Born to Be Either Rich or Noble - Chapter 53

The servant slipped past the guards at the door and poked a small hole through the paper window. Seeing the man inside, he gave a soft whistle.

The sound—a faint birdsong—blended easily with the music inside the room. Outsiders would hear nothing unusual, but anyone familiar with it would recognize the signal at once. The man lounging with a courtesan in his arms—Park Chengjun, the second young master of the Park family—lifted his head.

Moments later, he rose and went to the window.

Through the thin layer of paper, the servant whispered, “Young Master Lan has come to Red Moon Heaven. He insists on seeing Second Young Master, saying that if he doesn’t meet you tonight, he’ll end his life right here.”

At the mention of Lan’s name, Park Chengjun’s eyes brightened.

Back when Lan Mingquan was still the magistrate of Yangzhou, Park Chengjun had already taken a liking to his son. The young man’s red lips, fair skin, and delicate features made him a born beauty—but his status had stayed Park’s hand.

When the Lan family fell, Park found himself unable to forget that face. He’d risked everything to have the boy kidnapped from the official ship.

To avoid arousing suspicion from the Third Madam, he had the boy hidden away at the Lu family’s gambling den. Yet that useless fool Lu Daozhong couldn’t even guard a door properly—the boy was rescued by Qian Qitong.

Daring to steal from him—did she even think about the price?

It was Park who had men pretend to be Lu family thugs and attack the Qians. It was Park who had the Lus wiped out.

Useless things have no right to live.

As for Qian Qitong… she was just a woman.

The imperial court was currently investigating the Four Great Families of Yangzhou. The cautious Third Madam, fearful that he’d stir up more trouble, had him confined here. To outsiders, the story was that he’d gone to sea to visit the family patriarch.

Park Chengjun found her worries laughable—she was forever seeing ghosts in shadows.

Still, the patriarch had given her authority to guard him. For now, he had to play the obedient prisoner. But after two days of listening to the same songs from the courtesans, boredom gnawed at him. The moment this message came, interest sparked anew.

“Where is he?” Park asked.

“The steward’s keeping him calm,” the servant replied.

“Tell him not to let the boy leave. I’ll come right away.”

He turned to the courtesans lounging in the room. “Keep singing. Don’t stop.”

No one could truly imprison him—unless he allowed it.

The servant departed. Park Chengjun swiftly leapt out the window. The building stood in the middle of a lake, the bridge leading to it guarded by the Third Madam’s men. But that hardly posed a challenge. Shedding his outer robe, he dove into the water in his underclothes and swam across.

His prison lay just behind the Red Moon Heaven casino.

Soaked and dripping, he shook out his hair, not caring about his appearance. Few knew of his taste for men. As he recalled the first time he’d pinned Lan down and stripped away his clothing—the boy’s horrified, furious eyes—his blood began to burn.

He’d tasted countless courtesans across Yangzhou, but none had been as delicious as the young master of the Lan family.

He quickened his pace, desire sharpening every step. So urgent was he that he failed to notice the subtle shift in the air around him—until cold steel brushed the nape of his neck.

His hair bristled. In one swift motion, he drew his flexible sword.

Forged from fine steel, the whip-blade hissed out like a serpent’s tongue, slicing backward toward his unseen attacker.

Of the Park family’s sons, only Park Chengjun possessed such skill in the martial arts. Confident and arrogant, he rarely brought guards with him. But tonight, every strike aimed at him landed with lethal precision.

He was outmatched.

Panic flickered in his eyes. Realizing his disadvantage, he tried to disengage and flee—but the darkness around him was already alive with movement. Shadow guards emerged, encircling him completely.

A sword pierced his shoulder. Another blade followed—then a third, cold steel pressing against his neck. A sharp kick to the back of his knees dropped him to the ground.

By the time a stick of incense had burned, Park Chengjun’s hands and feet were bound, a cloth gag stuffed in his mouth. He was thrown into a carriage.

From the instant of the attack, he’d already begun to guess who his captor was.

The so-called Four Great Families of Yangzhou? A façade. The true ruler of Yangzhou was the Park clan. He knew every powerful figure in the city.

No one could match his skill in recent years—so when the enemy’s sword found his shoulder and the guards surrounded him, one name surfaced in his mind.

When the man seated across from him finally removed his hat, revealing his face, Park Chengjun was hardly surprised.

His arm throbbed, blood seeping anew through the wound, but he ignored the pain and looked closely at the man before him. Then he smiled.

“So it’s the Young Lord of the Song family. My apologies for the offense. Had I known the envoy from the capital was you, Song Yunzhi, my family would’ve come to welcome you properly—and given you a fine feast.”

The Park family had long sought to use the Song royal lineage to gain favor at court. They knew the names of every influential man in the capital, though few had ever seen Song Yunzhi in person.

That Park recognized him didn’t surprise Song in the least.

As for why he now revealed his face—Song Yunzhi had already decided the moment he did so what must come next.

“The Lu family,” Song asked evenly. “You were the one who destroyed them?”

Park Chengjun blinked innocently, shaking his head. “No. Surely, you’ve arrested the wrong man? Wasn’t it Qian Qitong who destroyed the Lu family?”

