“Move, move, move, don’t crowd me…”
“Keep your voice down.”
“What does it matter, they can’t hear us all the way over there…”
Hushed, fragmented whispers.
A boy and a young girl crouched by a pillar on the third-floor veranda, peering down below. It was afternoon.
The stretch of street here near the East Market was one of Jiangning’s relatively quiet districts, suited for leisure, though it wasn’t home to many pleasure houses—teahouses and restaurants lined the way instead, their eaves and cornices meeting overhead, the street below not especially wide, often crowded with vendors selling various local snacks. Many of the teahouses and taverns also drew crowds for opera performances or storytelling. The Fragrant Warmth Teahouse here was among the largest and most renowned in the area; from its third floor, one could see the rooftops of many nearby teahouses and the passersby below—though the third floor consisted entirely of private rooms, and the prices were steep. The two children now crouched by the railing wore fine, elegant clothing, their bearing far more refined than that of ordinary children, and at the moment, having apparently spotted something, they were hiding here rather furtively.
“Ahhh, he’s actually pouring tea for the man—that definitely isn’t a good sign…”
“That guy’s face looks so strange, going red one moment and pale the next…”
“Smiling tiger, definitely still playing dumb—that Wu family fellow must be furious…”
“Sister, you’re always making the teacher angry too… okay fine, I won’t say it, my mistake.”
The young girl glared fiercely at the boy.
Across the street and slightly diagonal from them, at a teahouse called Jingzhu Grove, two men appeared to be sitting by a second-floor window, drinking tea and chatting. Before long, one of the men left, while the other bowed his head over a book, writing and sketching something. Up on this side of the teahouse, the two siblings began debating whether to run over and say hello.
“Maybe he’s writing something interesting…” the little boy said, propping his chin on the railing.
Before the young girl could respond, a voice spoke up from behind them. “Hm? And who might that be?”
The two children spun around at once, only to find that a fair number of people had gathered behind them without a sound. Leaning over beside them now was a middle-aged man of about forty, square-jawed, with a beard nearly three inches long, his bearing carrying both dignified authority and a certain well-fed contentment, a smile on his face. At his question, the young girl named Zhou Pei blinked, her eyes darting about as though reluctant to tell the truth, while the boy named Zhou Junwu suddenly pressed his lips together and began shaking his head rapidly. The middle-aged man’s smile flickered with mild surprise.
“Oh, can’t say, hm…”
“No, we don’t know him.” Junwu bared his teeth in a grin and spoke up, and beside him his sister’s darting eyes suddenly went still. The middle-aged man gave an “oh” and nodded, glancing once more at the second floor of the teahouse across the way. “Well, seeing this fellow so young and clearly talented, your father would rather like to make his acquaintance.” As he said this, something else seemed to occur to him. He leaned down and murmured, in a voice meant only for the girl’s ears, “Speaking of which, Pei’er, you’ll be reaching the age for hairpins in another two years or so. If you didn’t want to go in just now with so many talented young men chatting away, could it be that you and Junwu here are…”
“How could that be!” Zhou Pei burst out at once, then froze, and turned her face away in embarrassment, tapping her forehead in frustration. The middle-aged man laughed and glanced at some of the attendants beside him. “Well then, I suppose we truly don’t know who that fellow was. Does anyone here happen to know?”
“If it please Your Highness, that man is the Su household’s matrilocal son-in-law—Ning Yi, Ning Liheng.” One of the attendants, an elderly man in his fifties, smiled and gave a low bow as he answered.
“Oh? The foremost talent?” The middle-aged man addressed as “Your Highness” gave a start of surprise as well, then looked over that way once more—though from this distance, the bandaged figure seemed rather too young for the title, an impression only heightened by contrast with such a lofty reputation. He glanced at the two children beside him, a flicker of understanding in his eyes, mixed with some confusion.
“I’ve long heard this man possesses extraordinary poetic talent, though I’ve never had the chance to see it for myself. Everyone here is well-read—might any of you happen to be acquainted with him…” He had meant to say that if so, he could ask for an introduction, but catching sight of his children’s expressions, he reconsidered and changed course. “I wonder… does his reputation truly match his talent?”
The middle-aged man before them was indeed Zhou Pei and Zhou Junwu’s father—Prince Kang, Zhou Yong, one of several idle imperial relatives residing in Jiangning. Though he bore the title of prince, he had achieved little of note, nor did he have any particular knack for making money the way his aunt Zhou Xuan and her husband Kang Xian did. Nor, in truth, did he have much talent for poetry or literature—he preferred spending his days wandering about, watching operas, and was well-versed in pastimes like cockfighting and dog racing, occasionally going out hunting and managing to bag a rabbit or two.
