By Zhang Zhixu’s usual standards of taste, these pieces were honestly nothing out of the ordinary.

But Chen Baoxiang said they were called Qingqing, Baofeng, and Youxu.

He couldn’t help taking a more careful look.

The lines were graceful, the materials rare, the forms singular — and the more he looked, the more beautiful they became.

“Wear Baofeng first.”

“With pleasure.”

Chen Baoxiang grinned as she fastened it on him, then stepped back two paces and studied him with satisfaction. “Put against you it just looks aristocratic. Right — don’t you have somewhere to be? Go to the palace.”

Though her confinement had ended, she still could not enter the palace without a summons.

Zhang Zhixu instinctively wanted to say something comforting.

But when he turned to look, Chen Baoxiang didn’t care in the slightest — on the contrary, her face was bright with anticipation as she began calling out: “Hengyu, Manyue, come and lend a hand.”

The people below poured in and began arranging everything.

Zhang Zhixu watched for a while, left Jiuquan behind to help, and headed out to his carriage.

A full month had passed, yet His Majesty’s anger seemed not yet to have subsided. There was still no movement on the Ye family’s old case, and the petition he had recently submitted regarding examination reform had received no reply either.

The one piece of good news was that a number of people in the Three Departments had submitted memorials condemning Chen Baoxiang, hoping to pile on while she was down — and His Majesty had ignored all of them.

Zhang Zhixu could not guess what His Majesty was thinking. He only regretted that this year’s examinations could no longer be caught in time for any reform, and he did not know how many more people would be forced to tread the same weary path their predecessors had.

His footsteps were heavy and slow, and his figure was solitary and subdued — he felt the road ahead was murky, and his heart was full of melancholy.

But to the eyes of those around him, it was an entirely different picture.

— Wide sleeves, long robes, an air of effortless grace. Zhang Zhixu truly was a scion of an aristocratic family — he somehow managed to make even such a rigid formal court robe look unhurried and elegant.

And looking more closely — heavens, he was even wearing a waist ornament.

There was no written rule forbidding officials from wearing accessories when entering the palace to attend court, but as a matter of prudence most officials dressed as simply as possible, so the sudden appearance of this nonconformist drew quiet, scrutinizing glances from everyone.

Li Bingsheng, in the midst of all her business, somehow noticed it too.

She looked twice, gave a small nod, as though she found it pleasing.

Several of the senior officials standing at the front — those most adept at reading their sovereign’s expressions — immediately intercepted Zhang Zhixu after the session had dispersed and politely inquired which craftsman had produced the piece.

Zhang Zhixu replied with casual indifference: “Xiangshe Tower.”

·

In the last breath of winter turning to the first breath of spring, Xiangshe Tower opened its doors on Zhuque Street — right at the heart of Shangjing.

Even before the opening, stories about the shop had been spreading all over Shangjing. It was said that the proprietor was a person from a distant foreign land who had fallen in love with a woman in Shangjing, only to miss the chance to be with her — and so had spent lavishly to lease this shopfront, waiting in quiet for their reunion.

It was also said that the shop’s floor tiles were inlaid with gold, its gauze curtains woven with silver, and that inside were rare treasures passed down since ancient times, along with the finest jadeite that was nearly impossible to find on the open market.

It was further said that everything sold in this shop had been designed by an immortal in a dream, and that every item was destined for a particular owner.

Once these rumors spread, a great many people in Shangjing came on opening day to see what all the fuss was about.

“Heavens — even the complimentary refreshments for guests use premium snow-blossom tea? Outside, a single tael of this costs ten taels of silver.”

“What an imposing shop — those floor tiles really do seem to shimmer with gold.”

“What are these hairpins made of? They look like gold but not quite — how remarkably distinctive.”

The crowd chattered and buzzed, with surprise and curiosity prevailing at first.

But then someone took a liking to a cosmetic case and asked its price.

“Five hundred taels,” the attendant answered with a smile.

The moment that figure was spoken, the awe and admiration instantly turned to a tide of contempt: “Five hundred taels for an ordinary cosmetic case — what, have you never seen money?”

“Truly, opening your mouth wide as a lion — look at this ring, it’s not even gold, and you dare ask two hundred taels.”

“Absolute madness. The proprietor must be a lunatic.”

People departed in a stream of muttering and cursing, only to be replaced by another stream of curious onlookers who departed in their own stream of muttering and cursing.

By half a day’s end, Xiangshe Tower had already become notorious throughout Shangjing for its outrageous prices.

