A catty holds sixteen taels, and a string of coins weighs five catties. Even a strong man who could eat five bowls of dry rice at a sitting, carrying money on his back in a satchel, could bear at most twenty strings before walking out the door—any more than that, and he simply couldn’t carry it.

Early in the morning, the Tan family turned out as a whole, taking over the second floor of the old money house across from Taize Bank, setting up a table with fine tea, drinking and watching the excitement while gossiping idly.

Since this was after all a confidential matter, they had restrained themselves enough to wear plain cloth, but with the whole family turning out at once, the commotion was still considerable—anyway, everyone who should come had come.

Since the day before, the area by Taize Bank’s entrance had been packed with brawny men carrying bulging satchels on their backs, looking utterly fearsome.

Fearsome as they looked, they were all patrons here to deliver money.

No one knew where such men came from—they simply appeared row after row from every street and alley. There was a particular way of carrying money on one’s back: hands couldn’t be placed carelessly, they had to stay behind the back, and everyone had to walk briskly while watching the person ahead, following a team leader at the front.

Once these men arrived, their eyes never left the money, and they waited anxiously in line, wondering whether Taize Bank would open its vault to accept deposits today. With so many people, things grew chaotic—men gathered together had something of the air of wild ducks laying eggs together on a riverbank.

The matter of the Little Tan King had, through the efforts of various parties to publicize it, become the largest gambling operation in Daliang since its founding—a situation that a million strings of cash couldn’t suppress, since the stakes here started at ten million strings.

This bet was so large that even the Ministry of Finance couldn’t produce that much ready cash, which made the elderly official Wen Fengshu green with envy.

After an entire night of biting wind, Taize Bank opened for business, not daring to slight its visiting patrons. With no one yet accepting the wager, the house didn’t dare let its benefactors go hungry either—they’d rented out two nearby food stalls, hired dozens of master chefs to run the great pots, continuously cooking bean rice to keep everyone fed. Even those with no interest in Taize Bank’s business could come and eat their fill if they wished.

Around the end of the Chen hour, the idle onlookers loitering at Taize Bank’s entrance suddenly split into two sides, cheering in hushed voices, faces unable to hide their excitement, calling out loudly as they cleared a wide path.

From a distance came Taize Bank’s owner, Ping Shen, along with the three great managers of the Qing’an Prefecture Chamber of Commerce, and altogether twelve managers from the three great houses of Dongchuan—a sight that made clear a major player was entering the game today.

The Tan family’s Second Elder Master, Tan Weizheng, was putting on quite an air—shoulder cocked at an angle, a look of disdain on his face, holding a wine pot in one hand, foot propped on the windowsill, eating chestnuts while the family’s Fifth Grandfather peeled them for him.

This man had originally been a top young master of Yandu, but a few years of misfortune had taught him how to put on such airs.

Fifth Grandfather tossed half a handful of chestnut shells down toward the floor below, muttering with disdain: “Look at him—just days ago he was like a turtle hiding in its shell, not even daring to open his door. Now that he’s gotten something out of our family, he’s come to put on a show.”

As he spoke, the great managers arrived at the shop entrance.

Leading the group, Ping Shen carried an incense burner, pausing with each step as he walked in. Behind him, the managers from each house formed two lines—one carrying roosters, the other leading live goats—all this livestock destined to be slaughtered right at Taize Bank’s entrance, offered up to the traveling deities of fortune so the vault could properly open to receive money.

The court paid it no mind, but to men of business, this was a matter of heaven-sized importance.

Since the stakes these past days had grown so enormous, the Ping family didn’t dare handle the collection alone. They’d invited the most senior and prestigious elders from the Yandu Chamber of Commerce to serve as witnesses and co-guarantors.

This served two purposes: first, to guarantee the fairness of the wager, and second—from now until the imperial edict was issued tomorrow morning—each of these managers would personally guard one of the money vaults, with a hundred coins owed for every coin lost.

Ah well, it was really just theater, the same show performed every time, as if without performing it, the whole thing wouldn’t feel legitimate.

Tan Weizheng, having seen through all this pretense, snorted through his nose: “Of course. Without us, that family’s very signboard wouldn’t survive.”

