There was once a man who stood at the pinnacle of the pyramid, tasting jealousy and envy too cheap to count, walking a road thronged by ten thousand admirers, unable to escape the solitary eternal sleep beneath the tombstone. — finale, “Life Hanging by a Thread”

Chapter 1: The Su Family’s Matrilocal Son-in-Law

He woke from a daze to see a white mosquito net overhead, a dull ache in his head. Not knowing what kind of place this was, he closed his eyes and thought for a long while before letting out a faint sigh.

He wasn’t dead.

So — was he being held somewhere, under house arrest?

He threw back the covers and sat up. He must have been unconscious a long time; his body didn’t move in sync with him properly yet. Looking down, he saw the clothes he wore were strange in style, the fabric coarse. It wasn’t until he stood on the floor of the room that he noticed even more things that didn’t add up.

An old-style house, an old-style bed, tables and chairs — the materials and craftsmanship were fine, but the whole room was furnished in an antique style. There was also some rather handsome porcelain, but not a single piece of modern electronics anywhere. What are you playing at, Tang Mingyuan? He thought of the man in the glasses and cursed silently in his heart. And then—

This hand had changed too. This hand… didn’t feel like his own.

He looked at his two pale hands for a moment, then sat down in front of the table and chairs and undid his robe. This body… had no bullet wounds. Was this some kind of joke? He clearly remembered so many bullets fired at him, front and back. Had he undergone plastic surgery? No — this body wasn’t his at all. Every feature pointed to that conclusion, and it was confirmed beyond doubt the moment he looked into the bronze mirror and saw the reflection staring back.

Tang Mingyuan, what exactly are you up to? He had once been one of the wealthiest men in the world economically, a man who’d built himself up from nothing to that height — he wasn’t the type to be rattled by a little confusion like this. With the backing of modern technology, almost anything was possible. Had he changed his body through some kind of total, extensive plastic surgery? What would be the point? Was the goal to force him to admit he was someone else, so he’d stop contesting things? That man had always been indecisive — it wasn’t impossible he’d do something like this to save his own skin. But then why arrange a room like this?

His head was wrapped in bandages, still faintly aching. He pushed open the door, and bright sunlight poured in, making him instinctively raise a hand to block it. He was on the second floor of a wooden building. Looking out from the doorway, below and stretching into the distance were rows upon rows of courtyards and gardens, all kinds of buildings scattered about, garden architecture in the Suzhou-Hangzhou style, ponds and rockeries, spreading out before him in exquisite splendor.

No skyscrapers. Not a single modern feature in sight.

He drew a breath, then let it out. Quite the production — Tang Mingyuan, how much would something like this cost? He glanced around, then turned to walk off to one side, and immediately a voice rang out: “Young Master, you—” Ah, extras.

He wasn’t in a good mood at the moment and had no interest in dealing with these people. As the pretty maid ahead approached, he glanced at her and simply pointed a finger. He had once been the man who single-handedly built that vast financial empire — once he genuinely let that presence show, even in just a look, a gesture, this maid froze on the spot with a start, stammering, “Young Master, you’re awake…”

He walked past her, took a few steps, then turned back and, with some laziness, picked up what seemed to be a robe meant for him from the maid’s hands. Unfolding it, he frowned in mild irritation: “How does this thing go on?” Thinking that what the maid had spoken sounded like a Jiangsu-Zhejiang dialect, he switched to the local dialect: “How’s this worn?”

“Y-Young Master, let me help you…” The maid hurried to help him into the robe, her eyes studying him with confusion. Tch, not bad acting… As she dressed him, she called down below: “Young Master’s awake, Young Master’s awake…” More people began arriving from the various courtyards.

Robe on, he pushed past the maids and boys who’d gathered, crossed the courtyard, and walked outside without looking back.

In the end… he was still brought back…

…

Ten days later, he sat in the corridor watching fireworks in the sky outside, and sighed.

He had gone out eventually. The city was vast, and he found no trace of anything modern anywhere — no buildings, no people; the mountains, marshes, and lakes outside all told him this was ancient times. There was no possibility otherwise. Even if he poured the entire strength of his financial empire into it, he couldn’t fabricate a world this seamless — and with this many actors, such perfection would be impossible. This wasn’t The Truman Show, and he wasn’t Truman, locked in a soundstage since birth.

