Born to Be Either Rich or Noble - Chapter 9

When Song Yunzhi opened his eyes again, it was the dead of night.

The enchantress was nowhere to be seen. Only A’Jin was stationed by his bedside—a wall of flesh that blocked nearly all the lamplight in the room, arms folded, dozing where he stood.

Song Yunzhi reached for his sword.

But after the agony he’d endured earlier, his body was still weak. Before he could even touch the blade, his movements stirred A’Jin awake. Seeing that he was conscious, A’Jin rubbed his face, then hurriedly held out a piece of sweet cake that had already gone cold. “My lady said cold sweet cakes have a flavor of their own.”

The memories of humiliation surged back in vivid, crushing detail.

This was likely the first time in his life that Song Yunzhi had ever hated someone—truly, viscerally hated someone—and that someone was a young woman.

He wanted nothing more than to flay her alive.

A’Jin yawned, exhaustion tugging at his heavy eyelids. “Since you’re awake, Young Master, I’ll go sleep a bit.” He rubbed his sore legs, pressed a hand to his back, and shuffled toward the side room. “After you finish the sweet cake, get some rest…”

As soon as he left, the lamp by the bed was no longer obscured. Its faint glow cut across the young man’s face—sharp as a blade, pale as snow.

The night stretched endlessly. Song Yunzhi felt no trace of sleepiness. After battling the silence for what felt like forever, he finally picked up the hardened sweet cake and bit into it—one small, deliberate bite after another.

What he had suffered today, he swore he would one day repay upon that demoness tenfold.

The next morning, Qian Tong asked A’Jin, “Did he eat the sweet cake?”

A’Jin nodded. “He did. I saw the Young Master finish the whole thing—not even a crumb left.”

Whether the lesson from last night had sunk in remained to be seen. Today, the Cui and Lan families were finalizing their engagement. Qian Tong planned to attend the festivities—and conveniently take him along to “broaden his horizons.”

“Bring him the new clothes I had made,” she said. “Tell him to clean up—we’re going out.”

Song Yunzhi had slept half the night, but lay awake through the rest of it, sitting motionless until dawn. Fortunately, he was still young—his spirit unbroken despite his exhaustion.

The first light of morning spilled into the room. A’Jin carried in a large bucket of water, poured it into the bath, and came out to say respectfully, “Please bathe, Young Master Song.”

Song Yunzhi didn’t so much as lift his eyelids.

Seeing no movement, A’Jin rubbed his hands together nervously. “Shall I help you undress, Young Master?”

“Leave.”

The single word, cold and commanding, froze A’Jin mid-step. He looked toward the disheveled young man sitting on the bed—and despite himself, felt a shiver run through him. The mistress has a sharp eye, he thought.

In sheer presence alone, the fallen Young Master Song was far more imposing than the pampered young heir of the Lan family.

But throwing tantrums would do him no good. “You’d best wash up, Young Master,” A’Jin urged. “It’s been two days since you’ve changed clothes. You reek—and my lady can’t exactly bring you out like that, can she?”

Once, as the heir of the Marquis of Changping’s household, Song Yunzhi had been raised in utter refinement.

Before he turned sixteen, no speck of dust had ever touched his robes. He had over a dozen servants attending to him at all times, bathed twice daily, and had his garments perfumed three times per wash.

Even after he joined the army, drenched in blood and mud, to others he remained that untouched snow upon the mountain—the clean, shining embodiment of purity and pride.

No one had ever called him “smelly” before.

Yet compared to last night’s humiliation, this was nothing. With eyes closed, he rose and went to the bath.

A’Jin exhaled in relief and handed him a set of newly made silk robes. “When you’re done bathing, please change into these, Young Master Song.”

Song Yunzhi turned his head, casting him a frosty glance.

A’Jin was long accustomed to those icy looks—and truthfully, he thought the young master looked even more handsome when angry. Grinning, he extended the clothes again. “Can’t waste a good bath, can we?”

Song Yunzhi didn’t reply. He snatched the clothes from A’Jin’s hands and disappeared into the bath chamber.

When he emerged, he was dressed in a long robe of fine Song brocade—its fabric as exquisite as the garment the enchantress had worn when they first met. The inner and outer layers fit perfectly, as though tailored for him alone.

A noble heir like him had worn every kind of luxurious silk imaginable, so nothing about the attire impressed him. But to others, the sight was breathtaking.

The moment A’Jin saw him, his mouth fell open. His plain, unrefined mind could only come up with one phrase—a pearl, polished once more.

Yes, this was what a cleaned, unburied jewel must look like.

Still staring, A’Jin backed toward the door. “Y-Young Master Song, please wait a moment. I—I’ll go inform my lady.”

He turned—and nearly collided with Qian Tong, who was already standing in the doorway.

Today, her hair was unbound, cascading down her back like a river of black silk. She wore a gauzy green robe embroidered with autumn chrysanthemums, the soft fabric drifting around her like mist, light catching the ends of her ribbons until she seemed almost otherworldly.

A perfect pair—golden boy and jade maiden, A’Jin thought with a thrill of awe.

“Seventh Lady,” he stammered, “the Young Master just finished changing—”

But she had already seen.

And the handsome young man inside had already turned his gaze upon her.

Morning light flooded between them. He stood in shadow, his expression cold as frost. She stood bathed in sunlight, her eyes bright and dazzling.

Song Yunzhi’s face remained impassive as she approached him with the poise of a victor. “Have you had breakfast?” she asked with false concern.

