Deep in the night, was there really a woman calling to him outside the window? Ping Shen felt a chill of fear.
He had, after all, been properly sent out by his father to learn some real skills from a young age. He thought of the layers of guards around the courtyard, the various hidden stakes and traps… so how had that woman gotten in?
She spoke from outside the window, her voice drifting and indistinct. The hair on Ping Shen’s body stood on end. In that instant, he remembered that the previous master of this Immortal Garden had been struck down by heaven’s punishment on the day Qingfeng City fell—supposedly not even bones remained, and the entire household was wiped out in a moment.
He also recalled an idle joke from before, that a famous opera performer had once hanged herself in the Immortal Garden… it seemed to have been around this very month, and that ghost supposedly loved to wander about especially during this month.
Once the visitor outside made her purpose clear, hmm—he became even more afraid.
It wasn’t a ghost, yet it terrified him more than any malevolent spirit could.
Just the other day he had sold this person out, and today she’d already tracked him to his door? Was this that Madam? But how had she found out he’d sold her? Could there be a mole in this garden? Or had that old fellow broken the rules of the martial world—either way, he was completely finished now.
All sorts of suspicions made Ping Shen’s legs ache.
Why did his legs ache? It was because his grandfather, in his youth, had been even more of a smooth operator than he was—but had provoked a recluse over some trivial matter in the martial world, and someone had come seeking vengeance, taking both his legs. The Ping family had given up half their fortune to weather that crisis.
Later when he was born, his grandfather, remembering that lesson, named him Shen—meaning cautious, prudent, self-disciplined, restrained in cultivation. He slowly draped on his robe and sat up. Only now that the matter was upon him did he begin asking himself—what had he been thinking the other day? Yuegong Mountain was terrifying but far away, thousands of miles distant, while this surrounding area of five hundred li was under the protection of Madam Yushu. Why hadn’t he felt any fear at all? He’d sold her out just like that.
Thinking about it now, it was simply because he’d taken advantage of her being a woman, taken advantage of the fact that she lived in seclusion deep in the mountains and never interfered with their merchant clan’s affairs, that she didn’t even take the usual protection fees from the various guilds like the other martial factions did—in the end it was his own vileness, an insult to her generosity.
Forcing himself calm, Ping Shen called out toward the window: “Please wait a moment, Senior, I’m coming!”
He finished speaking, hands trembling as he lit a lantern, and pushed open the door, stepping out slowly—then he jumped in shock.
His household’s hidden guards and watchmen had been stacked up like piles of firewood for him to see—one pile on the left, one pile on the right.
Ping Shen moved his right foot forward, reached out to find the nearest person, felt beneath his nose, and let out a soft breath of relief.
Alive.
Only then did he dare look around by moonlight, and he saw, standing amid the golden chrysanthemums in the courtyard, a woman in red wearing a white wooden mask, exactly like the legends described. The wind blew, the flowers and leaves swayed, and she swayed freely with the wind—just this display of lightness skill alone proved she lived up to her reputation as a recluse.
This was the one who had pounded Pang Tu into meat paste. What had he been thinking?
Ping Shen descended the steps and set his lantern aside. The roots of his hair stood on end, his mind gone blank, and having reached the peak of fear he became strangely calm instead, deep in thought—how exactly had the news leaked out?
But however it had leaked, he had sold out Madam Yushu—whom the entire underworld and overworld of Qingfeng City, even the imperial court, treated with three parts respect—to Yuegong Mountain.
This place could no longer hold the Ping family.
Ah… ancestors, this descendant deserves to die ten thousand deaths.
Qiqian’er observed the young man with some curiosity. These days everyone looked young to her—that habit was one she couldn’t shake. This young man had sword-like brows and star-bright eyes, handsome in appearance. Though born into a merchant household and dressed in plain cloth, he carried a composed air like that of a young master from a great family.