He’d more or less pieced together his current identity. His name was Ning Yi, courtesy name Liheng, currently the matrilocal son-in-law of the Su family, wealthy merchants of Jiangning. It was a rather disreputable status to hold, but since it was what it was, there was nothing to be done — and even setting aside the matter of being a live-in son-in-law, the situation itself, from what he’d observed these past few days, was rather complicated.

The Su family was one of Jiangning’s well-known wealthy merchant houses. The current head of the family’s eldest branch, Su Boyong, had no son, only a daughter named Su Tan’er. As for this wife of his, he hadn’t yet laid eyes on her — apparently, on their wedding day, a batch of the Su family’s fabric had run into some trouble, and Su Tan’er had rushed off to deal with it. In short, it was clear she hadn’t approved of the marriage — she’d essentially fled the wedding.

As for himself — Ning Yi — apparently his grandfather’s generation had been close with the current Su family patriarch, and they’d made a betrothal pact before either child was born, only for both children to turn out male. So the pact was passed down to the next generation, but the Ning family fell into misfortune through some misadventure. By the time it came to Ning Yi, both his parents had died. Though he’d had some schooling and could pass for a scholar, his actual learning probably wasn’t much — he was simply honest and dependable, which was why old Patriarch Su had taken a liking to him and brought him in as a live-in son-in-law. Whether Ning Yi himself had been willing, or coerced, was something he could no longer trace back now. Apparently plenty of people hadn’t wanted this marriage to happen either — on the wedding day the bride had fled, the ceremony had been ordered to proceed regardless, and then, as the story went, some wealthy young man who also had his eye on Su Tan’er had secretly clubbed him with a brick, knocking him unconscious for several days before he woke.

These past few days he’d played the part of someone left dazed by the brick to the hilt while meeting many members of the Su family — he’d even seen old Patriarch Su once. The situation was complicated, but to him, it was something he could read at a glance. The old patriarch was in fine health and remained the true power behind the Su family. As the saying went, three generations show in what you eat, four in what you wear, five in your learning — the Su family had reached its fifth generation of wealth in Su Tan’er and her several brothers, but the quality was clearly uneven. The one with the most business talent, ironically, was Su Tan’er — a daughter.

If the elder brothers and second brothers had been more capable, if Su Tan’er hadn’t been the eldest branch’s daughter, if she hadn’t had both the talent and the temperament for business — perhaps everything would have turned out differently. But as it stood, old Patriarch Su had clearly decided to groom Su Tan’er as his successor. As for why he’d chosen someone like himself as the live-in son-in-law — there was likely some sentiment tied to the old family friendship, but the main reason was probably that the old Ning Yi had been dependable enough, easily kept in check by anyone.

Because of this, his standing as a live-in son-in-law naturally displeased the other branches of the family. They’d long been eager to introduce suitors to Su Tan’er, hoping some wealthy young master would marry her off and turn her into “spilled water” who posed no threat to the family — only for old Patriarch Su to seize on the childhood betrothal and forcibly bring in a live-in son-in-law instead. Naturally, he’d become a thorn in others’ sides. Whether the brick to his head that night had been someone else’s doing was, admittedly, hard to say for certain.

He thought back to his previous life.

Boardroom battles, endless scheming — it seemed his entire life had been spent on such things, right up until he’d built that massive commercial empire, still guarding constantly against internal strife, only to be finally undone by his own sworn brother’s betrayal — killed. Looking at these things again now, he couldn’t help but find it almost funny. He truly had no wish to touch any of it again, especially not squabbles this petty…

Sort out what needed sorting, save up a bit of silver, then leave — that was his thinking. Even though he currently had no particular feelings about being a live-in son-in-law and didn’t much care about that kind of reputation, being watched constantly did feel a bit unpleasant.

As for this world, he still hadn’t quite figured it out.