His voice was lazy, almost playful. Despite the blood and ropes, he still carried an air of lewd ease. “They say the Young Lord of the Song family is as pure as the moon, righteous and incorruptible. Yet tonight, you seize a man without proof? The Lu family’s blood is on Qian’s hands, not mine.”

Song had dealt with men like him before—arrogant, fearless, and slippery. He didn’t bother replying to the pretense.

“By murdering the Lu family, you’ve given me quite the gift,” he said coolly. “Rest assured, I’ll repay your family’s generosity. Once you’re executed, I’ll carry your head to your father and see what he has to say.”

Song Yunzhi had been raised among books and battlefields—a soldier and a scholar both. He never bluffed. When he spoke of killing, death always followed.

In the clarity of that truth, Park Chengjun’s smirk began to falter.

He could see it now: to a man like Song Yunzhi, his antics were nothing but a clown’s act.

The humor drained from his face. He licked his lips, searching for another way to live. “Tell me, Song Yunzhi—are you doing this for Qian Qitong? Protecting her? Or do you just pity her and need someone to take the blame?”

His tone held a mocking gleam. He already knew that Song was the man Qian had snatched from the docks—the seventh son-in-law of the Qian family.

Song had long since given up hiding his identity. If the Park family knew who he was and still dared to move against him, it meant they no longer feared the crown. The evidence against Park Chengjun was ironclad. At dawn, the court would convene. Park Chengjun would die.

“Park Chengjun,” Song said, pronouncing the name like a judgment. “You hired killers, treated human life as nothing. You deserve death.”

He turned to leave the carriage.

But Park’s voice rose behind him, half-desperate, half-taunting: “Song Yunzhi, do you really believe Qian Qitong is innocent? How much has she gained from your protection? Tell me—does she know who you truly are? When did she realize—”

The question ended abruptly.

From outside the carriage, a cold arrow split the night.

It tore through the wind with deadly precision, aimed straight for the two men inside.

Shen Che and the hidden guards reacted instantly. One blade cut the arrow’s tail; the second pinned its shaft into the dirt beside the wheel.

Every guard drew steel, eyes sweeping the darkness.

Then—a spark.

A single flame flared, caught in the hand of a girl. Its light revealed her face: delicate, bright-eyed, framed by a few wind-tossed strands of hair. She wore a dress of red and black, the firelight flickering across her like an enchantment.

She looked like trouble incarnate.

When Shen Che saw her clearly, his anger exploded. “You—why are you here? Weren’t you in the dungeon?!”

Qian Qitong smiled, unbothered. “I came to help you, Young Lord.”

Help?

Help who exactly?

Shen Che nearly choked. What was Lord Wang thinking, letting her out?

Every instinct screamed that her arrow could have killed someone. Sword raised, he barked, “Stand still. Don’t move!”

Qian Qitong stopped mid-step, but her bright eyes ignored him entirely. Instead, she rose on tiptoe, peering past him toward Song Yunzhi, who remained silent inside the carriage.

“Yunzhi,” she said softly, “I really did come to help you.”

Song’s expression shifted—from anger, to disbelief, to weary acceptance.

If she’d stayed quietly in her cell, she wouldn’t be Qian Qitong.

Still, he had given strict orders—no one was to release her but himself.

“How did you get out?” he asked.

“I walked out,” she answered, perfectly sincere.

She even stomped her foot for emphasis, smiling proudly. “Yesterday Young Master Lan said that if you claimed I couldn’t leave, then I’d never get out. If he saw me standing here now, I wonder if he’d feel embarrassed.”

Completely ignoring the frost on Song’s face, she looked like a child expecting praise. “Aren’t I amazing?”

Song’s hand clenched into a fist. He didn’t answer.

But before he could, Park Chengjun laughed. “Truly worthy of the name Qian Qitong. Such courage—Park himself must bow in admiration.”

“Shut up, you filthy toad!” Qian snapped. “I’m talking to the Young Lord—who said you could speak?”

Her insult made him go pale. He’d endured Song’s interrogation without a word, but now his face twisted in fury. “You—damn—”

The curse ended with a sharp crack—Song Yunzhi’s sleeve lashed across his face, sending him sprawling to the floor.

Shen Che glared at Qian, his voice cold. “You certainly are capable, Miss Qian. I only wonder if you can bear the punishment for breaking out of prison.”

Qian shook her head, the motion making her earrings sway. “Cousin Shen, don’t be so serious. We’re all on the same side, aren’t we? Can’t you stop being so proper for once? Even your Brother Song hasn’t scolded me yet, but here you are—so eager to arrest his fiancée. Don’t you think that’s a bit disrespectful?”

Shen Che had met arrogant people before—but never someone both arrogant and shameless.

“You—” he sputtered.

“Me, what?” she countered.

“Qian Qitong, do you really think we can’t deal with you?”

“Not ‘we,’” she corrected sweetly. “Just you.”

Before Shen Che could explode and draw his blade, Song Yunzhi caught his arm, pulling him back.

His tone was quiet, controlled. “How do you plan to help?”

Qian pointed to the man still groaning on the floor. “I’ll help you bring him back.”