Born to Be Either Rich or Noble - Chapter 61

Money Tong’s riders slowed the moment they entered a secluded alley. Horse hooves struck the moon-washed bluestone, each hollow thock—thock landing squarely against the chest.

At a fork in the alley, a single crow’s cry split the long stretch of silence. Walking in front, Money Tong slowly raised her hand to signal those behind her.

The caravan that had followed her all the way veered left at once, disappearing down the narrow lane. Immediately afterward, another group slipped out from the right-hand alley and fell in tightly behind.

The whole switch happened in near silence. Moments later, the caravan emerged from the alley again and headed straight toward the docks.

By the time they reached Pearl Port, it was already past the late-night hour.

Tonight the harbor had been cleared of all vessels. Only one ship remained anchored at the pier, waiting to be loaded—Falcon of the Sea, the warship once gifted by the Park family’s eldest son.

Money Tong swung down from her horse and stood calmly at the pier, watching the servants load cargo.

When the final sack of tea was carried aboard, urgent hoofbeats sounded behind her. She turned to see a horse not yet fully stopped before Azhu leapt down hastily, hurried to her side, and whispered, “Miss, the authorities are here.”

“Who is it?” Money Tong asked.

“Wang Zhao. He brought about twenty armored riders.”

“Then we wait a little longer.”

A little longer—and the riders arrived.

Torches trailing thick smoke spread rapidly along the shoreline, finally stopping just beyond the coastal defense line behind Money Tong, forming a wall of fire. Wang Zhao stood at the front, shouting across the flames to the woman peering back at him.

“Miss Money, where exactly are you going?”

Night dimmed visibility; Money Tong seemed unable to see clearly. Only after hearing his voice did she recognize him.

“Ah, Magistrate Wang. I thought it was another group of pirates coming to rob my ship.”

Wang Zhao’s eyebrow twitched.

He had suffered enough under this girl’s tricks—especially that “shedding the shell” stunt (t/n: an idiom meaning slipping away by using a decoy). Even though the Money family had been cleared in the end, the incident would forever stain his record.

Before he could respond, she continued, “Why would the magistrate bring troops out so late at night? What happened?”

“As if you don’t know,” Wang Zhao said sharply, reminding himself not to fall for her words again. He would search the ship directly. “I’ll ask you plainly—what’s in the cargo?”

“Food supplies,” Money Tong answered.

Wang Zhao, of course, knew it was tea—the Jian tea the young marquis had brought back from Fuzhou. Expecting she would deny it, he pressed, “And why is Miss Money shipping ‘food supplies’ out to sea?”

“Last time, your young marquis and I were stranded on an uninhabited island overnight,” she said, voice clear and deliberately loud enough for all to hear. Every soldier behind Wang Zhao froze in disbelief.

Wang Zhao’s attempted interruption was already too late.

“While we were stranded, there was nothing to eat. The young marquis had to dive into the sea to catch fish for us. So he and I agreed that once we got off that island, we would transport supplies back there and build a fleet nearby. That way, next time we drift onto that island, he won’t have to dive for fish again.”

Nonsense. What “next time.”

Wang Zhao, having personally witnessed how the young marquis returned tonight, couldn’t help feeling indignant on his behalf.

“Miss Money, you dare bring up the young marquis?” he snapped.

“Why shouldn’t I?” Money Tong raised her voice. “You people will never understand. My feelings for the young marquis are sincere and deep—witnessed by the sun and moon themselves.”

“You needn’t tell them.”

The cold voice cut in from the darkness.

Wang Zhao stepped aside immediately.

Moments later, Song Yunzhi emerged from behind the soldiers, his face hard as frost, gaze icy as he looked at the girl standing at the pier, her skirts rippling in the wind.

“Tell me yourself. Let’s see if I understand.”

Money Tong: “…”

He was here.

Even through the darkness, she could feel the hatred burning in his eyes.

The Third Mistress must have reached him.

What now? Everything she’d once told him—lies.

She remembered the way he had pinned her by the throat, demanding to know when she recognized him. She had never told him the truth. But tonight he learned it from others.

His anger—she could imagine.

Would he kill her?

Of course he would want to.

He stepped toward her, closing the distance.

