The matter of martial arts training wasn’t especially urgent. Since everyone in the household had disapproved after seeing that little martial arts hall, it could wait for now—worst case, he could always find Guard Geng or the others back home to spar with sometime later.

Back in Jiangning, there had actually been a period when he’d considered sparring with Guard Geng and the others at home. In his own assessment, in his earlier bouts with people, what had carried him through was composure, calculation, and a willingness to go all-out when needed—what he lacked was the kind of conditioned reflex that only came from long-term sparring practice, something that couldn’t be shortcut through cleverness alone.

He also knew that seeking out a formal master to study under wasn’t really practical—someone like Alliance Leader Cheng of the Hundred Blades Alliance, for instance, or through Kang Xian he could certainly find genuinely skilled figures from the martial world—even Lu A’Gui, who served at Kang Xian’s side, was probably no simple character himself. These were people he had connections with, and formally becoming a disciple wouldn’t have been a problem in principle—but the whole idea felt off to him, more like playacting than anything serious. It wasn’t appropriate to formally trouble such people with something like that when, in his heart, he wasn’t even fully invested in it. Given the existing gap in status between scholarly and martial pursuits, if he went to formally apprentice himself while essentially signaling “I don’t actually care that much about this,” the gesture would come across as frivolous—unless it was purely among close friends or sworn brothers, that sort of thing simply wasn’t done.

Turning to people within the household was naturally simpler. He’d taught Guard Geng’s son to read, and Guard Geng respected him for it, making it awkward for the man to genuinely spar with him—though that wasn’t really a major obstacle; a bit of talking would settle it easily enough. The real issue was that everyone in the Jiangning branch of the Su family basically shared the same view as Su Tan’er and the three maids—even those who held some hostility toward him were, deep down, convinced that he simply shouldn’t be dabbling in martial arts at all.

That time, he’d managed to talk Guard Geng into it, and had more or less won over Su Tan’er’s objections as well, training for a few days at home purely on a whim. On the first day, Guard Geng couldn’t hold back and landed a punch square on his face, then flatly refused to spar with him again no matter what. It took considerable persuading to get him to agree a second time; the second day’s sparring was intense, and Ning Yi took several hits, including one to the eye that left him with a black eye he had to show off at the family dinner table that evening.

He’d been mentally prepared for the possibility of injury from sparring—his own fighting skill wasn’t particularly high to begin with, and the extreme, explosive techniques that came with his cultivated internal energy weren’t really suited to use against Guard Geng anyway. Though Guard Geng wasn’t exactly a famous figure in the martial world, he’d spent many years with the Su family and had seen plenty of real, high-stakes confrontations—supposedly, on occasions when the Su family’s goods were being escorted, Guard Geng had personally led the defense and fought off several bandit gangs head-on. The man genuinely had some skill.

For Ning Yi to spar fairly with him and produce results like this—forcing Guard Geng, at times, to lose his restraint—was actually quite impressive. He’d planned to keep this up for about half a year, and with the added benefit of his internal energy cultivation, he figured he’d eventually become something of a minor martial arts expert himself. In the process, though, poor Guard Geng suffered considerably, to the point that his own son at home asked him, “Father, how could you let Teacher get beaten up like that?”

By the third day, Guard Geng could barely bring himself to fight back properly at all. Ning Yi talked him into it once more, and the result was a punch to the bridge of the nose that left him bleeding freely, requiring a patch to stop it. The injury itself wasn’t serious, but when the old patriarch of the family saw it, he flew into a considerable rage, summoning everyone else to give them a thorough scolding: “Do you all think I’m already dead?!” The investigation eventually traced the matter back to Guard Geng, who then received his own scolding as well.

Ning Yi, upon learning what had happened, went to try to smooth things over. He was naturally quite persuasive, and generally carried an air of effortless authority in whatever he did—but on this particular matter, the whole household simply found his behavior thoroughly bizarre. They knew Ning Yi enjoyed telling tales of the martial world, but while it was one thing for a hot-blooded young man to admire the ways of wandering knights and train a little for the thrill of it, it was quite another for an already-famous scholar like Ning Yi to walk around with a bruised and bloodied face day after day. Even the old patriarch could only shake his head in exasperated amusement: “Really… what nonsense…”

Then, turning to Guard Geng: “The young master likes his nonsense, fine—but you’re an elder in this household, how could you be so thoughtless as to go along with it…”

After that, Ning Yi understood that this sort of thing wasn’t really acceptable back home in Jiangning. But this time, in Hangzhou, with only Su Tan’er and the others around, once matters had settled down, he could certainly press Guard Geng into sparring with him again—and if Su Wending or Su Wenfang had any objections, he could simply scold them and then rope them into training along with him.

