Born to Be Either Rich or Noble - Chapter 51

The other side stayed silent for a long while—so long that Qian Tong began to wonder if she’d run into a ghost. Just as she was about to call out again, she finally heard a calm voice reply, “It is I.”

It was Young Master Lan.

Qian Tong had been here since last night, sitting in this cell for hours without hearing a sound. Now that he’d suddenly spoken up, she asked, “Why didn’t you say anything before?”

“I didn’t expect to see you here, Seventh Lady,” he replied. “And last night, I was asleep. I didn’t know you were in the same place.”

Qian Tong lifted her lamp and glanced toward him. The flickering light revealed his outline faintly. “You weren’t asleep—you were drugged,” she said flatly. “When did you wake up? Did you overhear our conversation?”

Lan lit his own lamp, and light spread through his cell. It wasn’t a cell at all—it was a spotless guest room, with a bed and a table, even tea on the stand.

So unfair.

While Qian Tong sat amid straw and stone, he enjoyed something that looked like an inn.

Lan spoke again, “The heir apparent wanted to send me back to Jinling. But I kept in mind what you once told me—that without vengeance, I’d never rest easy. So I stayed, waiting for you to tell me what to do next. I didn’t expect even someone as clever as you to end up in a cell.”

His tone carried deep disappointment. “So my revenge… it’s hopeless now, isn’t it?”

When she had stopped him at the docks back then, promising to help avenge his family, Qian Tong had indeed been hiding her own motives. She’d wanted to bring down the Lu family, to sever their ties to the court. That goal had been achieved—Lu Manor was now ashes—but she’d never fulfilled her promise to Lan. Hearing the despair in his voice, she quickly reassured him, “I’ve been busy lately. Don’t give up. I keep my word, and I’ll make it happen.”

Lan smiled faintly. “Perhaps Seventh Lady doesn’t truly understand the Heir. But I do. The Eldest Princess raised him under strict discipline—he’s never allowed to lie or break a promise. Every word he says, he remembers, and he follows through. So when he said you wouldn’t leave this place—he meant it.”

Qian Tong forced a brittle smile. “Did he now?”

Lan nodded earnestly. “I believe you didn’t slaughter the Lu family. You’re too straightforward for such a cruel method.”

When did I ever earn such a halo? Qian Tong thought wryly. He was probably the only one who still believed she was innocent.

Suddenly, a voice came shouting from outside, dripping with hatred: “Is that Qian Seventh Lady?!”

The tone alone was enough to make her think the speaker wished to tear her apart.

She blinked. What now—did the heir purposely lock all my old acquaintances together just to torment me? Lan Yi-zhi she could tolerate, but even the head of the Lu family?

Lu Daozhong was being dragged in by Wang Zhao. The moment he saw her, his eyes bulged red, veins standing out as he clutched the iron bars and roared, “I’ll kill you! You venomous woman—over a hundred souls of my Lu family! How could you bear it?!”

His fury rolled like thunder. Qian Tong instinctively took two steps back.

“Take him away,” Wang Zhao ordered. “Back to his room.”

Lu Daozhong was forced into Lan’s side of the cells. Apparently, the two men had been quartered together. Still gripping the bars, he howled for her blood.

Lan tried to calm him, “Patriarch Lu, please—Seventh Lady wouldn’t do such a thing.”

“What do you know?!” Lu Daozhong shouted hoarsely. “She pushed the heir apparent into the sea! What’s left that she wouldn’t dare?”

Lan hesitated, wisely choosing not to mention that the same heir was now the Seventh Lady’s fiancé.

He’d probably faint on the spot.

Lu’s grief turned into a torrent of curses. “Our families have known each other for generations—seven, eight decades at least! We’ve quarreled, yes, but never to blood! What did my Lu clan ever do to you that you’d exterminate us?!”

His shouting made her temples ache. Qian Tong said evenly, “What did you do? Lu Second Master had my father beaten in the street—broke two ribs. We still don’t know if he’s woken yet.”

Lu Daozhong froze. “Impossible. My second brother may be hot-tempered, but not brainless. Your family got the salt licenses and Piao’s shipping business—our Lu clan couldn’t threaten you anymore. Why would he provoke you?”

“Exactly,” Qian Tong replied. “The Qians are far ahead of you now. If I wanted revenge, I’d do it out in the open—why slaughter your entire household and throw myself in jail? Do I look insane?”

Her words hit their mark. His sobs faltered, confusion flickering through the wrinkles of his face.