Jiangning — that was what Nanjing had been called during the Song dynasty, but this wasn’t the Song dynasty. What had puzzled him most these past few days was the question of history. The history books he’d found seemed to diverge somewhat from what he remembered of the future world. The current dynasty was called Wu, and like the Northern Song, its capital was at Bianliang. Some historical details seemed to have started diverging around the Sui dynasty, and by the Tang there were already major discrepancies. After the Tang came a period of warring lords resembling the Five Dynasties and Ten Kingdoms, followed by the Wu dynasty. There were some extra famous figures and poems that had been passed down, and some missing — for instance, Li Bai had written some fine poetry and been hailed as the Poet Immortal, but had died young in a sword duel in Chang’an; Du Fu had become an official, but had been beheaded by the emperor after botching some affair through his own pedantry — a detail he’d only managed to dig up after much effort, a small footnote in the history books.

What kind of thing was this supposed to be? Quantum mechanics? Multiple universes?

Thinking about it, he couldn’t help but find it all rather marvelous.

The Wu dynasty resembled the Song — quite prosperous — but might well end up conquered by some other people the way the Song had been. The history he knew had gone completely off the rails, and he couldn’t be bothered thinking too hard about it. For now, what he needed to do was lie low, get familiar with the world, then slip away from this large clan and… do a bit of small business, travel around a little. Whatever else came up, he’d deal with it when it came.

As he was thinking these things, noise began rising from the courtyard outside. Today happened to be a festival day, and he’d only just come back from the front of the house not long ago; it seemed something else had happened now. Before long, the maid he’d met on his very first day after being reborn into this body — Xiao Chan — came trotting up the stairs, her round little face flushed red: “Young Master, Young Master, the young lady’s back, the young lady’s back!”

That his wife would eventually come back was something he’d already expected — it wasn’t as though she could really flee the wedding and never return home just because her husband had married in. This ten-day or so blank period had likely just been her way of warning him, giving him time to see the lay of the land clearly. This young lady had a strong-willed character; he had no real complaints about that. Xiao Chan came to fetch him, then pulled him along, and as they made their way from the front courtyard toward the back, they saw a group of people approaching from a distance — the woman leading them, wrapped in a red cloak, stood out sharply among the crowd. That would be her.

Surrounding the woman as she approached were several of the young men from the second and third branches, along with maids and stewards of the Su household. The woman in the lead was tall and graceful, with an oval face, her long black hair bound up with a sash and hanging down to her waist. She was laughing and chatting with the others while handing off her bright red cloak to an attendant beside her. As she drew near and saw Ning Yi and Xiao Chan, a flicker of appraisal crossed her face for just a moment, and then she gave a slight bow: “Husband.”

Whether or not this was even the first time the two of them had properly met, Su Tan’er’s expression was entirely natural, as if the business of her fleeing on their wedding day had never happened at all — she walked up as easily as an old married couple of many years, naturally slipping her arm through his, before turning with a smile to the others: “Second Brother, that white tiger pelt you always wanted — Tan’er’s found it for you this time, so you can’t blame me anymore…”

One by one, Ning Yi watched with some interest as the woman beside him handled each person, covering every base, making perfectly complete implications through the most casual-seeming remarks, giving them all something of their own to attend to, before turning back to him with an air of perfect marital harmony: “Husband, let’s go back.” Taking her three maids with her, she walked with Ning Yi toward their courtyard.

The woman was beautiful, carrying entirely the air of a delicate beauty from the water towns south of the Yangtze. In everything she’d just done, though there was an underlying strength to her, she had woven that strength seamlessly into her speech and manner, giving it the quality of a painting, of finely drawn brows. From a purely objective, professional standpoint, Ning Yi couldn’t help but feel some admiration. But when that same manner was directed at him, he found it rather amusing.

Along the way there were a few more exchanges that seemed intimate but maintained their distance, and Ning Yi answered with equally light remarks. By the time they reached the courtyard, once there was no one else around, Su Tan’er naturally let go of his hand: “Your injuries haven’t fully healed yet, husband — rest well these next few days. If you need anything, just tell Chan’er…”

This courtyard had two small buildings. Across the way, the second floor still bore red “double happiness” characters pasted up — presumably Su Tan’er’s original bridal chamber. Ning Yi had lived in the other building ever since waking up and had never once gone over there. Having said her piece, Su Tan’er bowed once more and returned to her own room with her maids. Ning Yi merely waved with a smile in farewell. He understood clearly enough — if he was to live here going forward, this arrangement would likely persist for a good long while.