He’d been frightened, terrified—that was why the hand holding the lantern had been trembling the whole time. But once he’d felt that his attendants on both sides weren’t dead, he’d swiftly composed himself, going from a racing heartbeat to steady breathing in just those few steps outside.
Now he stood there, carefully putting on the robe draped over him, tying his sash properly, seeking only to appear proper and dignified.
Hmm, his family had raised him well enough.
Qiqian’er’s abilities had grown ever more refined lately—normally when Chen Dasheng tried to pull something, she could sense his heartbeat through her five senses. This person was naturally the same, yet steadier than that Baldy, and clearly more calculating—a merchant-class person, a type she’d never encountered before.
Ping Shen straightened his robe, composed himself, and bowed properly to Qiqian’er, saying: “This junior, Ping Shen, greets the senior!”
He finished with a deep bow, then slowly straightened, lowering his head and holding his breath, waiting to die.
He really was talented, Qiqian’er thought. She knew that showing up in the dead of night wearing a mask like this, dressed in red, standing swaying atop the flowers, was terrifying enough—an ordinarily timid person glancing at her once might wet themselves or faint, and that would be the mild reaction.
Indeed, of the two piles stacked over there, several had fainted outright.
Ping Shen carried so many worries in his heart, but Qiqian’er, a novice to the martial world, had no idea—nor did she know that Ping Shen had already prepared himself, merely waiting for her to pursue the matter so he could atone with his death.
Seeing him bow, Qiqian’er lowered her voice, trying to sound flat and emotionless as she asked him: “You’re not afraid of me?”
Ping Shen sighed, reached behind his lower back and drew out an exquisite gold blade, holding it up with both hands as he slowly knelt and said: “I am afraid. This junior knows he has done wrong—wrong is wrong! I dare not argue a single word. I only submit to Senior’s judgment, and beg only that Senior not investigate the rest of my Ping family—this matter has nothing to do with anyone else.”
Seeing him do this, Qiqian’er was startled—fortunately her face was hidden behind the mask, so she didn’t give herself away.
This person really was something—talking one moment, then pulling out a blade the next, looking ready to cut himself down. It was quite frightening.
Good grief, these martial world lunatics really were each crazy in their own way… treating life as if it were worthless, tossing it away without a second thought.
But Qiqian’er didn’t know that the final decades of the previous dynasty had been the most chaotic era this world had known—the imperial court’s laws and decrees couldn’t protect its own people, and so the exceedingly strict rules of the martial world had arisen. Though she’d never managed the local martial affairs herself, the martial factions here nonetheless treated her as their leader, under her protection.
The merchant class had always eked out a living in the cracks—not to mention their status ranked below the “nine lowly trades,” and they weren’t even permitted to wear silk. Doing business transporting goods north and south, a trade with a blade’s edge always at the throat, they feared the imperial court, and feared these brutal martial-world people even more, unable to afford provoking them.
Not until the new dynasty had the new laws become many times more lenient toward merchants compared to previous dynasties—and only because of this had Qiqian’er been able to live through the prosperous era of Great Liang.
In Emperor Wu Yang Zao’s mind, merchants were a hundred times better than these martial-world types—at the very least, they understood how to read the situation.
Qiqian’er’s mouth twitched behind her mask. She was silent a moment before saying: “Put the blade away, and stop kneeling. I’m just here to ask you something—why are you acting like this?”
Ping Shen was startled, looking up at her in surprise, then quickly lowering his head again, disbelief in his heart.
Qiqian’er didn’t want to say more. After a good while he finally stammered: “Senior?”
Helpless, Qiqian’er let herself sink slowly onto a flower bud, riding the wind down—which was even more frightening.
Her tone carried some impatience as she asked him: “I told you to get up. Don’t you want to stand?”
Ping Shen’s pupils contracted. He put away the blade and stood, and after a long moment finally ventured: “Senior isn’t angry with me?”