“Think, Patriarch Lu,” she added quietly. “You and I are both victims here.”

He wasn’t a fool. Once his mind cleared, he saw the pattern at last. If not her—then who?

Realization struck like lightning. His eyes rolled back, and he collapsed, unconscious.

Lan groaned, dragging the heavy man back onto the bed.

Finally, silence.

Qian Tong leaned in a corner, staring at the cold food on the floor. She was still dazed when Wang Zhao returned with men to rearrange her cell.

An hour later, her room matched Lan’s—clean, with furniture and even spare clothes.

Qian Tong nodded at him. “Thank you, Lord Wang. Though you could’ve saved yourself the trouble—release me instead. Less costly. You could use the manpower to catch bandits instead.”

Since the heir’s last warning, Wang Zhao dared not banter with her. He couldn’t bring himself to speak kindly, but neither could he risk offending the future princess-consort. He muttered, “Until your innocence is proven, Seventh Lady, you must stay here.”

“Is the heir out finding evidence?” she asked. “Where’s he gone?”

He didn’t answer, only hurried off.

Not long after, Lu Daozhong awoke again—this time only to weep miserably. “My poor sons and grandsons… eight at ten years old, ten at six or seven… the youngest, only two…”

He choked mid-sentence and fainted once more.

Lan, sweating from the effort, revived him again and again—pinching, dosing medicine, comforting him when he awoke only to cry more. “Don’t worry, Patriarch Lu. The heir will find the true murderer. Justice will be done.”

When even Lan’s patience began to wear thin, he turned toward Qian Tong, who’d stayed silent through it all. “Isn’t that right, Seventh Lady?”

Qian Tong: …

Seeing that Lu had quieted at last, she said softly, “Before the Second Young Master died, he spoke a few words to me—”

“What did he say?!” Lu Daozhong shot upright in shock—and promptly passed out again.

Lan stared at the round, unconscious man sprawled across the bed, drenched in sweat. Why did I ever ask her for help…

——

The summer moon hung bright and full. On a barren plain outside the city, six men knelt, bound together—the same ones who had beaten Qian Second Master on the street.

Song Yunzhi, cloaked in black, bamboo hat shading his face, had been hunting them all day. Mud splattered his robe hem as he asked coldly, “Who sent you?”

“Th-The Lu family,” one stammered.

Song’s hand shot out, gripping the man’s throat. His fingers tightened slowly. “Who sent you?”

Behind him, his shadow guards exchanged glances—then froze still as posts.

“The Lu family’s dead,” Song said, voice icy calm. “But their records remain. Lie again, and you won’t get another chance. Tell the truth, and nod.”

The man, gasping his last breath, managed a trembling nod.

Song released him.

Coughing blood, the man rasped, “It—it was the Second Young Master.”

“Which Second Young Master?”

“Piao…”

——

After fainting half a dozen times, Lu Daozhong finally managed to stay conscious.

He tried to rise, but Lan immediately pressed him down. “Patriarch Lu, better to talk lying down. You fall again, I can’t lift you anymore.”

Lu hugged himself and wept anew. His throat was raw; he drank water, then cried again.

Qian Tong couldn’t stand it. “Can you stop—”

“Seventh Lady,” Lan interrupted hastily before she could finish and make matters worse. “When my family fell, I nearly took my own life. If not for you pulling me from the sea, I’d be long gone.”

That made her look up in surprise.

“You told me tears are useless. When someone wrongs you, don’t just cry—make sure they pay. I think Patriarch Lu, as an elder and head of a clan, should understand that better than I did. Nothing soothes grief like revenge.”

He’d once been the pampered one, always comforted by others. Now, ironically, he was the one offering solace—and it worked.

Lu Daozhong wiped his eyes, suddenly composed. “Thank you, Young Master Lan. In adversity, true friendship shows itself. I’ll never forget your kindness.”

Lan blushed faintly. “It was nothing, truly.”

Lu fell silent—then his eyes went wide again, fixed on the approaching glow of a lamp. “He—he’s…”

Lan turned.

It was the heir apparent, Song Yunzhi, with Wang Zhao behind him.

The heir’s official badge gleamed at his waist. Lan quickly clamped a hand over Lu’s mouth, whispering, “Don’t make a sound.”

But Song didn’t even glance toward Qian Tong’s cell. He walked straight up to them.

“Young Master Lan,” he said. “Come with me.”

Before Lan could respond, Qian Tong shot to her feet and shouted across the room, “Song Yunzhi! What do you want with him—ask me instead! I know everything!”