the Piao family had broken apart the lovers with sticks, was another wound still bleeding in her heart.

Third Madam had struck twice with her words the moment they met.

The Lu patriarch hurried to intervene. “Third Madam…”

But Third Madam had no intention of stopping. She smiled sweetly, her voice dripping with mock concern. “Look at me, always saying the wrong thing. I do hope you don’t take offense, Lady Qian?”

Her eyes stayed fixed on Qian Tong’s face, waiting for her to break.

Instead, Qian Tong’s smile deepened. “Just a small episode on the road to growth. These days it’s more of a joke than anything else. You’re a senior, Third Madam—if it amuses you, I don’t mind at all.”

That calm composure caught the older woman off guard. “Two years apart, and you’ve truly grown, haven’t you? Who would’ve thought the same girl who once waited outside that door—”

“Eldest Young Master.”

A voice from outside cut her off.

Startled, the Lu patriarch rose at once. Third Madam blinked, then let out a sigh. She lifted the lid of her teacup and skimmed the foam from the surface. When the newcomer approached, she said coolly, “I’m not going to eat her alive, you know. Look how anxious you are, running here in the middle of the night.”

The man who entered was young, refined, with a gentle, scholarly air. He bowed. “Aunt.”

“Enough. Since you’re here, sit and listen. Let’s see if I’m truly bullying her—or if she’s just too clever for her own good, making fools of us all.”

Qian Tong had recognized him the moment she heard Eldest Young Master. Just like the last time they’d met at the Qian estate—after two years apart, Piao family’s eldest son was unchanged. If anything, the calm weight of time had only deepened his presence.

He took the seat beside Third Madam. When he lifted his gaze, it met Qian Tong’s across the table. Their eyes held for a moment—neither of them speaking, both perfectly composed. He smiled politely.

She nodded in return.

Third Madam wasted no time. “Let’s talk, then. How did you manage to secure the salt permits from the court? Three years, no less. I’ve clearly underestimated you.”

“You must be mistaken, Third Madam,” Qian Tong replied evenly. “The Qian family has been mining and refining salt for over a century. We have experience, skill, and steady output. Yangzhou is recovering fast—if the salt license were to be handed to another house now, production would falter, taxes would drop, and chaos would follow. Who would take responsibility for that?”

Her meaning was clear: the Qian family had earned it through genuine merit.

Third Madam scoffed. “Confident, aren’t you?”

“You flatter me, senior.”

The older woman leaned forward, abandoning pretense. “You traded it for the ledger, didn’t you?”

Silence fell so sharp that even the sound of breath seemed loud.

The Lu patriarch dabbed at the sweat on his forehead, shooting Qian Tong a look of helpless sympathy.

He’d half expected her not to show up tonight—but the seventh young lady of the Qian family clearly feared no death.

Four ceramic lamps hung in three tiers across the room, one behind each seat. The light was bright enough that no expression could hide in shadow.

Qian Tong smiled faintly. “The Cui family’s ships were ten in number, each capable of carrying ten thousand dan of cargo. Even if we price loose tea at just one hundred copper coins per jin, those ten ships could fund the Qian family’s saltworks for several years. And that’s not counting the pressed tea and wax-sealed bricks, which fetch far higher prices. My family trades in salt—a business that risks both men’s lives and imperial licenses.”

She lifted her gaze, meeting Third Madam’s cold eyes. “We Qians have done business for generations. Believe me, we can still do the math.”

Third Madam finally understood what she meant. For a moment, she couldn’t believe what she was hearing—then a sharp, mocking laugh escaped her. “You want to take over the Cui family’s business?”

Qian Tong didn’t deny it. “That depends on whether Madam is willing to give my family the opportunity.”

Third Madam turned her head toward her nephew, smiling in a way that was half amusement, half scorn. “Well, look at that. Two years gone, and this is no longer the timid young lady of the Qian family you once knew. She’s become quite formidable now.”

The Young Master’s expression didn’t change. “Aunt, let’s talk business.”

Fine, business it was. Third Madam’s eyes cut back to the ambitious girl sitting across from her. “You blew up Cui family’s ships in the strait, yet somehow dragged the court’s attention onto my Pu family. I haven’t even begun to settle that debt with you—and now you want to bargain with me? Tell me, what makes you think you have the ability to take over the tea trade?” She tilted her chin toward the man beside her. “Look, even Master Lu here has been waiting for this deal. Do you really think you can outbid him?”

Lu Daozhong didn’t dare look at Qian Tong. He lowered his eyes and gave an embarrassed little smile.

Qian Tong replied simply, “The account book.”

Third Madam stopped laughing. She studied this youngest of the four great family heads with a new seriousness, slowly realizing what was really going on. Then, enlightenment dawned—and a faint, incredulous smile tugged at her lips. “So the ledger you risked your life to retrieve… you brought it here to name your price.”

“People die for wealth; birds die for food,” Qian Tong said evenly. “If one doesn’t look out for themselves, the heavens and earth will destroy them. Surely Madam understands that much.”

Silence fell again.

Everyone retreated into their own thoughts. Qian Tong waited calmly, giving Third Madam the time to think. Since their first brief exchange of greetings, she hadn’t looked once more toward the Pu family’s Young Master seated across from her.

The Young Master, too, kept his head bowed, sipping tea as though he hadn’t heard a word. He made no move to intervene.

After a long moment, Third Madam finally spoke to Lu Daozhong. “Master Lu, thank you for making the trip tonight. I’ll speak with you separately another day.”