Qiqian’er’s thoughts were nothing like what he imagined, so she said casually: “It’s not that I’m not angry, I just haven’t thought that deeply about it. You people are really something—always ready to live or die at the drop of a hat? Don’t be afraid… actually, I understand your difficulties well enough. Running a business, opening your doors to trade—there’s probably no one you can afford to offend, huh!”
Patrol officers coming to squeeze a bit here, local ruffians coming to extort a bit there, earning a little money while being looked down on, still having to build bridges and pave roads everywhere to buy a reputation for kindness, afraid of being targeted, afraid of being envied by the villagers—everyone in this world has their own hardships. There was really no need to die over it.
Hearing this, Ping Shen felt even more ashamed. This was a recluse, after all—he’d traveled far and wide for nearly ten years, and this was the first time he’d encountered a recluse so reasonable and understanding.
Overcome with shame, he apologized again: “It was this junior’s greed that clouded his judgment, abandoning righteousness. Senior, rest assured, from now on my Ping family’s business will never again dare to touch the waters of Baiquan Mountain, nor will we shamelessly try to put down roots on your territory…”
Qiqian’er heard more words she didn’t understand and cut him off: “Why are you leaving out of nowhere! Stay if you want to stay, it’s not even my territory. I’m just curious, that’s why I came to ask you some things.”
An old hand of the martial world had run into a complete novice—Ping Shen’s mind was in chaos. He caught something in Qiqian’er’s words but didn’t dare think too deeply about it, so he could only ask carefully: “But I don’t know what Senior wishes to ask? Please ask anything—this junior will tell you everything he knows, holding nothing back.”
Qiqian’er nodded: “I heard you got something from that old man—what exactly was it?”
Ping Shen’s face flushed red at once. He turned and went back inside, carrying out an exquisite hardwood box. He opened it, took out a bronze token, and knelt again, holding it up: “This junior is guilty! Senior, please, please punish me as you see fit…”
Qiqian’er waved her hand, and the object flew to her as if pulled by a silk thread. She examined it closely—it was a bronze token with a crescent moon on the front, and on the back, two cast characters: “Shun Xing” (Safe Passage).
She turned it over curiously for a while, then held it up and asked Ping Shen: “What is this thing? I can see you care about it a lot—someone gave you this and you sold me out for it?”
Retribution had finally arrived.
His heart seized violently, his mind struck as if by thunder, and Ping Shen slammed his head to the ground at once, producing a dull thud.
“This junior deserves death! Death by a thousand cuts!”
Qiqian’er winced just hearing it, and silently grimaced.
She’d always thought Uncle Xin was strange—he could trade a winter’s worth of coarse grain for the command token of the Beggars’ Sect and have all sorts of little beggars running errands for her for free. And then there was that charity pavilion between Qingfeng City and Xiaonan Mountain—that pavilion alone represented several lives…
These people really did treat things too lightly.
But while you might not care about your own life, what about your mothers? Mothers care.
Recently, passing by the charity pavilion, she’d often seen a white-haired old woman lying against the memorial stone outside it, repeatedly touching one name. When she went, the woman was there; when she left, the woman remained.
Right, and there was also Zhou Wujiu, who’d walked out of the martial world into the imperial court, and Xie Liuhao… they all seemed to be people who could kill for a single promise, and could also die for a single promise…
Hmph! If An’er ever dared to enter the martial world in the future, she’d break both his legs and chain him up at home.
As long as he lived, that was enough—she’d support him for the rest of his life.
A mother carries you for ten months, suffers a thousand cuts of pain to bring forth one life—how could you just give that up so easily?
Qiqian’er couldn’t understand these martial-world principles. Her heart just felt something was wrong, and she felt bad for their mothers on their behalf. She also thought—even under the law, life was life, and harming it carelessly should still be held accountable.
But these martial-world people’s lives were treated so carelessly, so casually—they hadn’t fulfilled their filial duty, hadn’t repaid their mother’s kindness, yet dared to throw their lives away so recklessly?
And so, she asked Ping Shen this strange question: “Your mother bore you and raised you with such difficulty—how dare you speak so lightly of life and death? You may not care about your own life, but your mother does.”