Of course, poetry and the like had always been a pastime enjoyed by everyone, high and low alike, and every so often he too would make some show of cultured refinement. With his status, whenever he wished to appear cultured, there was never any shortage of cultured company to be found. Most of the men accompanying him today were among Jiangning’s more notable talents, and at his question, one of them stepped forward with a smile and a bow. “This Ning Yi is indeed quite talented.” These were kind words—had any of the Su family’s wastrel young men been present, they’d have been shocked, for the man who’d stepped forward was none other than Liu Qingdi, who’d had some past friction with Ning Yi. But having said this much, he added with a smile, “Though recently, well… heh, this matter has nothing to do with poetry, so perhaps it’s better left unsaid. As for Ning Yi’s poetic talent, I’ve always admired it.”
“Oh? Has something happened to this Ning Yi, then? Qingdi, do go on and tell us—no harm in it, let everyone hear…” Zhou Yong looked at him with a broad smile.
Liu Qingdi’s expression shifted, and he hesitated for a good while before finally nodding. “Since you insist… well, this isn’t exactly news, though Your Highness Prince Kang may not have heard of it yet. The whole affair began two months ago, when the cloth merchant Su family met with an unfortunate incident…”
Over these past two-plus months, the various conflicts unfolding within Jiangning’s textile trade had made for a genuinely compelling story—first the Su family’s assassination attempt, exposed as a scheme orchestrated by rivals, then the Su family’s remarkable resurgence from adversity, building momentum to seize the imperial merchant title, only to have it all overturned at the last critical moment. Though stealing another family’s formula was certainly unethical, given how the whole affair had twisted and turned, people now found themselves marveling at the maneuvering and machinations on all sides. But by the time Liu Qingdi finished his account, everyone realized that the role Ning Yi had played in it all had genuinely amounted to very little.
The foremost talent might well write fine poetry, but if he proved mediocre in every other respect, it left people feeling rather that the man was simply good at grand talk—somewhat deflating, in the end. Glancing again at the young man across the way, they thought, well, that made sense—someone with such poetic gifts likely owed it purely to natural talent, forcing melancholy verses out of youthful inexperience rather than genuine worldly wisdom. Over at the teahouse, Ning Yi’s figure had already gathered his things and gone to settle the bill, then vanished from sight.
“Oh, what a pity, then…” Zhou Yong sighed, though it was unclear whether he meant the lost chance to meet Ning Yi or the whole Su-Wu conflict. As he spoke, he glanced at his two rather unimpressed-looking children, his gaze growing somewhat complicated, and as the attendants busied themselves elsewhere, he fell into thoughtful silence.
Only then did Liu Qingdi glance toward where Ning Yi had disappeared, a flicker of smug satisfaction and lingering resentment crossing his eyes.
Beside him, the two siblings exchanged a sly glance, lips pressed together.
…
When the driver lifted the carriage curtain to tell him they’d arrived home, Wu Qilong pulled it open himself. It was nearly evening; the sunlight had begun slanting, no longer so harsh, pouring golden light across the far end of the Wu family’s grand estate. The magnificent, imposing gate looked especially solemn in this light, and each time he saw this sight, he couldn’t help but feel a stirring sense of… family dignity, or perhaps honor.
He remembered, as a child, asking his mother why their family’s courtyard was so much larger than others’, why their gate looked different from everyone else’s. His mother had told him: because our Wu family is Jiangning’s foremost cloth merchant.
The Wu family, Jiangning’s foremost cloth merchant…
In truth, especially recently, over this past month-plus of exhausting effort, this feeling had grown especially vivid in his heart—recalling how, from childhood onward, his parents and those around him had spoken those words, instilling that understanding in him.
Jiangning’s foremost cloth merchant.
How much effort, by how many people, had it taken to reach this position? From childhood on, what he’d always wondered was how to transform this understanding into something even greater than merely Jiangning’s foremost.
Since childhood he’d known with confidence that he was destined to achieve this, and in these recent months, he’d even come to feel he’d already glimpsed a success that was all but certain, sealed and settled.
And now, all of it—that brightness—had suddenly gone dark, this very afternoon.
Even now, his whole body felt cold.
He barely knew what he’d thought about during the ride in the carriage, barely remembered how he’d made his way downstairs and into the carriage at all; his steps, his whole body, felt uncertain, weightless.
All of it was about to cease to exist…
So he thought, as he walked toward wherever his family might be.
