Born to Be Either Rich or Noble - Chapter 8

As they went downstairs, Fu Yin couldn’t help tugging lightly on Qian Tong’s sleeve. “My lady, did you see Young Master Lan’s face?” It had gone white, then green, then red—she could hardly bear to look.

Who cared about his face? Just because he had a magistrate for a father, everyone catered to him and flattered him. Qian Tong refused to play along. What she didn’t expect was that the long-overdue debt would actually be paid—Lan the Young Master had truly handed over the money, dazed and all.

A very pleasant surprise.

“Lady Qian.” A voice called from behind.

Qian Tong turned, surprised to see the young man hurrying after her. “Does Young Master Lan still have business with me?” she asked, puzzled.

Lan hesitated for a while before finally summoning the courage, his face flushed red as he stammered, “Y-you… before… did you ever… like me?”

The sentimental young man looked heartbroken, as though if she shook her head, he might burst into tears right there.

A cousin here, a Lady Cui there—didn’t he already have enough women stirring up drama around him? Why did he think every girl had to like him? He wasn’t gold or silver for everyone to covet.

Still, with that thick wad of banknotes tucked warm inside her sleeve—each one worth at least ten taels—it was clear Young Master Lan had emptied his coffers for her.

If he were a stack of notes instead of a man, there’d be nothing more to discuss. Qian Tong lowered her gaze slightly and sighed, her tone full of helplessness. “Young Master Lan, it’s all in the past.”

Lan’s eyes welled up at once. The faint affection he’d once felt for her swelled into a painful regret that clogged his chest and stirred an urge to protect her. “Don’t worry, Lady Qian. When the imperial envoys from Jinling arrive in a few days, I’ll speak well of your family before them.”

He was so sincere, he moved even himself.

Unfortunately, those who were quickest to make promises were often the least able to fulfill them. The rules of survival had never been built on kind words—profit outweighed everything.

Qian Tong smiled faintly and bowed. “Many thanks, Young Master Lan. When you marry, I’ll bring a generous gift and come for a cup of your wedding wine.”

By the time they left the teahouse, the sun was already slanting west. Fu Yin went to call for the carriage. “The other ladies must’ve left when they couldn’t find you, my lady. We should go home too.”

“No rush.” Qian Tong didn’t follow. She bought several parcels of sweet cakes to take along and made a stop at the largest salt warehouse in the city.

The shopkeeper’s little daughter, six years old this year, liked to sit on the threshold. When she saw Qian Tong approaching from afar, she cheered, “Lady Qian’s here!”

Qian Tong smiled and asked, “Have you been eating properly?”

The little girl patted her round belly. “Full as can be.”

Qian Tong lifted the parcel of cakes behind her back and gave it a little shake. “Still have room for these?”

“Yes!” The girl’s eyes sparkled as she nodded eagerly.

“You did well yesterday. This is your reward.” Qian Tong handed her the cakes.

The girl was delighted. “Lady Qian, did that gentleman you mentioned recognize you?” she asked curiously.

“Mm.” Qian Tong nodded. “He’s already staying at my house.”

“Can I see him? He’s really handsome.”

Even little kids could tell beauty from plainness.

“No.” Qian Tong’s tone was calm. “He’s got a bad temper and doesn’t like children. If he sees you, he might twist your neck.”

The girl gasped and ducked her head in fright, looking just like a plump little orange cat.

Qian Tong chuckled, patting her head. “Children shouldn’t ask so many questions. Go play.”

The shopkeeper, busy in the inner courtyard counting salt jars, hurried out when he heard she’d arrived. As he straightened his rolled-up sleeves, he greeted heartily, “Lady Qian, you’re here.”

“Uncle Wang,” Qian Tong called back.

He’d been wanting to find her. The past few days, the family head had been busy arranging the magistrate’s marriage alliance and hadn’t been seen. Messages sent through several people went unanswered. Now that Qian Tong had come herself, after a few pleasantries, the shopkeeper lowered his voice. “Several stewards from the estates have been asking questions lately. Should we raise the price of salt?”