Ping Shen, prostrate on the ground, was startled. He suddenly raised his head to look at Qiqian’er, and after a long moment murmured: “Mother~ Mother~?”
Qiqian’er pursed her lips. Her deliberately flat, unwavering tone finally showed some fluctuation. She tossed the token into Ping Shen’s arms, her tone carrying a trace of anger: “What ‘Madam’! It’s just that Uncle Xin is getting old, he couldn’t manage things anymore, so he pushed me into this role! He schemed against me, and that’s how I ended up saddled with this burden! I’m not one of you martial-world people! Seeing you all like this, I don’t even want to be one of your martial-world people! You~ get up. I want to ask you—what is this token for? Oh, and stop kneeling too. I won’t do anything to you. Such a grown man, and every other word out of your mouth is about dying! If I were your mother, I’d beat you to death with a bamboo switch, you believe that?”
Actually, as for this Madam Yushu—supremely skilled in martial arts, eerie in her actions, yet completely without any trace of martial-world mannerisms in her speech—Ping Shen had already guessed seven or eight parts of the truth: that she wasn’t truly of the martial world.
Clever as he was, however he thought about it, he could never have guessed that Madam Yushu was genuinely, truly compassionate.
His eyes grew moist. He slowly stood, and following the motion of straightening his clothes, wiped away tears, then smiled at Qiqian’er: “Madam, this is Yuegong Mountain’s passage token. With this, our merchant and escort caravans’ goods can pass through their eight-hundred-li mountain range without paying any more toll fees.”
Being able to suddenly break free of Yuegong Mountain’s control, and save the family tens of thousands of taels in silver each year, had been what tempted him into greed.
With Shao Shang beginning to support the new emperor, the Ping family’s fortunes had taken a fundamental hit.
Ah, so that was what it was.
Qiqian’er found this strange: “But Yuegong Mountain isn’t the imperial Ministry of Revenue—what right do they have to collect money from you? Why are you even afraid of them…” Behind the mask, she hesitated a moment, then finally understood.
Qiqian’er sighed: “I suppose everyone has their own hardships. They have people like Pang Tu—in this world, fists and blades always bully the honest folk who have nothing to fight back with… what else could you do?”
Her tone was like an old woman gossiping in the street.
Ping Shen slowly exhaled and cupped his hands: “Yes! Our hometown also has wives and children to feed, and we carry our lives on the line traveling everywhere to make a living. Does Madam know, on our way through wind and rain delivering goods to Yandu, there are seven or eight checkpoints belonging to places like Yuegong Mountain alone. They set up posts at the foot of the mountain, charging tolls based on weight and quality of goods—so ten cakes of tea worth three strings of coin, by the time it’s been stripped down all along the road, comes to thirty strings by the time it reaches Qingfeng.”
Ping Shen sighed after finishing.
Qiqian’er, after listening, also sighed after a good while: “No wonder the clever ones went to Jiu Si Tang, while that fool still plucks hairs from the tiger’s head—pitiable, but he won’t be able to carry on much longer.”
Qiqian’er sat on the flower, muttering to herself from old habit.
She had lived through a prosperous era before—after prosperity came, martial-world people turned into performers wandering the rivers and lakes for a living, and by then, in a world at peace on all sides, there would be no endless charity pavilions stretching beyond sight, nor wretched places like Yuegong Mountain.
She only muttered to herself, but Ping Shen’s heart pounded like a drum hearing it.
Muttering to the end, Qiqian’er finally let out a long breath and said: “…No one has it easy in an age of dynastic change. If those before had shown a bit more authority, the realm wouldn’t have been managed into such a state. I won’t hide it from you, Shopkeeper Ping—today I went looking for Uncle Xin for news, but I couldn’t find that old fellow anywhere. I don’t know what guilty conscience made him hide from me. Hmm~ actually I’m someone who doesn’t leave the mountain much. You, traveling far and wide, naturally have more current news than I do… I want to ask you some things, but I no longer have that token the old man used to give me.”