Chen Baoxiang watched from upstairs, judged that the moment was ripe, and immediately had Xue Hengyu go and invite guests.

Prominent wealthy merchants in Shangjing, the most celebrated performers of the day, scholars with far-reaching reputations, and court-appointed musicians — all arrived with great fanfare and proceeded to purchase several extravagantly priced items.

The voices of mockery in the surroundings instantly dropped by half, and people began to wonder curiously why these items were so expensive.

The attendants standing nearby then slowly began to recount the story behind each piece — whether true or not hardly mattered, as long as the story was moving enough and the symbolism auspicious enough.

Chen Baoxiang had spent half a month composing these stories.

Looking at the reception now, it seemed to be working well — even those who weren’t swayed by the stories remembered the pieces because of them.

She leaned against the railing, smiling to herself. She truly had never let any experience go to waste — all that time she had spent in Shangjing performing grandeur and mingling in aristocratic circles, and no one understood better than she did how to satisfy a person’s vanity.

Exclusivity. Prestige. An envy that others could see at a glance.

Xiangshe Tower didn’t only have the most distinctive merchandise and the most attentive staff — it also had one ritual that appeared useless but was in fact the most useful of all:

Spend over one thousand taels in Xiangshe Tower on any given day, and you could light a sky lantern on the rooftop — one zhang wide, one zhang long — with a blank space for the customer to inscribe whatever they wished.

These sky lanterns had been specially commissioned from craftsmen — enormous and striking. Once lit, they were visible from anywhere in Shangjing, and from the moment they were ignited to the moment they were released took roughly half an hour — more than enough time for everyone around to talk about them.

The first person to come and light a sky lantern was a pampered young wastrel who waved his hand casually and said he wanted his own name written on it.

And so that night, everyone in all of Shangjing knew that there was someone named Wang Youcai — and that he was truly, genuinely wealthy.

The second person to come was a wine merchant, who had the name of his winery written large upon the sky lantern.

That winery, not particularly well-located, was immediately descended upon by a surging crowd of customers, and all the fine wines accumulated over many years sold out in just a few days.

Chen Baoxiang watched with satisfaction as the customers inside the tower grew more and more numerous.

All the people of the world, rushing about in their endless bustle, come for fame and go for profit — and Xiangshe Tower offered both fame and profit in abundance. What could possibly be difficult to sell?

But relying solely on the sky lanterns was no long-term strategy.

Chen Baoxiang looked toward the entrance.

Zhang Zhixu had finally finished his day’s work and arrived, having changed into informal clothes, striding in through the front door in quick steps.

The moment this person entered, he had a greater effect than any celebrated performer or famous scholar — the ground floor, which had been loud and clamorous, fell instantaneously quiet at the sight of him.

He did not glance at anyone around him and walked directly up toward the upper floors.

Only after his figure disappeared did someone on the ground floor venture tremulously to ask: “Was that not Zhang Zhixu?”

“It was him. I saw him at a birthday banquet at the Chen household.”

“Why has he gone upstairs? Is there something else up there?”

“But of course.” An attendant stepped close with a gentle smile. “The ground floor carries ordinary goods — the second, third, and fourth floors are all treasures.”

The crowd drew in a collective breath.

Pieces already described as ordinary goods ran in the hundreds of taels — what sort of prices must the upper floors command?

One wealthy merchant couldn’t resist asking: “What sorts of things does Minister Zhang purchase?”

The attendant smiled softly and gestured toward the dozen or so rosewood boxes that the other attendants were currently packing up nearby.

Several customers immediately pressed forward to look.

“All rare pieces,” someone clicked their tongue, pointing to a piece of carved jadeite and asking the attendant, “What does this cost?”

The attendant gave a figure, then smiled: “Minister Zhang was generous — he purchased enough in one visit to qualify for Xiangshe Tower’s fifth floor. The finest jadeite is all up there.”

The jadeite piece was superbly carved, yet its price was surprisingly accessible — if sold elsewhere, it would likely fetch several hundred taels more.

The wealthy merchants suddenly understood: Minister Zhang was the most discerning buyer of all. The goods below were expensive, but the ones above were the true value. As long as you qualified for the fifth floor, going back and forth between floors, you wouldn’t lose out by much in the end.

And precisely because the goods below were so expensive, those petty upstarts who merely played at wealth had no means to match their purchases.

The logic, once grasped, was instantly illuminating.

Those watching from outside looked on as the absurdly priced hundred-tael wooden combs and two-hundred-tael hairpins — every last one — sold out in no time at all.