When he was ten steps away, Money Tong turned to her stunned household servants and announced, “There, you’re not mistaken. He is your seventh son-in-law, the current Assistant Minister of Revenue and heir to the Marquis of Yong’an—Song Yunzhi.” She swept her gaze across their shocked faces and whispered, “He’s here to kill me tonight. Go on—kill him first.”

Song Yunzhi was now only five steps away.

He had heard clearly—this cold-blooded woman had ordered his death.

But the workers at the port were ordinary laborers. Who would dare attack the heir apparent of the Marquis’s household? No one moved; legs shook violently, half wanting to run, half wanting to kneel.

Money Tong eyed them with disappointment. “Useless. What’s the point of feeding you? Get out.”

The servants nearly collapsed with relief and fled instantly.

Only Song Yunzhi and Money Tong remained.

For a man of his skill, killing her would take no more than a blink. But Wang Zhao watched the scene with his heart pounding—afraid the young marquis might be harmed by this demoness, he signaled his soldiers to stay alert.

She had drugged him earlier, stolen the tea, and still failed to escape. Now trapped at the pier, with blazing fire behind him and endless dark sea behind her, she had no way out.

“Do you have anything to say?” Song Yunzhi asked coldly.

The once-eloquent Money Tong gave no explanation. Staring into the hatred burning in his eyes, she said quietly, “Nothing.”

Her resignation, her indifference—infuriating.

Song Yunzhi tightened his grip on his sword. “Will you walk back with me yourself? Or must I drag you?”

“So you’re not killing me?” Money Tong blinked. “Didn’t the Third Mistress tell you? I knew your identity from the start. I abducted you on purpose to marry into my family, used your status to bring down the Cui clan and get the salt permits and textile documents. Later I pretended to agree to ally with you only to take the Fuzhou tea fleet from you. I betrayed your trust, deceived your feelings. I deserve death…”

“For all this, if you kill me, I have nothing to say.”

Song Yunzhi, for the first time in his life, could not see through someone.

She was truth and lies intertwined, light and shadow all at once. He didn’t know which of her words were real.

The Third Mistress’s statements tonight had also been half-truths, half-lies. Even now, furious enough to kill Money Tong on the spot, he could not condemn someone without certainty—not with his position.

Suppressing all personal emotion, he asked, “What benefits did the Park family offer you?”

Benefits greater than being his wife. Greater than anything he had promised her.

Since he asked, she answered, turning back toward the sea.

“This ship is from the Park family. This stretch of sea—also theirs. The fleet we just established? Theirs too. When you and I visited their eldest son at sea, he promised me something else. I didn’t tell you. Besides the fleet and this ship, he gave me a salt field.”

She added, “A salt field that even Prince Pingchang only has two of.”

Seeing the greed on her face, the hatred in Song Yunzhi’s chest, just barely held together by the wind, burst its banks completely.

His voice turned knife-cold: “And your engagement to the Park family’s eldest son—is that real?”

Then what was he?

And that kiss—that night—what was that?

“Mm.” She didn’t look at him, just gave a quick sound of acknowledgment. “Next, once the Park family opens the canal, everything will rise. Since I’ve done so many good deeds for the people, perhaps you could spare me? I’ll give you the fleet…”

His sword finally came free, blade aimed straight at her throat, hatred surging fully.

“Money Tong, I have every reason to kill you.”

She lowered her gaze to the sword tip hovering a finger-width from her skin.

“I know.”

She waited for him—waited for the moment he struck.

Then she moved.

Money Tong pulled a dagger from her sleeve.

Song Yunzhi snapped, “Don’t move.”

She ignored him and lunged.

Her shoulder hit the sword point. Pain tore through her; her face twisted. She stopped, blood blooming across her chest like a peony opening violently.

Song Yunzhi’s pupils constricted. His gaze locked on the spreading red, then on the dagger she dropped onto the ground. His temples pounded furiously.

She whispered, “As if I would kill you. I’m not stupid.”

Enduring the pain, Money Tong looked at the shaken, agonized young marquis.

“I took that strike for you. Consider my debt to your feelings repaid.”

Before he could react, she shoved him aside.

“Go!”

Song Yunzhi stiffened, finally sensing the danger.

An arrow dropped from above, quivering as it struck between them. Then another. Then a rainstorm—dense, deadly—aimed at the government riders.

Wang Zhao roared, “Protect the young marquis!”