Watching this performance here was simply disgusting.

Just as he spoke, the ceremony below began—sacrificing chickens and goats in a burst of red, and once finished, a man with a booming voice stood at the entrance and called out loudly: “Changshun year eleven, Taize requests good fortune~! Five directions, four quarters~ increase blessings and prosperity, wealth position northwest, we bow to Ancestor Bai! Wealth position southwest, we bow to Duanmu! Wealth position northeast, we bow to Ancestor Li! Wealth position southeast, we bow to Ancestor Guan…”

With each cry, people filled the streets and alleys, kneeling in prayer for riches—even the Tan family members upstairs knelt piously, silently making their vows, waiting for tomorrow to count their winnings and fulfill their promises.

Who doesn’t love money?

As the tea and sacrificial offerings were all presented, a line of ox carts decorated with red flowers arrived at the mouth of the alley, hauling great money chests painted in vermillion lacquer with red nails, the carts rattling with the sound of coins as their wheels turned.

As each cart from the gambling house passed by one after another, idle onlookers in the capital began calling out the count—one cart of money, two carts of money… by the time thirty carts had passed, no one could keep track of exactly how much had been brought, only that it was an enormous amount, enough to pile into a mountain of coin.

These money chests were being hauled in to be counted in Taize Bank’s main hall. By custom, the house didn’t accept gold or silver—only copper coins.

Why was that? To guard against thieves. Consider it: with a sum of tens of millions of strings, filling at least ten rooms, gold and silver would be far too easy to steal. But with copper coins, even the most fearsome bandit, no matter how much he could carry on his shoulders or drag with horses, would eventually reach his limit.

My word, everyone in Yandu who could come today had their eyes opened wide. When had anyone ever seen so much money? So much that it hardly seemed like money anymore.

This great ox cart convoy made one trip and left with empty carts—today there would be at least six such trips, taking all morning to empty a single old estate’s money vault outside Yandu.

Watching just the first cart leave, one of the Tan family members sighed: “Say what you will, this Wu Xiu really is a capable man. How did he earn all this money, do you suppose?”

Box after box was opened right at the entrance of the trading house, with each family’s managers bringing their clerks to count the contents on the spot before storing them, cart after cart taking their turn—counting and storing the money alone was enough to exhaust a person.

Wealthy as the Tan family was, they’d never seen a scene like this either, and they too watched from the second floor, mouths agape. Thinking of how tomorrow, once they’d won, they would come to collect—and the amount would double—their hearts blossomed with joy.

Everyone else was delighted, but Tan Weitong, who had sold his own son the day before, was not in such good spirits. Still, he finally rose and walked over, and the Tan family, treating him as their head, all stepped back to give him the best spot at the window.

Tan Weitong glanced twice, not at the money chests, but at the brawny men flashing in and out along both sides of the alley, watching their bulging satchels. Only this brought him a measure of comfort. He thought to himself—hmph, wealth is but a thing outside the body, it turns the hearts and minds of ordinary men upside down, but… is that all it amounts to?

He, after all, could hold himself with composure—the old Tan family had been wealthy since the founding of the dynasty, and he’d seen grander things than this.

After watching for a while, Tan Weitong turned to look back at the Tan clan members. Everyone understood at once, and together they rose and withdrew to give him privacy.

At certain times, this sort of hierarchy of status ran in the Tan family’s very bones—Fifth Grandfather, though an elder, dared not meddle in matters of the main line. When the men of the main line had confidential matters to discuss, even he dared not listen in.

The old Tan family had always kept such rules.

A grumbling, irritable sound came to his ear, and Tan Weitong turned his face with clear distaste to scold: “Second Brother, how did you turn out like this?”

Tan Weizheng gave an ingratiating smile and set down the wine pot, offering to peel chestnuts for his elder brother. Tan Weitong pushed him away in disgust, and Weizheng simply ate them himself instead, asking: “Brother, once things settle tomorrow, is this money truly going to Wu Xiu?”

Cart after cart gleamed with oil and glimmered brightly, coins clinking jade-green and crisp—it was enough to make one’s heart ache just watching.