Rumors of imperial inspectors had already swept the entire city.

If the emperor was truly here to settle old scores, the Four Great Merchant Families would inevitably be in trouble. The Qian family might never receive another salt license again—this batch of salt could be their last profit. They had to seize the moment and make as much as they could.

The salt price was government-controlled, but there were always ways to make money.

“Don’t raise it,” Qian Tong said.

The shopkeeper looked at her, astonished.

“A tiny ripple, and everyone starts flapping like startled cranes. The investigation hasn’t even started, and we’re already giving them something to catch us on.” Her tone was composed, unhurried. “Please tell the other stewards that the matriarch has ordered: the salt price stays the same. If anyone dares to play tricks behind our backs, the Qian family won’t forgive them. Punish them according to the guild rules.”

Seeing the man’s hesitation, she added, “Three days from now, we’ll meet at Haitang Pavilion. If they have objections, they can tell me directly.”

The young woman spoke with quiet composure. Though barely old enough to be their granddaughter, her calm presence alone steadied those around her. Somewhere along the line, people had started calling her Little Mistress in private.

The Qian family had few men left. After the eldest branch’s tragedy, the remaining three had produced not a single male heir. The family head had finally fathered a daughter in his thirties, and his wife’s womb had been silent ever since.

He refused to take concubines, meaning the only way to continue the line would be through adoption.

The concubines of the third and fourth branches were now desperately trying to bear sons—for whoever succeeded would inherit the Qian family’s wealth.

Until then, Lady Qian was still the Little Mistress.

Uncle Wang accepted the order and sent word to the estates. When he saw that she wasn’t leaving yet, he led her to inspect the salt stockpile.

By the time she left, dusk had fallen. Qian Tong stopped by a teahouse nearby for a simple supper, then bought a few pieces of freshly steamed sweet cake at the street stall and handed them to Fu Yin. “Take these home to my husband—and tell him I won’t be home tonight.”

She wanted to see just how capable he truly was.

In a single day, Song Yunzhi had largely familiarized himself with the Qian family estate.

His quarters were next to Lady Qian’s—just one wall between them.

Because of his new title as son-in-law, servants had been coming and going all afternoon—fetching water, changing tea, scrubbing floors nonstop. He knew very well what their true purpose was, but he chose not to expose it.

He wouldn’t stoop to quarrel with commoners.

Ah Jin, the servant Qian Tong had assigned to him, became his personal attendant. Whenever someone stared too long, Ah Jin would kick them square in the backside. “What are you looking at? You think you can just stare?”

“Forgive me, Brother Jin! My mistake!” the servant yelped, rubbing his behind, though he looked more amused than repentant.

To Song Yunzhi, raised in strict aristocratic discipline, such behavior was incomprehensible. His gaze turned cold and disdainful.

Merchants would always be merchants—vulgar and without manners.

When Ah Jin saw that he preferred to drink tea alone and ignored everyone, he grew bored and wandered outside to chat with the gardener trimming the shrubs.

“How much did you lose last night?” he asked.

“What do you mean, ‘again’?”

“You and your lousy luck—bad at gambling but can’t stop doing it. Every year you end up working for our Lady Qian for free.”

“So what? Better than you, wasting your whole salary on food. Nothing left to show for it.”

“Who says nothing? Look at these arms, these legs—solid as rocks!”

Song Yunzhi couldn’t stand another word of their filthy banter. But the two men never learned to lower their voices, so finally, he stood and walked to the door.

Ah Jin froze, sleeves rolled up. “What’s wrong, Young Master Song?”

Before the question even finished, Song Yunzhi gripped the door and—bang—slammed it shut in his face.

“Did the son-in-law get mad?” one of them called teasingly through the crack.

Leaning against his forehead, Song Yunzhi wondered how he’d ended up here, suffering such torment.

He endured until nightfall. At last, the outside fell quiet.

He sat waiting in the dark, biding his time.

Near the end of the hour of the Dog, a knock sounded. “Young Master Song.”