Having settled this in his mind, the next morning he set out as planned to find the old gentleman surnamed Qian whom old Qin had told him about. According to what old Qin had said, the man’s name was Qian Jingru, courtesy name Xiwen—an old friend of his, a devoted lover of books, which was why he’d entrusted Ning Yi with several volumes from his own collection to pass along. Beyond that, old Qin hadn’t said much more.

Once in Hangzhou, though, Ning Yi asked around and learned that the Qian family was apparently a rather prominent clan in the city—the fact that even ordinary townspeople could readily tell him about Qian Xiwen’s trip to give lectures elsewhere was proof enough of that. Ning Yi understood well enough that Qin Siyuan’s request to deliver this letter wasn’t entirely without ulterior motive—it was, in its own way, an introduction to someone of considerable standing. But his dealings with old Qin and Kang Xian had been purely a matter of chance, and Ning Yi didn’t assume he’d always be someone the old men wanted to keep in touch with. This visit, he went with no particular expectations—simply to deliver the letter and be done with it.

That morning, he set out with Xiao Chan in tow, asking around a bit more about the Qian family along the way. He learned that the Qian family wasn’t just a prominent Hangzhou clan, but also one of the largest landowning families for miles around, reputedly worth a fortune. Hearing the surname Qian, Xiao Chan immediately conjured up an image of dazzling golden splendor in her mind, and joked about it with Ning Yi along the way.

But upon arriving at the Qian residence, they found it rather different from any image of glittering wealth. Though the walled compound clearly belonged to a family of standing, this cluster of courtyards on the eastern side of Hangzhou looked to have stood for many years—what had settled into the place wasn’t the showy air of newfound riches, but rather the discipline and simplicity of a household run with careful restraint.

Ning Yi gave his name at the gate and handed over the letter and books. The elderly gatekeeper took them inside, asking master and maid to wait briefly at the gatehouse. Before long, an elderly steward came out to receive them—not leading them to a reception hall, but instead to “the master’s study.” Along the way, Xiao Chan looked around curiously; the surrounding walls, buildings, and paths weren’t particularly grand, even somewhat more modest than the Su residence back in Jiangning, but everything about the place felt exactly right. In some spots, one could see neat, careful repairs—not shabby in the least, and many of the decorations and furnishings carried a distinctly scholarly air, the kind of subtle vitality that only comes from generations of a family living somewhere long enough.

“So this is what a prominent family’s presence looks like.” Seeing Xiao Chan looking around, Ning Yi remarked softly. The old steward leading the way clearly overheard, and his smile took on a note of pride. Xiao Chan rose slightly on her toes and whispered, “I’ve been to the Puyang residence with my mistress before, and to a prince’s estate too. Those places were beautiful, but they never felt quite like this.”

The old steward ahead nodded, his smile growing even more pleased, and he turned back to say, “The master only just returned yesterday from giving lectures in the countryside, and he’s in rather good spirits. It’s not often that someone visiting for the first time is invited straight to the study for a conversation, as you will be, Master Ning. Please feel free to be at ease with the master later.”

He evidently took Ning Yi for some younger relative or acquaintance come from elsewhere to deliver a letter and pay respects, and having formed a favorable impression of the pair, offered this bit of guidance so that Ning Yi wouldn’t be too nervous meeting his master and risk spoiling the good impression. Ning Yi nodded with a smile and offered his thanks.

The walk from the gate to Qian Xiwen’s study wasn’t especially long, but just after this exchange, as they rounded a corner along a covered walkway, a voice suddenly rang out: “Qian Weiliang! Don’t think you can run…” It sounded like the laughing taunts of young men chasing after each other. A figure suddenly came rushing around the corner, nearly colliding with Ning Yi—a young man in scholar’s robes, about the same age as Ning Yi, no more than twenty-something. Being chased, he glanced back once and hurried on past.

A moment later, another young man came running out as well, similarly aged. He froze in surprise for a moment, cupped his hands in a hasty greeting, then continued the chase—though as he ran, he kept glancing back several times, whether at Ning Yi or at Xiao Chan wasn’t clear, nearly tripping before he finally fixed his eyes forward and ran on.

“Those are the two young masters from the second branch of the family. My apologies for the disturbance, Master Ning. This way, please.”