Ping Shen’s emotions had gone through great ups and downs, but by now had mostly settled.
Qiqian’er’s questions struck him as strange, yet he answered readily enough.
He cupped his hands: “Senior doesn’t know?”
Qiqian’er asked, puzzled: “Me? I don’t even like leaving the mountain much. What would I know?”
Ping Shen looked up at her, smiling sincerely: “By the rules of the martial world, aside from directly under the Son of Heaven’s feet, within five hundred li around Baiquan Mountain, without your permission, bandits won’t rob, drifters won’t extort, and wicked beggars won’t knock on doors. And so, within these five hundred li, traveling peddlers, every trade, every martial faction that has entered this world, their profits from business and land—for every hundred coins earned, six coins are meant as tribute to you.”
Qiqian’er was utterly dumbfounded at this, and after a good while asked in disbelief: “Give~ give me money? Six coins out of every hundred earned?”
These martial-world people must be sick in the head.
Ping Shen nodded: “Yes! It should be given to you! No one knows exactly when this custom arose, but it’s been in place for a long time. Beyond this, you can also enjoy the private tribute given by noble and aristocratic families—that amount is hard to say. My family alone, though only a merchant clan, sends at least ten thousand taels in tribute to Yuegong Mountain every year. Yuegong Mountain has survived through several dynasties, with abundant talent under its name, relying precisely on this protection money.”
Qiqian’er was stunned again for a while, and finally said: “Since the third day of the third month, I haven’t seen a single coin!”
Ping Shen was slightly taken aback, straightened up a bit, cupped his hands, and hesitated before saying: “That’s because everyone couldn’t find you. You just need to designate a martial faction to collect on your behalf, and naturally people will flock to curry favor with you. Since you raised the banner over Baiquan Mountain on the third day of the third month, people have long since been searching for you everywhere. Senior, rest easy—my Ping family has just entered Yandu this year, and starting this year we will follow the old custom and deliver tribute…” He glanced up at Qiqian’er sitting silently on the flower, then lowered his head again: “This junior was foolish and did wrong—this year I’m willing to increase the tribute tenfold…”
“Wait, wait…” Qiqian’er hurriedly cut him off: “Am I crazy, taking this money?”
The corner of Ping Shen’s mouth finally showed a hint of a smile, though he raised his face in feigned confusion and asked: “Senior? You won’t accept it?”
Qiqian’er was quite exasperated and said loudly: “Of course I can’t accept it! Are you a fool? This world belongs to the imperial court, all the common people are His Majesty’s subjects. This tribute you speak of, this protection money—isn’t that the same as the taxes each trade owes the court? Now I understand. The previous dynasty already had a one-in-ten tax, and now you’re adding another layer of martial-world exploitation on top? If this continues, the treasury will have no money, and if there’s trouble anywhere under heaven, what money will there be to relieve disaster victims? That’s how nations fall and homes are destroyed.”
Having said this, she looked at Ping Shen earnestly and instructed him: “This ends here. From now on, don’t even mention it again.”
Hearing this, Ping Shen was already filled with the utmost admiration. His family employed its own strategists, and from childhood their lessons had only ever been framed in terms of clan interests—not until the previous dynasty fell had an old scholar, half-revealing, half-concealing, spoken such principles, even prophesying that, judging from the previous dynasty’s decline, the chaos of the martial world had been one of its ills—and so, now in the new dynasty, the good days of the martial world were perhaps about to end within this decade.
He hadn’t expected that his casual mention of profit would draw out such wisdom from this person—oh, but of course, this was the truly wise Madam Yushu.
Qiqian’er, feeling it was getting late and worried the night-watch maids might notice, felt the urge to return, so she said to Ping Shen: “Shopkeeper Ping.”
“Here.”