Song Yunzhi’s eyes chilled as Ah Jin entered.

The servant ignored his frosty stare and cheerfully placed a plate of cakes before him. “My lady just bought these for you, still warm. There’s some business at the estate tonight, she’ll be back in the morning. Rest well, Young Master.”

When Song Yunzhi didn’t take them, Ah Jin simply set the plate on the small wooden table and left.

His footsteps faded into the distance. Song Yunzhi began his own plan.

He’d already mapped the household during the day—especially the study of the family head. But now wasn’t the time to alert anyone. Instead, he headed for the courtyard just beyond the wall.

He’d retrieve the ledgers he’d seen earlier and confirm the salt prices. Within two days, he intended to make the Qian family the first to be punished—an example for all.

Moving with practiced stealth, he reached the rear window of the main residence. Since the lady hadn’t returned, no lights were on inside.

As he slipped through the window under the faint moonlight, a faint, delicate fragrance met his nose—feminine, floral, utterly at odds with his own crisp scent. It reminded him of roses after a morning rain.

So, Lady Qian liked her flowers. Her courtyard was full of them—no surprise.

The darkness made it hard to tell whether her room was as extravagant as Shen Che had claimed.

Even if it was, her wealth would soon be ashes.

He began to rummage through drawers and cabinets, even checking the bed. At last, near the small table, he found a little lacquered box—inside lay the very ledgers he’d seen earlier.

Just as his fingers brushed the papers, something felt off. Before he could react, a flame flared in the darkness—lighting the face of a young woman sitting cross-legged across from him.

She was staring straight at his hand, her voice calm and cold. “I lit it for you. Take a good look.”

The sudden light froze him in place.

His fingers curled around the ledger, withdrawing slowly as his gaze met hers across the flickering firelight—her eyes dark and expressionless.

No doubt about it—he’d walked straight into her trap.

He had underestimated her vigilance.

With the mission failed, there was no point talking. He reached for the copper sword at his waist.

Still holding the flame, Qian Tong watched him unhurriedly. “Three.”

He didn’t understand what she was counting.

“Two.” A stabbing pain shot through his abdomen.

“One.”

As her final word fell, agony crashed through him like a wave. His whole body convulsed; the sword never left its sheath before his knees buckled and he collapsed.

Qian Tong rose, lit the oil lamp, and said quietly, “Did you really think I lied about the golden cicada poison?”

Song Yunzhi’s face drained of color, his meridians twisting in pain until even his pupils couldn’t focus.

Hadn’t she said the poison merely caused paralysis?

She was a liar!

Qian Tong stepped closer, lantern in hand, crouching to watch the sweat bead on his forehead. “You think I never tell the truth?” she asked softly.

Exactly.

“If you’d just eaten that sweet cake like a good boy, you wouldn’t be suffering now.” Her tone was cool as she watched him struggle. The eyes that had glowed so gently in the daylight—saying they’d live peacefully together—were now utterly devoid of warmth. “But since you didn’t, suffer you shall.”

Summoning some last trace of strength, he grabbed her wrist, eyes bloodshot from fury and pain. He wanted to kill her.

Still stubborn?

Qian Tong decided to break that spirit herself.

He was helpless now, easy to overpower. She pushed him down and seized his face between her hands, squeezing hard. “I warned you before I left today—don’t disappoint me. Yet here you are again, caught by me twice, still refusing to admit defeat… Think I’ll let you off easy? Sneaking into my room in the middle of the night to steal my ledgers—you won’t learn obedience until you’ve suffered enough!”

She wasn’t just cunning—she was cruel.

The once-proud heir of the Song family, the nation’s shining prodigy who’d never tasted failure, had never been humiliated like this. As her fingers pinched his face, white-hot fury blurred his vision.

He wanted to kill her—
To tear her apart.

“Say it—will you steal again?”

He clenched his jaw.

Qian Tong pinched harder. “If you don’t answer, you won’t get the antidote.”

“No… steal.”

He didn’t even know how the words came out. As soon as they did, his nearly shattered consciousness slipped fully into darkness.