As the old man rounded the corner, Ning Yi was just about to follow when he noticed something red lying in the grass beside the path. He picked it up and examined it—a small red coral brush rest, apparently dropped by one of the two young men just now, fortunately landing in the grass without breaking. Since the two had already run off into the distance, Ning Yi carried it along as he followed the old steward, and just as they were about to arrive, he took it out, explained how he’d found it, and asked the old steward to pass it along to the two young men. The old steward looked at the brush rest with an expression somewhere between amusement and awkwardness, and made no move to take it.

“As it happens, this isn’t something that belongs to the two young masters of the second branch at all—it’s the master’s own most treasured possession. It went missing a few days ago, and to think Master Ning would be the one to find it. Why don’t you present it to the master yourself, in person, when we arrive?”

Ning Yi frowned slightly. “Wouldn’t that be improper?” To anyone else, this might have seemed a golden opportunity to curry favor with Qian Xiwen and leave a good impression. But to Ning Yi’s mind, if this had anything to do with some internal matter within the Qian household, then he, as an outsider, should have absolutely nothing to do with it.

“No harm at all, no harm at all.”

The old steward’s smile remained genuine and sincere. Before long, they reached the courtyard where Qian Xiwen resided. Xiao Chan was shown to a room where the other servants waited outside, while Ning Yi, frowning slightly, tucked the brush rest into his sleeve. Led in by the old steward, he found the elderly man named Qian Xiwen already waiting for him inside. The man’s beard and hair were streaked with gray, neatly combed, dressed in a plain, tidy gray robe—no patches, but clearly one that had been washed many times over. He appeared to have already finished reading Qin Siyuan’s letter and was leafing through the books Ning Yi had brought. When Ning Yi entered, he greeted him warmly and invited him to sit.

“After exchanging names, it’s clear enough—we haven’t seen each other in eight years since our parting in the capital. You’ve come from Jiangning, Liheng—how is old Qin’s health these days?”

Having roughly established who Ning Yi was, Qian Xiwen asked after Qin Siyuan, treating Ning Yi as something of a junior connected to the man, inquiring about various family matters—the brothers Qin Shao and Qin Shaoqian came up as a particular focus, with the occasional wistful sigh. Ning Yi answered each question as best he knew, and before long, Qian Xiwen shifted the conversation’s direction.

“Early this summer, fighting flared up again in the north—the Jin and Liao have gone to war. When you left Jiangning, Liheng, did old Qin happen to mention anything about this matter?”

“Old Qin has gone up to the capital—by now, he’s probably already arrived.”

“Ah.”

Qian Xiwen nodded thoughtfully, giving Ning Yi a scrutinizing glance at the same time. His earlier question had been posed with considerable skill—he’d likely assumed that, as a junior relation of Qin Siyuan’s, Ning Yi wouldn’t know much about the matters that truly interested him. But Ning Yi could clearly hear what the question was really getting at, and answered without hesitation. The news of Qin Siyuan’s return to prominence hadn’t yet been made public at this point, and Ning Yi’s answer made clear that he was already aware, at the very least, of the affairs from eight years prior. Qian Xiwen mulled over the matter of Qin Siyuan for a moment, then turned to asking about Ning Yi’s own circumstances.

His family background, whether he was married, his level of scholarship—the usual questions an elder would ask a younger person. This well-read old man had, in fact, already come across several of the poems Ning Yi had written back in Jiangning, and remembered the name Ning Liheng. He’d likely already harbored some private doubts, and only now, having finished discussing Qin Siyuan, did he finally raise the question outright. Once confirmed, he made no comment on the poetry itself, asking instead what Ning Yi liked to read normally, and how he approached scholarship. Ning Yi answered that he enjoyed legends and folk tales from the streets and markets; as for scholarship, he offered only the kind of unremarkable, middle-of-the-road views he’d picked up from joking around with old Qin and old Kang—nothing that would show off, nor anything that might cause offense.

By this point, Ning Yi had a rough guess as to what old Qin’s letter must have said about him. The old man knew his temperament well enough that he certainly wouldn’t have gone overboard singing some young man’s praises in a letter. More likely, he’d simply caught up on old times with Qian Xiwen, then added a line or two at the end—something like, “A young friend is visiting Hangzhou; please look after him a little.” Old Qin had always hoped Ning Yi would pursue literary scholarship, and this old man Qian had naturally come to see him as a younger disciple arriving to study and seek guidance—hence this particular manner.

Most people, upon hearing of his poetic reputation, would have offered a few flattering words of praise. That he hadn’t done so with empty compliments was, in fact, itself a sign that he’d already taken on the responsibility of looking after him. Having decided to treat Ning Yi as something of a disciple, naturally the first order of business was to hold him to a proper standard, not shower him with careless praise. His own cultivation was considerable, too—he showed no sign of displeasure at Ning Yi’s stated preference for strange tales and idle storybooks. When Ning Yi’s answers came back unremarkable, he merely frowned in thought for a moment, then pulled a few books down from a nearby shelf.