“Actually, today I came for that token, but I also wanted to ask—why does Yuegong Mountain keep endlessly fixated on Baiquan Mountain? Why do they keep eyeing His Majesty’s old blades and refuse to let go? What’s the reasoning there? Given the current situation, wouldn’t a bit of thought tell them not to act this way?”
Ping Shen answered this one smoothly: “It’s a contest of power—how could that not lead to such actions? This junior mentioned before, Yuegong Mountain has survived several dynasties, has countless disciples, and various great masters guarding the mountain, backed by twenty veteran recluses accumulated through mountains of gold and silver. This junior thinks this is an old pattern—they probably find some pretext every generation, at the founding of a new dynasty, to come down the mountain and flex their strength before the court, wanting to intimidate someone. As for why they’re fixated on the old blades, we’ve discussed this privately too, with differing opinions. Since Senior asks today, this junior will explain in detail?”
Qiqian’er was already stunned listening to all this. In her heart, she’d only ever known the range of her home guard alley, at most the area around Quanhou Street—when comfortable, she’d go visit His Majesty’s domain to broaden her horizons. How had she gotten dragged into all this?
Now hearing this messy business, generations of hidden grudges and grievances, she felt—hmm! Hard to describe.
She nodded at Ping Shen, and heard him continue: “Senior, it’s like this—the new dynasty’s old blades guard the southern gate, and the southern gate is the face of the Great Liang palace. Only for major state occasions—general amnesties, presenting captives, and so on—can one pass through that gate.
If the guardian blade is damaged, it strikes a blow to the current court’s dignity, and Yuegong Mountain could then advance unopposed, intimidating the realm under the new dynasty. Actually, whether it’s the old blade or not doesn’t matter—if not this blade, then that hammer—they just want whoever’s unlucky! They only seek out the hardest persimmon to bite, to bite it once and show the pain to the world…”
“How despicable!!”
Qiqian’er, furious at hearing this, suddenly swung her palm, and in an instant, thousands of golden chrysanthemum petals in the garden tore free from their centers, scattering everywhere…
Ugh… those flowers cost three hundred coins each. She’d just paid thirty taels in compensation for them!
Qiqian’er’s mouth twitched, while Ping Shen looked around in astonishment.
This kind of skill—he’d never heard of anything like it.
This woman, this woman, just what sect or school did she belong to?
After a long moment he finally managed, lips trembling: “Senior… such, such skill.”
Qiqian’er coughed dryly a few times, and not wanting to pay for more damages, changed the subject: “Hmm~ so, weren’t you saying you’d explain everything to me? So, are there other reasons too?”
Ping Shen nodded: “Oh! Right, right, of course…”
While these two exchanged information here, Qiqian’er had no idea that old Qingfeng City had already fallen into chaos.
At the gate of old Qingfeng City, Jiu Si Tang had newly constructed a dueling platform, all because of Qiqian’er’s earlier little scheme.
Tonight, beneath the dueling platform, a white-haired old man sat in place, taking various colored paper ingots and spirit money from a basket beside him and burning them.
And around this old man, people moved about, clearly distinct from each other—the local martial-world people.
The surrounding area was brightly lit; craftsmen who should have been relocating from the old city had been hired to work overtime temporarily, building festive canopies near the dueling platform.
The craftsmen used the best timber to drive stakes, erecting one bright platform after another. Once the shed frames took basic shape, cloth merchants from all over Qingfeng dragged over silks of every color, as if the material cost nothing, wrapping these wooden sheds in gorgeous splendor, each one more exquisite than the last.
Near the two rows of viewing stands and canopies, countless leather tents were also set up, and outside those tents hung wooden signboards bearing the names of martial factions from around Baiquan Mountain.
Since the notice had come down yesterday about Yuegong Mountain’s people, that old recluse surnamed Guan had bought piles of paper money, having his disciples and grand-disciples burn it for him over there.
He planned to keep burning until tomorrow afternoon’s scheduled duel—there was nowhere else to go anyway. The inns wouldn’t take him, the Beggars’ Sect wouldn’t even lend him their broken temple shelter, since Baiquan Mountain had a mortal feud with Yuegong Mountain.
