Born to Be Either Rich or Noble - Chapter 31

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.