“For someone of Liheng’s age, full of youthful energy, there’s nothing wrong with enjoying strange tales and light reading. Looking at your writing, Liheng, you’re clearly not a man bound by petty formalities. But there is a certain art to choosing what to read—this old man feels that with some books, reading one is just reading one. But if you can draw greater principles from the small details, gain some genuine insight, then reading one book is like reading two or three. Ha, and often there’s a special satisfaction in that kind of clever discovery. Since you have the interest, Liheng, why not take these strange tales home to read—I’ve read them myself, and the stories are fascinating, well written too. And if you find them enjoyable, here are two more books I’ve already annotated, which might serve well as companion reading.”

Ning Yi accepted the books and glanced them over: on one side were a few currently popular ghost-story collections, one of which he’d actually bought and read before; the other two, meant as “companion reading,” were the Zuo Commentary and the Spring and Autumn Annals, the latter marked with the words “Supplement” and “Study” appended to the title—these were common, widely available texts, so the real value, presumably, lay in the annotations.

Ning Yi accepted the books with thanks. Inwardly, he felt a touch of wry amusement—this old gentleman really was a decent sort. Through their conversation, he’d developed something of a genuine fondness for him; and indeed, given old Qin’s keen eye for character, having introduced them, Ning Yi already knew the man wouldn’t turn out to be unreliable in any way.

If Ning Yi had truly been the type of student devoted to scholarship, eager to advance in this field or pursue the imperial examinations, this would have been the moment to formally bow and become his disciple. But he wasn’t that sort of person, and it wasn’t something he could easily explain outright—which meant he would, eventually, have to disappoint the old man’s good intentions. He suspected Qin Siyuan had probably already guessed at his state of mind, and had likely written the letter with a bit of mischief in mind—Ning Yi found himself silently cursing the old man with a laugh in his heart.

The old gentleman was a fine man, but if there was nothing further he needed help with going forward, their contact would likely end here, just this once. Having settled this in his mind, he chatted with the old man a bit longer before rising to take his leave. Qian Xiwen nodded. “Off you go, then.” As Ning Yi turned to go, he suddenly remembered something, turned back, and took out the coral brush rest to return it.

Given Ning Yi’s state of mind, if he’d genuinely wanted something from the man, he would never have handed over the brush rest so openly, for fear of touching on some sensitive “family scandal” of the Qian household. But since he had no such intentions, it hardly mattered to him either way. Yet the moment he handed it over, he realized the matter might not be quite what he’d assumed—Qian Xiwen’s brow furrowed, his smile taking on a look of wry amusement, and he studied Ning Yi carefully. “You found this on your way in?”

For some reason, he seemed not to quite believe it, though there was no malice in his expression.

“Yes, in the grass, just as I was coming in.”

“Ha… what a coincidence, truly…” Qian Xiwen mused for a moment, then shook his head and laughed. “Well, well, it’s fate, then. Qian Yu, come here!”

He called out, and the old steward—evidently named Qian Yu—stepped in at once. Qian Xiwen said with a smile, “Liheng here found my coral brush rest. Go fetch ten thousand coins, as promised on the notice.”

Ten thousand coins meant ten strings of cash—not a small sum for an ordinary household, though not especially significant to Ning Yi himself. Still, he was somewhat taken aback. Qian Yu left the room, while Qian Xiwen wiped down the brush rest and said with a smile, “This is my favorite piece here at home. It has a habit of going missing rather often, so I posted a reward—whoever finds it gets ten thousand coins. Since Liheng found it, the reward should naturally be honored.”

“It goes missing often?”

“Ha, somehow, yes—it just disappears.”

“And it’s found again just as often?”

“Well, hasn’t it just been found again?”

“…”

Ning Yi found himself briefly at a loss for words. Before long, Qian Yu returned with a household servant carrying the money—not in the form of a banknote, but ten strings of coins bundled with cord and carried in a large box. Ning Yi’s face twitched as he watched. Each copper coin weighed a bit over three grams; a thousand coins came to nearly four kilograms, so ten thousand coins amounted to nearly forty kilograms in total. The sturdily built servant carried it in with both hands and set it down on the ground with a heavy thud. The steward stood there looking somewhat blank, apparently trying to stay out of it, while Qian Xiwen blinked, looking a touch embarrassed, rubbing his chin—but in the end, he never suggested exchanging it for a banknote, and simply handed over the full ten strings of coins as promised.