Tan Weitong remained calm, looking down below as he said: “It’s a matter of a single sheet of paper. Hmph—all these years, the foreign horses, gemstones, and spices coming into Yandu have all been smuggled in by that fellow. He does have some ability, I’ll grant him that, but his heart is not upright.”

When he said “a single sheet of paper,” Tan Weizheng understood at once—this referred to the imperial edict once matters were settled. In short, repaying the money was out of the question; a token gesture of appeasement would suffice.

What’s more, Tan Weitong believed he himself would ascend the throne sooner or later, and as for that ugly creature Wu Ling—was she fit to be Empress? Father did have some proper considerations, and though she couldn’t ultimately be put to death, deposing her and confining her would be enough to settle the debt.

As for the boy Xingye—last night, unable to sleep, Tan Weitong had thought it over. After all, the child was his own flesh and blood, even if he’d been raised badly by the Wu family. As a father, he could at least give him Jindian—that much, at least, would settle things fairly between them.

Such was the fate shared between father and son, and no more than that.

With this thought, he instructed Tan Weizheng: “Second Brother, you’re no longer young—you need to show some responsibility. Once tomorrow comes, whatever roots that Wu Xiu still has, you’re to accompany him a couple more times. After all… the affairs of state are difficult, and public sentiment is like a scale—tip it slightly and chaos follows. Understand?”

Tan Weizheng immediately straightened and assented.

Outside the old estate’s money vault, Wu Xiu sat upon a Luohan bed, drinking wine and eating meat on one side while watching others empty his vault on the other.

No one could detect the slightest reluctance in him—he’d come early that morning himself, bringing men to open the secret vault and let the Tan family have their way with it.

It was the idle hangers-on who followed Wu Xiu who couldn’t bear to let go—they’d first made a scene with him over it, but Wu Xiu had simply had them driven out.

This band of scoundrels had never seen so much money before, and it drove them half-mad—they refused to leave no matter what, and were beaten and chased off.

Among them was Tao Jizong’s father, who took a club straight to the face and lost his front teeth.

Once outside, he found a spot and, weeping and wailing to a group of old associates, said: “Brothers! All these years, we’ve bled and sweated following this Wu Xiu, doing work that risks our very necks. And now, when he’s about to make a fortune, he takes care of his in-laws first, while we who worked and risked our lives for him are treated like dog shit!”

Someone immediately cried out in indignation: “That’s absolutely wrong! What, kicking down the ladder after crossing the river? I say he doesn’t want to live anymore!”

In truth, what did Wu Xiu’s money have to do with them at all? In the past they’d simply tagged along for food and drink, earning a little running errands, which had felt comfortable enough—but even they hadn’t known Wu Xiu possessed such an enormous vault.

Now, seeing the Tan family come to collect the money and empty the vault, this group felt they too deserved some benefit. Sudden wealth had gone straight to their heads—when it came to money, men could turn mad in an instant.

Even the Heavenly King himself couldn’t stop them today!

In truth, none of them were decent men to begin with. Seeing that Wu Xiu meant to cast them all aside, they began gathering in secret to plot…

Leaving aside these unfortunate wretches, Wu Xiu at last stood alone in the empty underground vault. He looked around in every direction, then let out a long cry—wuxiu~!

The vault echoed back at him. After crying out, he began to laugh uproariously, finally lying down on the ground and rolling with laughter. When he finished laughing… he lay there dazed and silent as a fool.

Afterward, his personal guard came and whispered in his ear. He rose, dusted himself off and straightened his clothes, and once finished, earnestly asked his guard: “How do I look?”

The guard smiled, though his tone carried a note of bitterness: “My lord is naturally as fine and handsome a young gentleman as ever.”

Wu Xiu pointed at him, laughing and cursing: “Fine and handsome young gentleman, my foot—I’m old now, still thinking of ten years ago? A cripple missing fingers on both hands, and I’m still a fine young gentleman? What nonsense!”

With that, he clasped his hands behind his back and left the money vault, now without a single coin to its name, taking a side path to a pavilion outside the old estate.

The pavilion by the water was tranquil, bamboo breezes brushing past, the terrace beautiful—slender hands upon a zither should have made for something graceful and gentle, but today it was instead a wild, drunken tune.