In daylight, the chill that had clung to her face the night before was gone. She looked once again like an innocent, spirited young lady—soft-spoken and kind. As if the person who had ruthlessly struck him down last night had never existed.

He was about to turn his head away when she commanded lightly, “You’re not allowed to sulk. No scowling. And don’t you dare look away from me.”

His eyelids twitched. The pain from last night burned fresh in his memory; her cruelty still coiled in his chest. But silently reminding himself the bigger picture matters, he stiffened his posture and refrained from showing his back to her.

That alone was concession enough. Qian Tong hadn’t expected him to smile—she’d learned how to mix threat and reward. “Didn’t you want to see those ledgers from last night?” she said sweetly. “Once we finish breakfast, I’ll take you to collect payments.”

At that, his expression eased slightly.

And her death sentence drew one step closer.

Spring was in full bloom when Qian Tong brought her new “husband” out to visit the Cui household.

At the gate, she reported the name of Cui Manor’s eldest madam—the very same woman who was the senior wife of Qian Tong’s second aunt.

The Qian family’s legitimate eldest daughter.

Among the four great houses of Yangzhou, only the Pu family held unchallenged dominance. The other three—Qian, Cui, and Lu—competed constantly, their mistresses and servants alike locked in quiet rivalry and suspicion.

So when the Cui family’s gatekeeper saw Qian Tong, he tensed as though facing an enemy and refused to let her in.

Just the previous morning, the Cui master and his wife had gone to call upon the Prefect. Their conversation had gone exceedingly well. After two years of vying with the Qian family for this marriage alliance, the Cui family had finally secured it.

Striking while the iron was hot, Madam Cui had invited the Prefect’s wife and young son to a grand engagement banquet at their manor that very day.

There were plenty of guests—but not one from the Qian family.

And now Qian Tong herself had shown up? Surely, she meant to make trouble.

The gatekeeper quietly sent word inside while keeping his tone polite. “Please wait a moment, Seventh Lady. The manor is busy today, but I’ll send word to the madam right away.”

While waiting, the servant’s eyes drifted toward the young man standing behind her.

Where had such a handsome gentleman come from? His bearing was elegant and proud, his posture upright like a pine in snow. The sheer nobility of his presence made it hard to look away. The servant frowned slightly—he’d never seen this man with the Seventh Lady before.

A short while later, a maid named Peony—servant to the sixth young lady of the Cui family—hurried out, her face glowing with cheer. Clearly, good news had left the whole household in high spirits.

“They said the Seventh Lady was here,” she laughed. “I didn’t believe it! But it really is you. My lady was just talking about you—afraid you’d be upset about the engagement, holding a grudge, stewing at home. She was about to come apologize in person, but now that you’re here, that saves her the trouble! Please, come in!”

The smugness in her voice was obvious. Qian Tong had seen that expression a hundred times before and couldn’t be bothered to react. “Just passing by,” she said mildly. “Thought I’d drop in on my dear elder sister.”

“Ah… the eldest madam,” Peony said with a faint grimace, a trace of disdain flickering in her eyes. “Her health’s been poor lately—caught a chill this spring, and she’s still resting. Since you’re here, no need to rush. Why not have a cup of wedding wine in the courtyard first?”

Which, of course, was exactly why Qian Tong had come. “Thank you for the hospitality,” she said smoothly.

The Cui family’s engagement banquet boasted dozens of tables, all fully occupied. Every guest had received a formal invitation, each seat carefully assigned. Qian Tong had come uninvited—naturally, there was no place reserved for her.

Peony led her straight into the crowd and then deliberately left her standing there. “Please wait here, Seventh Lady. I’ll ask the madam to add another seat for you.”

A troupe of performers had been hired for the event, their stage set up conveniently beside where Qian Tong stood. But the moment she appeared, every gaze that had been fixed on the opera turned toward her—and toward the man standing silently at her side.

“Am I seeing things? Isn’t that Qian Seventh Lady?” a woman nearby whispered. The Prefect’s wife, who had been listening to Madam Cui’s commentary on the tea, turned her head.

Indeed—it was the Qian family’s Seventh Lady.

Just two days ago, she had visited the Qian estate, thinking the Prefect’s family would be marrying into that house. Yet at the last moment, the match had shifted to the Cuis.

She’d made inquiries afterward and learned it had been this very Seventh Lady’s decision.

Most likely, the young woman had balked after the Prefect’s son’s past scandal involving a servant’s death. Back then, the Prefect’s wife had thought Qian Seventh Lady seemed a bit too young, perhaps too naive to understand gain and loss. Seeing her now, that impression deepened.

“And who is he?” the Prefect’s wife asked curiously, nodding toward the man beside Qian Tong.

Sitting nearby, Young Master Lan had already noticed the pair. His neck was craned, his gaze fixed on them as if bewitched—an image of perfection, radiant as a scene painted under sunlight.

Madam Cui exchanged glances with her sixth daughter, both wearing polite confusion. They truly didn’t recognize the man. “Oh dear,” she said lightly, “I have no idea who he is.”

But she immediately sent servants to find out whether the Qian family had recently taken in a new “guest.”

Perhaps the girl really had come to cause a scene.

As the hosts remained seated and no one came to receive her, Qian Tong and the young man by her side became an unspoken spectacle—an uninvited drama unfolding beside the stage.

Under the weight of so many stares, Qian Tong tilted her head and murmured to the unwilling young man beside her, “Not fond of being stared at?”

He glanced down at her.

Leaning closer—her head just reaching his chin—she whispered softly, “You’d better get used to it. There’ll be plenty more occasions like this. Don’t be afraid. Stay with me—I’ll show you the world.”