Seeing everyone’s reactions, Ning Yi, though unsure exactly what was going on with the Qian family, found the whole thing rather amusing. Without waiting for the servant’s help, he lifted the box himself and, smiling, took his leave.

Xiao Chan, spotting them outside, hurried over to help, trying to take the box from Ning Yi’s arms. Ning Yi laughed. “Careful, careful, it’s heavy.” Mindful of her duties as a maid, Xiao Chan insisted, “Xiao Chan is used to carrying things, and I’m quite strong too.” Ning Yi made as if to set the box down for her, and Xiao Chan nearly toppled over entirely under its weight—fortunately, Ning Yi caught the box again in time, laughing so hard he could barely stand.

When she learned the box held ten strings of coins, Xiao Chan’s face went round with astonishment, clearly thinking the Qian family was being a bit unfair about the whole thing.

The old steward, looking somewhat embarrassed himself, finally explained the reason behind it all as they neared the front hall. As it turned out, though the Qian family was renowned as a prominent clan for miles around, Qian Xiwen ran his household with extremely strict discipline, insisting on simplicity and frugality. The younger family members received very little in monthly allowance, and under no circumstances would that allowance ever be paid out early. Once, a young relative in the family, facing some urgent need for money, had taken Qian Xiwen’s beloved coral brush rest and pawned it. When Qian Xiwen found out, he posted a public notice at home: whoever helped recover it would receive a reward of ten thousand coins. Later, when the young man returned the brush rest himself, Qian Xiwen made good on his promise and paid out the full ten thousand coins as pledged.

After that incident, the brush rest ended up going missing seven or eight times a year. Each time, Qian Xiwen posted the same notice, and within a day or two, someone would bring it back, claiming to have found it after considerable effort. Each time, Qian Xiwen paid out the reward faithfully—except…

“The master says, if ten thousand coins were exchanged for a banknote, it would just be one small slip of paper. Since people clearly want the reward, paying it out in copper coins makes it feel like more of an actual reward—so each time, the young masters have to haul it all the way home themselves, however much trouble that is…”

The old steward recounted this with obvious amusement, and only then did Ning Yi and Xiao Chan finally understand. Lost time and again, found again time and again—how could Qian Xiwen possibly not know exactly what was going on? He was simply feigning ignorance, offering the family’s young men a face-saving way out of their troubles. Whoever brought the item back each time was, naturally, the very person who’d taken it in the first place—but by revealing themselves each time, they’d never dare push their luck too far. They’d only resort to pawning the brush rest when they genuinely, desperately needed the money, and the ten strings of copper coins were, in their own way, simply Qian Xiwen’s gentle way of teasing the younger generation.

That explanation made sense of it all—no wonder the old man’s expression had been so strange when Ning Yi handed the brush rest back. It could only have been taken by someone within the family itself; there was no way it could have genuinely gone missing and simply been found lying about by an outsider…

Carrying the box of coins and the books Qian Xiwen had given him, master and maid rode the carriage home together. Back at the house, Su Tan’er was mildly astonished to see the ten strings of coins. Ning Yi recounted everything that had happened at the Qian residence that day, and Su Tan’er, too, found herself marveling at the story.

“That old Master Qian sounds like a genuinely good man—and quite skilled at managing a household, too.”

“An interesting person, certainly. Though… I doubt we’ll have much occasion to cross paths again after this…”

“Mm.” Su Tan’er nodded, then turned to glance at her carefree husband, her expression somewhat complicated.

A couple of days later, following the plan he’d made with his wife, Ning Yi began accompanying her, in his role as the Su family’s son-in-law, on visits to the various merchants in the Hangzhou area connected to the cloth trade. He kept faithfully to his role as escort and supporting presence, careful not to stir up any unnecessary complications. Once the initial greetings were exchanged, he would quietly fade into the background entirely, letting his wife handle matters with her own subtle, graceful skill.

The Su family had no real foothold in Hangzhou; establishing themselves here was, in nearly every sense, starting from scratch. It was precisely under these circumstances that he could see his wife’s talent and ability most clearly, and with his own particular sense of amusement, watching these various encounters play out was one of the things he found most genuinely delightful.

He’d grown weary of such things himself, but watching from the sidelines now and then, with no responsibility of his own, still held its own quiet charm.

A perfectly ordinary, simple, dutiful son-in-law who’d married into his wife’s family—that was the first impression he left on the whole of Hangzhou, over the course of this particular summer…