Wu Xiu approached, smiling, leaning against the railing, lifting a wine jug to drink as he listened, growing half-drunk. There, the beauty had just finished venting her frustration on the strings, and glancing sideways, he saw her fingers were streaked with blood.

Swaying, he rose and went to kneel beside her, reaching out with his maimed hand to take her jade-smooth one, kissing away the blood.

At last, the beauty raised her head—she was none other than Zhang Baojin, the beloved concubine of Tan Weitong.

She looked at Wu Xiu as though watching a joke and said: “I heard a bad man was about to die, so I came to offer my congratulations.”

Hearing this, Wu Xiu laughed heartily, and once he finished laughing, he looked at Zhang Baojin and asked: “Can you bear to part with me?”

Zhang Baojin only laughed: “Part with you? Why wouldn’t I be able to? Whose fault is it that I was blind, that my heart was clouded, that I once treasured a beast like you? One kneel, one cry from him, and my whole life was ruined—what else can be done? I can only be done with you.”

Wu Xiu gazed at her with deep tenderness, reaching out to stroke her face: “Still want to leave?”

Zhang Baojin only shook her head: “Leave for where? This filthy body of mine—wherever I go, I’d only dirty someone else’s ground. If I were to leave, it should have been the day my younger brother came to ransom me… instead I bitterly deceived him, faking my death, cheating him out of his tears for nothing.”

Wu Xiu gazed at her in a daze: “I’ll wait for you down below, all right?”

Zhang Baojin only laughed, shaking her head very seriously: “Back then, when he defiled me, I said I would go down and wait for you—you wouldn’t agree. Now… I don’t want to wait for you anymore!”

She stretched out her hand and flung away Wu Xiu’s maimed one, but he choked back his tears and seized hold of her again, and paying no mind to her struggles, stuffed a small cloth bundle into her hand, saying: “Very well, if you won’t wait, you won’t wait. A’Jin, listen to me…”

Zhang Baojin suddenly cried out, her voice tearing with anguish: “If you die, then die! Why bother provoking me now? Ten years—now you think of me? What do you want from me now? Wu Xiu… do you have no heart at all? I begged you like that, and you could still let it go? You’re not human!”

“That’s right, I’m not human!” Wu Xiu said, stroking her head as he pleaded: “Just listen to me. A’Jin, I don’t have much time left. This is what I’ve left for you in Jindian—I have a coin-minting operation there, and… there’s still some family wealth left. Tomorrow, once things come to light, take your younger brother and hide, go far, far away—that money will be enough for the two of you to live on for the rest of your lives. A’Jin… in our next life…”

He tried to kiss her, but Zhang Baojin slapped him hard across the face.

Wu Xiu froze in place. Zhang Baojin lifted her skirt and stood, taking a few steps away, then turning back to pick up the cloth bundle with a cold laugh: “Next life? Wu Xiu, in the next life I won’t sell myself to you again! Let’s stop performing for each other. Ten years ago I hadn’t seen the world and fell for your trap—but now, my dear, I’ve seen everything there is to see. And you still expect me to wait for you? Feh!”

The beauty spat in his face.

Wu Xiu didn’t move at all.

Zhang Baojin, with a cold smile, glanced at the bundle and hefted it, saying with disdain: “Consider this… payment for delivering your messages all this time. And here I thought you wanted to say something meaningful to me—it’s just this same old thing again! Feh…”

That woman’s heart was hard as iron, having learned from him to be as heartless as he was—she took the payment and turned to leave without a backward glance.

Only once the fragrance of her had faded did Wu Xiu cover his chest, his lips trembling, and say with a bitter smile: “I wasn’t lying to you… I really was going to wait for you… ah, well, forget it!”

Swaying, he made his way back to the old estate, only to find it now a scene of scattered corpses—the idle scoundrels he’d spoiled with greed had gone mad and stormed in, killing and ransacking, finally finding him and charging forward brandishing weapons… they meant to threaten him…

Wu Xiu bared his teeth in a grin and staggered forward, seeking out the worst of them among the group, grabbing hold of the man’s blade with his bare hand and driving it straight into his own stomach… in an instant… all fell silent.

The twenty-ninth day of the sixth month, the eleventh year of Changshun.