Either way, it was the same outcome—death either way.
The Baiquan Mountain faction had thoroughly let loose. Let whoever do whatever—you burn your paper money, I’ll do my own thing, no one bothers anyone else.
Since the third day of the third month, when this surrounding five-hundred-li area had tacitly accepted Madam Yushu raising the banner, prominent figures in the local martial world had been searching everywhere for the Madam.
Not for nothing—this was an enormous business opportunity. Think about it: the new dynasty had stabilized, all trades were flourishing again. Within these several hundred li around Baiquan Mountain, ninety-five major trade guilds could be found with identifiable leaders, plus escort agencies, traveling merchants—just the five estates and twelve sects around Xiaonan Mountain alone brought in two thousand taels per sect per year.
An immortal-like figure like Madam Yushu—just being associated with her guaranteed profit, and who knew what connections lay behind her? Not even counting manpower, just the surface-level profit alone was substantial.
And so beneath the dueling platform, prominent figures from every region had come, setting up viewing stands to cheer for their own Madam, while conveniently settling up the tribute money they owed her.
Since the end of the previous dynasty, the old recluses in the mountains hadn’t wanted to come out, so this tribute had been owed by every household for a full three years running.
These fools didn’t care about dynastic change—they openly set up their stalls, shouting enthusiastically, notifying everyone everywhere, hoping to earn favor in front of the Madam so that she’d use them in the future.
People! A lifetime of struggle, all for a bit of profit in the end.
But they didn’t know that atop the old city wall tower, no fewer than twenty accountants sat cross-legged on the ground, and for fear of disturbing these martial-world guests, these accountants didn’t even dare use their abacuses, calculating everything by hand instead.
When a cart carrying three silver chests was carried into a certain faction’s tent, a martial-world person outside the tent would shout: “Sangle County’s Cuiliu Fragrance Tower, twelve establishments, three years of accumulated silver, paid in full at once! Eighteen thousand taels in tribute to Madam Yushu!”
Cheers erupted instantly, the competitive spirit growing louder and louder.
Once one group had gathered their silver into the tent, an accountant with a ledger full of entries would come to the old city tower’s side chamber, handing the account book to the person seated at the main seat.
Second Prince Yang Zhen flipped through several pages of the ledger, and upon seeing the total, wanted to slam the table—but when his hand came down, it landed instead on a cushion that had been swiftly slid over from the side.
Yang Zhen was furious, pointing at the ledger: “Junior Uncle-Master! They’ve even started collecting from the perfume houses now, from the madams running brothels! Look at this, one brothel in Sangle County alone brought in fifty-seven thousand taels—this, this is simply outrageous…”
Meng Dingchen lowered his head to look at the ledger, his expression solemn and calm: “It’s not the first time we’ve seen this. Second Young Master, why get so angry over it?”
Yang Zhen’s tone turned icy cold, and after a long moment he said: “Hmph, this so-called Madam Yushu who skins flesh and cuts bone to save the common people? I see it’s all the same sort of thing, nothing more than this.”
Meng Dingchen laughed lightly: “Even if it’s nothing more than this, we still have to tolerate her, humor her, flatter her, please her. Otherwise, if she gets displeased and lets that bamboo-screen management of hers march into the capital, and damages the old blade, it’s your father the Emperor’s dignity that takes the hit. By then, forget this bit of silver—even mountains of gold and silver couldn’t buy back the court’s face. And besides… even if Guan Zhuping loses, his family still has nineteen veteran recluses left. With the court stretched thin on all fronts right now and His Majesty unable to spare attention, however angry you get, you still have to endure it, and wait… there will come a day when the sun shines clear, and then you can do as you please…”
Yang Zhen was silent for a long while.
Meng Dingchen glanced around, and once everyone nearby had stood up and moved far enough away, he said: “Zhen’er, now still isn’t the time for you to take charge!”