Born to Be Either Rich or Noble - Chapter 52

Qian Tong’s offer to volunteer herself earned not even the briefest glance from the heir of the Song family.

Lan Yizhi, too, was surprised—he had no idea where the young lord intended to take him. But if the heir said he was to come, he couldn’t refuse. Loosening his hold on Lu Daozhong, Lan Yizhi stepped out of the cell.

Lu Daozhong no longer shouted. His dull, vacant gaze fixed on Qian Tong’s husband—known here as “the heir of the Song family.” It was as though someone had sealed his voice; he couldn’t make a sound.

“My lord…” Seeing Song Yunzhi heading for the exit with Lan Yizhi in tow and no intention of acknowledging her, Qian Tong called anxiously, “Yunzhi, please—just hear me out. One sentence, truly…”

At her plea, Song Yunzhi stopped before her cell door, though he didn’t turn to face her. His head tilted slightly, waiting for that one sentence.

Qian Tong gripped the iron bars, her gaze steady, her voice solemn and sincere. “I was wrong.”

She nearly pressed her forehead through the bars. When he finally turned partway toward her, the lamplight caught her young face—her eyes clear and earnest as she apologized for what she’d said the day before. “From this day on, the jade pendant you gave me is my life. I’ll treasure it forever. Even if one day you ask for it back, I won’t give it up.”

When Song Yunzhi had walked away from her yesterday, she knew she had gambled wrong.

She shouldn’t have used his sincerity as a bargaining chip.

The heir of the Song family was not only upright but also pure in his affections—unyielding to any trace of deceit. As long as he hadn’t spoken of breaking their engagement, she had no right to end it first.

Now he was fulfilling his promise, risking his position to prove her innocence—yet she’d chosen that moment to return the pendant. Of course he’d be furious.

It was a slight against his very character.

So yes—she was wrong.

Her eyes stayed fixed on him, silently pleading for forgiveness.

Perhaps he hadn’t expected her to say that—to confess fault instead of begging for release. He didn’t immediately leave. His stillness gave her room for one more sentence.

“The heir of Song keeps his word,” she continued softly. “So do I. If I make a promise, I see it through.”

Then she looked toward Lan Yizhi behind him. “If you don’t believe me, ask Young Master Lan. He knows me best.”

Lan Yizhi was stunned by her shameless ability to bend and yield. It took him a moment to realize the heir had turned his head, his sharp gaze landing on him. Panicked, Lan Yizhi lowered his eyes.

He thought miserably that everything about Qian Tong was fine—except her terrifying knack for roping others into her schemes.

Whenever he got scared, his face flushed red.

Song Yunzhi caught that faint blush and said nothing. Having long since seen her gift for ensnaring others’ hearts, he turned away, unwilling to engage further. Still, before he left, he did speak one line: “If you’re innocent, you’ll walk out of here. Behave yourself.”

Qian Tong, for once, didn’t argue. “All right. I’ll do as my lord says. When you uncover the truth, you’ll see I’m innocent.”

As he moved on, she suddenly reached through the bars, clutching Lan Yizhi’s sleeve. “Don’t be afraid, Young Master Lan. The heir of Song is just and fair. He won’t harm you.”

Lan Yizhi forced a smile and bowed in thanks. But as his eyes dropped to her hand, he caught sight of several faint characters scrawled on her palm—then she quickly clenched her fist. He pretended not to notice and hurried after Song Yunzhi.

Once Lan Yizhi was gone, only Qian Tong and the master of the Lu family remained—one the accused, the other the victim. They had little to say to each other.

Lu Daozhong had finally recovered from the shock of realizing that the heir of Song—the man married to Qian Tong—was the very same son-in-law she’d “snatched” at the docks. Gazing across the dimly lit dungeon at the calm, poised young woman, he understood now how he’d lost.

She had aligned herself with the imperial court—and even secured the heir himself. As she’d said, the Lu family could never have been a real obstacle to her.

She wasn’t foolish enough to ruin herself after climbing so high.

He wanted to question her, but their shared confinement made conversation awkward. While he wrestled with hesitation, she broke the silence.

“Master Lu,” she said quietly, “do you want revenge?”

He froze.

The mingled glow of torch and shadow stretched between them, faintly illuminating the two fallen heads of powerful houses. Neither could clearly see the other’s face, yet a strange sense of kinship arose—mutual ruin, mutual understanding.

The four great families of Yangzhou were gone.

Ever since the court had arrived, the struggle among them had never ceased. At first, the Cui family seemed ascendant after tying itself to the Lan family—but both fell together once Qian Tong struck.

Then came his own Lu family. He’d thought that by allying early with the imperial forces, he’d secure their survival. Instead, his clan was wiped out overnight.

The four great houses—three destroyed, one thriving.

Only the Park family still stood, unshaken like a towering tree.

Who else but the Parks could have dared exterminate the Lus? Yet he had done nothing to offend them. Yes, he’d dealt with the court, but he’d never revealed a word that could harm the Parks.

Why, then, annihilate his family?

Perhaps—he thought bitterly—they’d only done it to frame the Qians, to give that woman a taste of her own ruin.

The realization burned like acid.

“Madam Qian,” he said hoarsely, “what do you want me to do?”