Early that morning, the prisoners of war from Western Tan were dragged up one by one and sent by Daliang soldiers to be washed in a great pool at the western edge of the prison.

After all, this was a matter of appearing before the Emperor, and however wretched these fellows were, they needed to be at least somewhat clean.

The Little Tan King hadn’t seen sunlight in a long while, and the moment he emerged, his eyes filled with tears. He raised a hand to shield the bright light, and only after a long while did he dare tremble his eyelids open to greedily take in the sight around him.

What beautiful colors this human world held.

Like cattle and horses, they were dragged to a massive pool of water and driven in to wash themselves like livestock.

The Little Tan King simply spread his hands and stood motionless, letting his subordinate wash him. As this happened, he muttered something in a low voice in his native tongue to them. His subordinate started in alarm and shook his head, was scolded again, and still refused—so the Little Tan King kicked him straight into the pool.

The watching soldiers grew angry and came forward with whips to strike the Little Tan King several times.

Daliang held a blood feud with these beasts, and the soldiers struck without mercy. The Little Tan King made no attempt to dodge, taking the blows one after another, his eyes watching his most trusted man like a starving wolf.

The man hesitated, but at last, gritting his teeth with tears in his eyes, bowed his head to him in assent.

The Little Tan King grinned with delight, laughing loudly, then raised a hand and stuffed something into his mouth, swallowing it forcibly. Finally spreading his hands wide, he laughed and called out: “Quickly, wash this king clean—this king is going to meet his divine father!”

Tao Jizong stood outside the courtyard, watching this scene coldly. Only after the Little Tan King had swallowed whatever it was did he give a faint snort and turn, waving his hand.

At this, soldiers brought forward the Tan people’s own clothing, prepared in advance, so that once the Tan people had washed clean, they could change back into their homeland’s garments…

Tao Jizong led the Tan people out from the Ministry of Justice’s prison. As they passed a row of standing cages by the entrance, someone suddenly cried out in anguish: “Jizong! My son! I am your father! I’ve been wronged, Tao Jizong—your father has been wronged… I didn’t kill anyone! Wronged!!”

Tao Jizong walked past coldly, without even turning his head.

That day, Daliang’s Emperor Wu, Yang Zao, wore his magnificent twelve-emblem ceremonial robes and sat upon his throne wearing his most solemn ceremonial crown.

Not only the Emperor—every official at court that day had donned their most solemn court attire, civil and military officials alike standing in ranks to the left and right of the throne hall, determined to impress the Little Tan King with such awe that he would come to fear Daliang.

The Emperor and his officials were so united in this display, yet there was one out of step—the Second Prince, Yang Zhen, who tugged excitedly at Tan Weixin, tilting his head toward him with his face full of excitement.

Tan Weixin startled, then quietly stepped out of line to follow him toward the back of the hall. The other officials didn’t dare move, but these two clearly knew the unspoken rules.

Here, the Emperor above couldn’t see them.

The two made their way to a secluded spot, where Tan Weixin asked in confusion: “Second Prince, is something the matter?”

Yang Zhen’s face showed a look of slight embarrassment as he smiled: “I say, brother-in-law, how is it you didn’t send word about your family’s fortune? After all, I’m your own true brother-in-law, through and through.”

The moment he said this, panic flashed across Tan Weixin’s face. In his heart he cursed a thousand curses, but he still had to force a smile and say: “No, no—how would I dare get involved in such matters? My family and I aren’t even close, as you well know. His Majesty despises such things most of all—this is just some idle relatives of my clan causing trouble…”

Yang Zhen sneered: “Cut the nonsense. In the old days, when I looked out for you, you weren’t like this. I say, Old Tan Three—do you think just because you stand at my father the Emperor’s side now, you’ve climbed the social ladder?”

Tan Weixin’s face turned pale, and he was about to kneel, but Yang Zhen grabbed his hand instead and pressed a piece of paper into it, saying: “Enough, enough—would I really quibble with my own family? Take it! I’ve got matters to attend to on my end—that’s settled then!”

With that, he walked off. Once he was far away, Tan Weixin opened the paper and looked—his face turned even paler.

Without a hint of courtesy, the man had written him an IOU for two million strings of cash.