He didn’t even know how he would begin to tell his father, or anyone else, about what had happened—but some things, indeed, could not go unsaid…
…
By the time Wu Qihao returned home, the lamps had already been lit, and something about the household’s mood felt off. A servant told him he was needed in the main hall. Passing through the courtyard, he saw Fifth Granduncle, who rarely emerged these days, being helped along by two maids toward the same direction. The Wu family’s lamps burned unusually bright tonight.
He knew, then, that something serious had finally happened. These past few days, watching the Splendid Gold Brocade in the warehouse continue to fade, he’d known this outcome might well arrive eventually—but now that it had, his heart still sank sharply all the same. There was no time to greet the slow-moving Fifth Granduncle properly; he broke into a run toward the main hall.
His father, his elder brother, First Uncle Wu Chengjian, Third Uncle Wu Chengyuan, and even two close cousins who held substantial shares and involvement in the family business had all already arrived—though notably absent were the stewards involved in major decisions, men like Luo Minzhi. Most of those gathered here likely hadn’t eaten yet; simple meals sat beside each of them, but no one had any appetite for food. Wu Qihao glanced around and walked forward.
The situation was worse than he’d imagined, because if it were merely a matter of the cloth fading, everyone should have already braced themselves for that days ago. But now, his father’s expression was clearly off. Since not everyone had yet arrived, he simply sat in a chair off to the side; though he still made a conscious effort to maintain his usual dignity and composure on the surface, something in his eyes was wrong. Only as Wu Qihao drew closer did he realize his father was quietly, bitterly, laughing to himself.
“…’the newly powerful mock those still climbing’… ‘old friends who’ve known each other since youth still keep their hands upon their swords’… heh…” That bitter laugh carried no hostility—only exhaustion. He looked at his second son, and shook his head.
“Everyone—all of us—were fooled by one man alone… he never even took us seriously to begin with… oh, Qihao…”
“Father, what’s wrong?”
“Have you eaten yet?”
“Have someone bring some food—eat something first. Something’s happened; ask your elder brother about it…”
Wu Qihao watched as his father closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. When he opened them again, his gaze had steadied, the brief flash of disorientation wiped away, replaced once more by the composed, ruthless bearing befitting the head of Jiangning’s foremost cloth house. But after a moment, his gaze drifted to a corner of the room, and he let out a long sigh regardless.
That was not a good sign.
Wu Qihao turned and walked toward his elder brother, seated near the door. His figure was quiet now, though his eyes carried a certain coldness. At least his brother appeared composed—he was thinking through their options.
“Brother.”
“Sit.” Wu Qilong glanced at him and patted the seat beside him. His initial panic had passed; he’d managed to steady his emotions. Once his brother had sat down, he finally spoke, his voice flat. “The cloth in the warehouse is still fading. This afternoon, while I was out, I ran into Ning Liheng, and then…” He paused, seeing elderly Fifth Granduncle enter through the door, and rose along with everyone else to greet him. “Then we talked, and that’s when I learned the whole truth of it…”
The daylight outside had long since faded entirely; the brighter the lamps burned, the deeper the night grew. Throughout the Wu family’s great estate, the wind stirred the lamp flames faintly, and one by one, the individuals who held significant standing within the family began converging on the main hall.
Brothers from every branch who shared in managing the household alongside Wu Chenghou, cousins and relatives by marriage who genuinely participated in the family’s business affairs, the younger generation—men like Wu Qilong and Wu Qihao—who had earned real trust and now had a seat at the table, and elder members of the family who had once competed head-to-head with Su Yu in the marketplace: all of them, the movers and shakers—present and past—of the Wu family, Jiangning’s foremost cloth merchant, had now been roused by this crisis, and had no choice but to gather together and deliberate a response.
More than two months ago, even during the fight for the imperial merchant title, not even a quarter of these people had gathered together like this—especially the family’s true elders, men like Fifth Granduncle and Eighth Granduncle, figures who had once made all of Jiangning’s textile world tremble with a single stamp of their feet, but who had long since retired to enjoy their remaining years in peace. Yet now, they too had no choice but to come forward once more to face this looming crisis.
More than two months ago, the Wu family had gone about seizing what they wanted with ease, and that scholar had appeared almost as a joke, doing a few things that seemed, at the time, laughably trivial—much like the light, idle conversation over tea just this afternoon, the pouring of tea, nothing anyone had noticed anything amiss about. And yet, over these two-plus months, that same tea-pouring hand had at last, amid all that idle lightness, turned itself over, transforming into a mortal, crushing threat—now falling like thunder upon this vast gathering of people!