Thrown off balance by her push, Song Yunzhi stumbled back. When he lifted his head again, he saw Money Tong fall backward into the dark sea.

His body tensed and he leapt forward instinctively.

Ripples spread where she had gone under—someone was waiting for her.

Ajin hauled her out of the water. The pain was too sharp for her to stand; she knelt on the deck and looked back toward the blazing shoreline.

Song Yunzhi stood there beneath the firelit sky, sword pointed downward, gaze fixed on her.

Night blurred everything. She couldn’t see his expression. She didn’t know if her blood-soaked state had softened his hatred even a little.

Cold arrows began striking the ship. Ajin shouted, “Cut the moorings!”

The vessel pulled away from the pier. Distance widened between them. Watching the fire behind him, Money Tong couldn’t help asking Azhu, “Is Duan Yuanjin coming to abduct me or not?”

The imperial riders had come only to arrest the Money family’s seventh daughter. Twenty mounted soldiers were enough.

But now those torches became perfect targets. Hidden archers in the dark left no room to breathe, slaughtering them like prey.

Wang Zhao slashed arrows aside and forced his way to the young marquis, face green with fury.

“Merchants in Yangzhou have grown brazen beyond belief! At this rate he’ll crown himself a petty emperor of our realm. His Majesty should have sent troops long ago.”

He didn’t know whether the hidden assassins belonged to Money Tong.

It didn’t seem so.

Their arrows struck both government and Money family alike—an attempt to wipe out both sides at once.

But now was not the time to wonder.

The only ship had been taken. Survival meant breaking out of the encirclement.

Wang Zhao rode toward the direction of the arrows, leaving men behind. “Guard the young marquis.”

Song Yunzhi said nothing, tearing his gaze from the sea and heading directly toward the attackers. He sensed the problem instantly.

“Extinguish the torches!” he ordered.

Darkness swallowed the port. With no light, the arrows slowed. Under the faint silver moon, everyone held their breath—unable to ignore the thick smell of blood.

Silence lasted only a heartbeat.

Then a fire bomb streaked across the sky, blazing toward the pier. Whoever hid in the dark meant to blow the entire port—and the government troops—sky-high.

“Retreat to the sea!” Song Yunzhi commanded.

The enemy had gunpowder. Forcing a path would be suicide. Retreating toward the sea offered at least a shred of hope.

He had barely finished speaking when a loud horn sounded over the water—bright, arrogant, completely unlike the style of the Four Great Clans. Drums joined, wild and insistent.

The dark sea suddenly lit up with countless ox-horn lanterns. Ten small pirate ships, fast and deadly, closed in from all sides.

The Money family’s warship did not get far before its path was cut off—surrounded completely.

From the pirate ship nearest the Qian family fleet, a bandit in rough homespun stood on deck and hollered toward their warships: “Seventh Miss Qian still owes our mountain stronghold a shipment of tea. Isn’t it about time she paid up?”

At the same moment, the docks erupted in a thunder of hooves so heavy it made the ground tremble. Listening closely, one could hear wild, barbaric chants meant to rouse momentum. Bells were tied to the horses’ tack, jingling frantically with every stride.

—The mounted raiders had arrived.

Bandits from the mountain fortress.

Hidden assassins lurking in the dark were suddenly attacked from behind, forced to reveal themselves and break off their pursuit to deal with the sudden ambush.

Bandits never bothered with courtesy. They swung at anything that moved, shouting as they struck:
“Where’s Seventh Miss Qian? If she doesn’t show herself, I’ll kill everyone here!”

No one knew which region that accent came from, but it was enough to make anyone’s blood boil.

The masked assassins turned toward the young masked leader on horseback and snapped, eager to distance themselves, “There are no Qian family people here. Young Master Duan, you’ve come to the wrong place.”

Duan Yuanjin asked, “You’re from the Park family?”

Without waiting for a reply, he added, “Good. The Park and Qian families are thick as thieves. Robbing you is the same difference.”

Bandits had two advantages—fearless momentum and sheer speed. Before the Park family’s killers could even load their fire charges, the bandits smashed into them from behind. In the blink of an eye, the hunters became prey, caught between the government forces and the mountain brigands, trapped like turtles in an urn.

With the situation overturned, Song Yunzhi seized the opening. Leading the government troops, he charged out. Without their explosives, no one could match the long sword in his hand.