Lu Daozhong knew what that meant—the decision had already been made. The salt permit was gone, and now even the tea business was slipping away. Panic crept into his voice. “Madam, just one share of the profits—”

Third Madam cut him off, impatient. “You’re doing perfectly well with your textiles and spices. Why so greedy? Must you have your hands in every pot?”

Defeated, Lu Daozhong lowered his head. The outcome was set, and there was nothing he could do to change it. He stomped his foot once, unwillingly, before leaving the room.

When he was gone, Third Madam turned back to Qian Tong. “And you—are you truly capable of handling this? You’re what, nineteen? Most girls your age are already married. Though I did hear you’ve chosen a husband. When will the wedding be?”

Before Qian Tong could respond, the Young Master suddenly spoke. “Did you bring the ledger?”

Without looking at him, Qian Tong lowered her eyes slightly. “If the Young Master wants it, he can have it anytime.”

He nodded. “Good. Then the tea trade is yours.”

Third Madam froze. What was he doing interfering tonight? She suspected he still harbored feelings for the girl and quietly reminded him, “Don’t forget what you promised the family head…”

The Young Master replied calmly, “There’s no need for Aunt to remind me. I remember well. The Cui family is gone, and someone must take over the tea business. The Pu family promised the other three houses we wouldn’t seize their markets. I merely believe that between the Lu family and the Qian family, the latter is better suited.”

He could say whatever he liked.

But Third Madam also knew the truth. The Qian family already held the salt permits; aside from maritime transport, which the Pu family still controlled, there was little left they could use to suppress her.

By giving her the tea business, they could keep her under closer watch.

Half an hour later, Qian Tong stepped out. The oil lamp hanging from the corridor wall had burned halfway down; it was late. Her footsteps quickened.

“Tong’er.”

The familiar voice stopped her cold. It had been a long time since anyone had called her that—longer still since she’d heard it from him. For a moment, the sound made time blur and fold.

The Pu family’s Young Master walked up to her, holding a small porcelain bottle. He handed it to Ah Yin, who stood at her side, but his words were meant for Qian Tong. “You’ve run out of medicine at the inn. Come to me anytime if you need more.”

Qian Tong snapped back to herself. “Thank you, Young Master. Though I haven’t really needed it lately.”

“You’re injured?” he asked.

She recalled the chatty innkeeper and decided not to deny it. “Just a small wound.”

Small or not, the Young Master knew the truth. He hesitated, his voice lowering with something caught between sympathy and regret. “You’ve been through a lot.”

Qian Tong turned slightly, catching sight of Ah Yin discreetly retreating toward the doorway.

It wasn’t proper for them to be alone.

She pressed her lips together, then raised her chin to meet the eyes of the man who had once been the most familiar person in her world. Her gaze was clear, her pride shining unmistakably. “I don’t think it’s been hard. If anything, it’s the Young Master who’s been braving wind and rain these past two years. Do take care of your health.”

She bowed her head slightly. “Goodbye, Young Master.”

Turning on her heel, she strode toward the door. The scarlet cloak around her flared with the wind, blooming like a peony in full blossom. Her steps were firm, decisive—she didn’t look back once before vanishing into the dark of night.

At the Lu family’s gambling house, Song Yunzhi had been waiting for about an incense stick’s time when he suddenly heard the long, mournful call of a crow from within.

Without hesitation, he broke in.

There were too many people inside; he couldn’t tell where the sound was coming from. But the crow’s cry kept echoing, faint but continuous, leading him toward the rear courtyard. There, in a dark chamber, he finally found the one playing the flute.

It wasn’t Qian Tong.

It was the prefect’s youngest son—Little Lord Lan, the son of Prefect Lan Mingquan.

Song Yunzhi had seen him before at the Cui estate. Back then, the boy had been radiant—immaculately dressed, surrounded by admirers, hiding behind his mother as people tried to curry favor.

Now, he was unrecognizable—filthy, his hair disheveled, clothes in tatters, one shoulder bare. He sat miserably among piles of straw, staring dazedly at his visitor.

Recognition dawned quickly in Little Lord Lan’s eyes. He remembered this man vividly. At his engagement banquet, the Seventh Lady of the Qian family had brought her fiancé with her. The man’s appearance had outshone everyone there—even him. A face like that was impossible to forget.

“Did she send you to rescue me?” he asked suddenly, his voice trembling with hope. Crawling a few paces closer, he began to weep with joy. “I knew it. The world may be heartless, but she’s different—she’d never abandon me. I knew she’d come for me!”

Song Yunzhi’s face darkened.

As realization struck—that he had once again been deceived by that witch—a wave of bitterness and exhaustion washed through him.

Lan Mingquan had been dismissed and his family sent back to Jinling, awaiting the emperor’s judgment. His youngest son should have been on the ship bound for trial.

So how was he here?

He should have gone straight to find that deceitful woman and demand answers—but as a vice minister of the Ministry of Revenue, a man known for his moral clarity, Song Yunzhi couldn’t ignore a life in danger. And by now, he’d already lost too much time; catching up was impossible.

His voice was cold as he asked the sobbing young man, “Why were you playing that tune?”

Little Lord Lan wiped his tears, explaining quickly, “I used to have a good friendship with the Seventh Lady. She told me once—if I was ever in danger, I should play this tune. She’d come save me.”

So when he’d been locked away here, left unguarded, he’d played it—again and again—for seven days and nights.

And now, finally, she’d heard it.

She’d sent someone to save him.