That night, Song Yunzhi left the prefecture accompanied by Shen Che. Only Wang Zhao remained behind.

The situation was tense; he dared not relax for a moment. Just as he finished a pile of reports, a jailer rushed in. “Lord Wang, the master of the Lu family has fainted again.”

Wang Zhao rubbed his temple. “Fetch a doctor.”

“Already did,” the jailer replied helplessly. “No use. He wakes, lasts half an incense stick, and faints again. This time, he’s raving—says we’re bullying him, that if we hadn’t locked him up, the Lus wouldn’t have perished.”

Wang Zhao sighed. Out of pity, he’d already shown Lu Daozhong extra leniency, but this was too much. “Ask him what he wants, then.”

The jailer returned soon after. “He says… the spirits of the Lu family are trapped, over a hundred souls with no guide. He begs for permission to burn offerings outside.”

All his kin dead—wanting to send them off properly was only human. Wang Zhao agreed. “Let him. Just keep it quiet.”

So the jailer led Lu Daozhong to the prefecture’s back courtyard, even buying him a bundle of spirit money. “Master Lu,” he warned, “you know your situation. Burn your offerings, then return quietly. No trouble.”

Lu Daozhong knelt, sobbing as he lit the paper.

“Second Brother… why did you have to go before me…”

“My wife, it was my failure—I didn’t protect you…”

“My daughters, you suffered for nothing…”

“My grandchildren… you chose the wrong family to be born into…”

His wailing was so raw that even the jailer turned away out of pity.

Then, amid the flames, something crackled—a sharp snap!—as if a firecracker had gone off.

The jailer flinched, but Lu Daozhong only stared at the smoke, tears streaming. “Look! My family hears me! They’re answering!”

It wasn’t unheard of—sometimes a stray firecracker got mixed in with spirit paper. The jailer dismissed it. “Burn what you need, Master Lu, then head back.”

For the past few days, the Qian residence had been surrounded by soldiers. Second Master Qian lay bedridden, unable to move; their seventh daughter was imprisoned. The rest of the household panicked like headless flies.

The second and third masters, along with Madam Qian, all went to the matriarch. The old lady said nothing—she simply handed them a Buddhist scripture and told them to copy it.

That night, Madam Qian returned again. As soon as she left, the stewardess Xing reported softly to the old matriarch, who was kneeling in the Buddha hall. “Madam, it’s the signal from the Seventh Young Lady.”

The old woman stopped chanting, her eyes opening slowly toward the statue before her. “So. The Parks couldn’t hold back any longer.” Her voice was calm. “Since they’ve pinned this on us, Tong-jie must go through with it. Tell Ming-jie to bring her out.”

Xing bowed. “At once, madam.”

Lan Yizhi left the prefecture alone, a dagger hidden in his sleeve. He went straight to the Park family’s gambling house—Red Moon Heaven.

Once inside, he stood in the main hall and raised his voice: “Where is the Second Young Master of the Park family? Get out here!”

The clamor died instantly. Dozens of heads turned.

The steward glanced at the trembling young man, his face flushed, body taut with fury that couldn’t quite mask his fear. The steward smirked, voice oily. “Well, well, if it isn’t the prefect’s son—Young Master Lan. I heard you’ve been clinging to the prefecture, demanding the court hunt down your kidnappers. What brings you to Red Moon Heaven? Want our Second Young Master to handle it for you?”

Lan Yizhi’s face reddened to his ears. “I’m here to kill him!”

The steward blinked, suppressing a laugh. “And what grudge do you bear against our young master?”

Laughter erupted around them.

“Still dreaming, are you? The prefecture hasn’t borne the Lan name in months!”

“Without that father of yours, who can you kill?”

“Thinks he still commands the wind and rain—look at him shaking!”

“Careful, little lord, you’ll cut yourself before anyone else!”

Then, amid the jeers, Lan Yizhi suddenly pressed the dagger to his own throat. “If I don’t see the Second Young Master before dawn,” he shouted, “I’ll spill my blood here in your Red Moon Heaven! The authorities already know I’ve come. Let’s see how your young master explains that!”

The blade bit into his skin; a thin red line appeared. Seeing he meant it, the steward’s smirk vanished. “Enough! Everyone out!”

He wasn’t afraid of officials.

But everyone under Park Second Young Master’s command knew the man’s obsession with this particular youth.

The last time Lan Yizhi had been rescued from the Lu family’s gambling den only to fall into the prefecture’s hands, the Second Young Master had flown into a rage, executing every guard responsible.

He’d spent months plotting to abduct the young man again—but the prefecture’s security had made it impossible.

Now the prey had walked in himself. The steward had only meant to tease him, but if the boy really killed himself here, his own life would be forfeit.

So he softened his tone. “Please, Young Master Lan, calm yourself. I’ll fetch the Second Young Master right away.”

He ordered the hall cleared, barred the doors, and led Lan Yizhi upstairs to a private room to wait.

Meanwhile, in the Park residence, the Second Young Master was confined under the watch of the Third Madam, sprawled lazily on a couch, drinking and entertaining himself out of sheer boredom.

(t/n: In this period, high-ranking households often operated private gambling houses or brothels as fronts for influence and profit. “Red Moon Heaven” would have been such a place—lavish, dangerous, and tied to powerful families.)