The officers killed; the bandits looted. Strangely, the two sides worked in perfect, unspoken harmony without hindering one another.

Where the bandits passed, nothing was left behind.

Every crate of the Park family’s gunpowder, every blade and spear—swept up clean. To make matters worse, after stripping the assassins bare, the bandits abruptly stopped and refused to advance farther.

The government troops also halted.

This was the second time Song Yunzhi had seen the mountain stronghold’s young master.

Duan Yuanjin sat atop his horse, wearing the same teal mask as before. In the faint light, his gaze met Song Yunzhi’s blood-soaked figure across the field.

Ordinarily, bandits and officials were mortal enemies. A fight should have been inevitable. Yet tonight, this bandit troop had unintentionally helped the government—and had no intention of provoking them further.

The atmosphere was… indescribably strange.

Wang Zhao remained tense and alert.

After a long silence, the young master twirled the curved blade in his hand and slid it back into its sheath. He looked toward Song Yunzhi and said, “Your lady-in-law’s martial skills—I’ve witnessed them. A wise man doesn’t suffer losses he can avoid. Forget it, we’re leaving. If fate allows, we’ll meet again.”

They came quickly, left quicker. Horses surged forward, kicking up white clouds of dust that swallowed the torchlight. Wang Zhao hesitated, turned for instruction: “My lord…”

“Do not pursue,” Song Yunzhi said.

He swept his gaze over the bodies lying in disarray on the ground. “Find me a few survivors to bring back.”

But there were none. They searched again and again. Every last one was dead.

These were deathsworn soldiers. Either the officers or the bandits had killed them, or they had swallowed poison the moment capture seemed likely.

“None,” Wang Zhao reported. “All dead.”

Tonight’s chaotic battle left Wang Zhao puzzled. Seventh Miss Qian was cunning, yes, but she had no ability to orchestrate an ambush of this scale. The cold arrows had come from too far and with too much force; clearly from mounted crossbows, not any ordinary bow.

Deathsworn soldiers. Gunpowder.
The Qian family had no backing capable of providing such things.

Only the Park family could.

But everyone involved was already dead. No evidence remained.

Though the officers suffered casualties, they’d broken the siege with minimal loss. The young heir was unscathed. Yet this unit hadn’t prepared for full combat—they’d only brought enough men to capture a single woman. Who knew if the enemy had more tricks prepared? They needed to return to the magistrate’s manor at once.

Before leaving, Wang Zhao glanced at the now-quiet sea.

The bandits seemed to have come specifically for Seventh Miss Qian. Though he hated her, he had only wanted to detain her—not see her fall into the hands of mountain brigands. Who knew what her fate would be now?

He looked at Song Yunzhi, who kept glancing toward the distant sea. Wang Zhao understood. They had lived together for a time. Emotional attachment was only natural.

But Wang Zhao also knew there was no hope for the pair.

He had seen Song Yunzhi stab her.

Afraid his lord felt guilt, he asked softly, “Shall we try to rescue Seventh Mi—”

Mounted again, Song Yunzhi cut him off without looking back:
“She won’t die. We return.”

That night, the Park family’s Third Madam had intended to kill.

To guarantee success, she used deathsworn soldiers, crossbows, and gunpowder—everything at once—leaving no plan for survivors.

The Fuzhou teahouse accounts? Just talk. Nothing that could withstand investigation.

And the second young master was still in Song Yunzhi’s hands. The family head had warned her endlessly: she must keep him safe. If she failed to rescue him, she was to remain far from the Park territory.

She had been certain that after hearing her earlier insinuations, Song Yunzhi would kill Seventh Miss Qian even without her interference. Once they turned on each other, she would strike at the perfect moment, wipe them all out, and reclaim the tea.

And since the fight occurred at the Qian family’s Mingzhu Port—if the girl died, it would appear as though she and the officials had battled each other to mutual ruin. If the girl lived, then she, Third Madam, had attempted to assassinate an imperial official.

No matter the outcome, once Song Yunzhi was dead, the Qian family would not escape the blame.

A foolish yellow-haired girl, daring to scheme against her?
Still far too green.

Third Madam waited the entire night for news. As dawn’s pale glow seeped through the window, she finally let her eyes close for a brief rest—

A violent kick shook the door.

Her heart lurched. “Who is it?”

No answer.