One look and he understood exactly what this meant—though his family had found others to front for their gambling operation, anyone with real ability, given enough effort, could surely trace it back to being his family’s wager.

There was no time to buy in now—the man had simply extorted him.

Writing an IOU for two million strings counted as buying into the venture today. If the Little Tan King was pardoned, he would owe this man four hundred million strings in return.

See there—the human world always had its exceptional cases, where a single sheet of paper could be exchanged for four hundred million strings.

His heart burning with resentment, teeth grinding, Tan Weixin wished he could pull out a blade that very instant and charge up to the golden hall to hack Second Yang into mincemeat!

But did he dare? He didn’t dare. He simply stood there foolishly until the eunuchs outside cracked their whips and the palace drums sounded together outside the gate—only then did he suppress his fury, forcing out a smile as he trotted back into the golden hall.

He’d just taken his place when he noticed the Emperor’s ceremonial crown shift slightly—as though he were looking at him?

He gave an involuntary shudder.

The Little Tan King alone was led into the Daliang palace.

The whole way, he looked left and right, his eyes full of greed as he took in the sights, thinking… Daliang truly was a fine place. Look at this Daliang palace—its splendor rivaled even the Sun Palace, gleaming gold everywhere… how wonderful. Someday, once his Zhuolüzhi had become the King of Gongji Tan, he would sooner or later conquer this land… and dye it all red…

Lost in these pleasant thoughts as he entered the golden hall, he suddenly found himself stunned.

Daliang’s might pressed down upon him wave after wave, and his knees weakened, but gritting his teeth, he held himself upright once more.

He thought—this king of Daliang was indeed a figure of great authority, but he himself was a dead man walking, so what did it matter?

The Little Tan King put on a fierce, defiant air, walking step by step down to the base of the golden steps, stopping there, looking around provocatively in every direction.

Tao Jizong, who had escorted him up to the hall, wore an expression of cold indifference. Reaching the steps, he knelt solemnly in salute, but the Little Tan King behind him refused to kneel.

Instantly, the civil and military officials on both sides erupted in fury, shouting together with authority: “Kneel! Kneel! Kneel…!”

The plan for the day had been for the Little Tan King to arrive, confess his crimes with a bow, after which an official would read out Daliang’s imperial edict granting him mercy and permission to return home—after which this wretch would go back to his own land, to fight to the death with his own clansmen over the position of King of Gongji Tan.

But this barbarian refused to kneel even in death, standing there arrogant and unruly, baring his teeth at the Daliang officials on either side.

Tao Jizong, enraged, spun and drove a kick into his stomach. The Little Tan King flew backward, and as he struggled to rise again, the imperial guards of the golden hall moved in to pin him down.

This man had some brute strength in him, and with death already in his heart, he summoned all his force and knocked two guards flying. More men rushed over, seven or eight hands grabbing at him, trying to force him to kneel, but the Little Tan King suddenly cried out to the Emperor of Daliang: “You are a king! I too am a king… I cannot kneel to you…”

The guards moved to cover his mouth, but Emperor Wu spoke solemnly: “Release him.”

The guards let go at once, and the Little Tan King, freed, laughed loudly again, calling out to the Emperor of Daliang: “Hey, why don’t you come down and fight me one round? Feh… don’t you dare? I will bring my sons, and sooner or later, trample your lands flat…”

Emperor Wu had gained the world on horseback not many years past, and to him, a man of this sort’s life or death was a matter settled with a single word. As for the imperial edict, as for future plans—was there anything more important than an emperor’s dignity?

There was not.

Before the Little Tan King could finish his ranting, Emperor Wu said calmly: “Take him out. Execute him.”

He didn’t even seem angry.

At this single word “execute,” Tan Weixin felt as though struck by lightning, his whole body going rigid, staring blankly as the old executioner entered and several men lifted the Little Tan King and carried him out…

Outside the Meridian Gate of the Daliang palace, the Little Tan King stood as Chen Dasheng whispered in his ear. He knelt down crisply, and facing the direction of Western Tan, cried out loudly: “Zhuolüzhi!!”

The blade fell, the head rolled to the ground… Chen Dasheng bent down, lifted the severed head, and walked slowly back into the Daliang palace, to present this head to his own king.