Fine by him. I won’t bother you, you don’t bother me — if things could stay peaceful like this, and he wouldn’t get dragged into this family’s scheming, whether he ever left or not made no difference. Life in ancient times, actually rather leisurely.

Meanwhile, Su Tan’er returned to her chamber.

It wasn’t an especially distinctive room — at least, relative to its owner’s conduct and character, it was, from any angle, an entirely ordinary young maiden’s boudoir: red and green decorations, various little trinkets, perhaps a bit less needlework and a few more books than usual — but even that fell within a normal range.

The newly married young woman, eighteen this year, stood by the window for a while, undoing the ribbons binding her hair, watching for a moment the man sitting across the way watching fireworks, before sighing softly and closing the window: “Xing’er, come here a moment. Juan’er, go fetch Chan’er.”

Before long, when Chan’er entered the room, Xing’er was busy arranging small items that had been moved around to prepare the room as a bridal chamber, per the young lady’s instructions. Su Tan’er was wiping her face with a towel; as she lowered it, Xiao Chan hurried over to take the towel and set it back in the basin. “My lady.”

“How has the young master been these past few days?”

“Mm, his injury’s healed, but he seems unfamiliar with a lot of things. The doctor said it might be because of the head injury — that he’s forgotten some things.”

“Forgotten things?”

“That’s what the doctor said.” Xiao Chan nodded. “The young master’s also been out and about these past few days — I had someone follow him. He doesn’t seem to be looking for anyone in particular, just wandering around the city and outside it, looking at things. It really does seem like… he’s forgotten a lot.”

“Let him be, then. Anything else?”

“The young master’s been running.”

“Running?”

“Mm. He goes out before dawn and jogs along the Qinhuai River, says it’s for exercise. And — he does strange things in his room…” Xiao Chan mimed pushing herself forward and back with her hands, her small face full of confusion. “He lies flat on the floor and pushes himself up like this — also says it’s exercise. The servant thought it looked so strange.”

Picturing the motion, mistress and the three maids all wore identical looks of confusion, until Su Tan’er finally shook her head: “Exercise… let him be, then. Anything else?”

“Nothing else, really. The young master’s met with the eldest master, the master, the eldest young master, the second young master these past few days — all very amiably… yes, the young master’s amiable to everyone, except… oh, right…”

“What?”

“Chan’er isn’t sure if it was just her imagination, but on the day the young master first woke up, when he came out of the room, his eyes were… frightening. No, not frightening exactly, just very… very…” The little maid tilted her head, searching for the right word. “Very commanding, somehow — a bit like the eldest master’s presence… though also not quite the same. But he just looked at me once, and Chan’er didn’t dare move at all. Maybe… maybe Chan’er just imagined it…”

The little maid’s voice trailed off smaller and smaller. Su Tan’er thought about it for a moment, then laughed. When Grandfather had first proposed bringing Ning Yi in as a live-in son-in-law, she had actually gone to see the man herself, even sent people to look into him. The reason Grandfather had chosen him was, first, because of the childhood betrothal pact from the previous generation, and second, because the man’s temperament simply wasn’t strong — easy enough for her to keep in check. His family had been dirt poor; though he called himself a scholar, he hadn’t read much, and lacked even the usual aloof pride scholars carried — hardly any “presence” to speak of. Probably just her imagination — he’d just been struck, just gotten up, and his look had simply startled Chan’er, that was all. Still…

Thinking back on their meeting just now, on the brief exchange, it seemed to diverge somewhat from the man she’d seen before. She had gone up, taken his arm, spoken to him, expecting him to be flustered and awkward for a while — yet he’d simply gone along with it, utterly at ease.

“Well, fine. He probably understands well enough in his heart how things stand, and that’s enough. As long as he behaves — Father’s already agreed, I can go on like this… let it be, then.” She sighed. “But the rest of you — show the young master proper respect. Whatever’s between the young master and me, none of you are to go gossiping about it outside. No matter what, as long as he doesn’t do anything to harm the Su family, he is my husband. Understood?”

Sometimes one imagines the future as boundlessly beautiful, but in the end, one still has to accept fate — women especially so. She was already far better off than most women in this regard. For now, at least…

Accept it, then…