Something was wrong. She grabbed the curved blade beside her and stood on guard. Most of her forces had been sent to the docks; only a few gate guards remained.

Who dared storm into her residence?

Before she could step outside, someone kicked open the inner door.

A figure crossed the threshold—embroidered shoes soaked in seawater and dirt. A woman. She lifted her hat brim, revealing a pale face drained of life, like a ghost crawling out of the underworld. Her eyes locked onto the startled mistress, unblinking.

“Third Madam,” she asked coldly, “can you offer me an explanation?”

For a moment, Third Madam truly thought she’d seen a ghost. Her heart thrashed wildly. But the woman coughed, and the bloodstains on her clothes showed she was alive.

She hadn’t died.

Why had she come here?

Third Madam felt a twinge of guilt. “Seventh Miss, what happened to you? How did you end up in such a state?”

Uninvited, Qian Tong walked in and sat down on a rattan chair.

Ajin and Fuyin stood to her left and right, gripping curved blades.

Her injuries were severe; every step tugged at her wounds. Qian Tong frowned, raised her gaze, and slowly said,
“Third Madam knew he was the imperial heir, yet still sent me to kill him. I cannot imagine why. Since I survived by the skin of my teeth, I thought I’d come ask in person.”

Third Madam didn’t answer, too busy trying to guess how she survived.

Qian Tong’s voice carried disappointment. “I don’t know what offense I gave you that deserved such cruelty. Not long ago in Haizhou, you worked hard to pair me with the eldest son. I was sincerely grateful. I never imagined that the moment I turned my back, you’d throw me into the fire and have me assassinate the heir apparent.”

She lowered her head, glanced at her wound, and sighed pathetically,
“I ended up injured from head to toe. Nearly died under the heir’s sword. Third Madam, is there truly nothing you’d like to say to me?”

Third Madam’s expression soured.

As if she didn’t know exactly who Qian Tong had abducted.

“My injuries are one thing,” Qian Tong continued, “but it’s such a shame about your ship of tea. All those dragon-ball pearls? Duan Yuanjin stole every last bit. And the assassins you planted? They’re all in Song Yunzhi’s hands now. Tell me—was it worth it?”

“What?!” Third Madam’s face twisted.

“Still waiting for your people to report back?” Qian Tong asked. “You’ll wait forever. Song Yunzhi seized them all. By now, they’re locked in the dungeon and being interrogated. I don’t know how strict your deathsworn soldiers are, but if even one talks… what then?”

She leaned forward in mock concern.
“If you had warned me in advance, we could’ve discussed strategy. It wouldn’t have ended like this. I dragged my injured body here to remind you—Song Yunzhi never stops once he has a goal. He has ways of making anyone confess…”

Third Madam was already panicked. Qian Tong’s words only fanned the flames.

No wonder no one had returned.

How could the plan fail?
Impossible—yet it had.

“Why did Duan Yuanjin appear?” she demanded.

“My fault,” Qian Tong sighed. “You know I once raided his stronghold and stole two ships’ worth of tea. He’s held that grudge. Tonight, somehow he learned I’d be transporting dragon-ball pearls out to sea. He stormed the harbor and stripped everything bare—not just your deathsworn, but my people, my cargo, everything.”

Third Madam’s face was beyond saving.

Her goods? Her goods were nothing!

Her ship carried the Park family’s final batch of tea. Without it, this year’s maritime trade would be in chaos.

One misstep. Total collapse.

She still hadn’t explained Park Chengjun’s situation to the family head. And now, acting on her own to assassinate an imperial official—and failing—her people in Song Yunzhi’s hands meant he could extract secrets at any moment.

As the Park family’s Third Madam, everything she did reflected on the clan.

The family head had not yet decided to break with the imperial court. If she caused an incident now, even if the government didn’t kill her, the family would discard her.

Qian Tong seemed to sense her turmoil and offered softly,
“I’ve been to that dungeon before. I know the layout well. If you need, I can show you the way.”

Then she added,
“Once you survive this disaster, I’m willing to join forces with you. Together we can wipe out that mountain stronghold. Frankly, the Qian family has lost too much lately. We’re exhausted.”

Third Madam eyed her warily. “And you’re so kind as to help me?”

Qian Tong’s expression cooled.
“I’m doing this not for you, Third Madam… but for Mingyi’s sake.”