Once the clan assembly dispersed, the confused buzz of voices scattered in every direction, like the crowd emptying out after a film has ended—except that here, few people could simply crack sunflower seeds and stroll home, remarking idly on what had just happened. What followed instead was a flood of urgent business demanding everyone’s immediate attention.
What everyone feared most, ordinarily, was precisely this sort of thing no one had prepared for. Extensive predictions and preparations had already been made beforehand, only to have the true unfolding of events run entirely counter to all of it once the cards were finally revealed—something quite rare, even in the annals of past business rivalries. When months of wasted effort collided with the shocked disbelief of having one’s hopes utterly overturned, the resulting exhaustion weighed like a crushing burden, leaving people feeling as though anything they did now would be futile. But the trouble was, so much still needed doing regardless.
The Second and Third Branches now had to find some way to contain the fallout and negative sentiment stirred up by this reversal; those who had once mocked the Eldest Branch would presumably now be considering how best to mend relations with it. The Old Patriarch, meanwhile, had to busy himself soothing his two sons, Su Zhongkan and Su Yunfang, while reconciling the differing views among the rest of the elder generation, trying to ensure this whole affair passed as smoothly as possible.
As for the Eldest Branch, they certainly couldn’t assume the matter was simply settled. Su Tan’er needed to seize this moment decisively, swiftly and firmly stabilizing the standing the Eldest Branch had begun to lose these past two months—consolidating, reassuring, courting support, maximizing her own advantage wherever possible.
And there were also those who, persuaded by Su Zhongkan and Su Yunfang, had openly sided against the Eldest Branch during the assembly. After some appropriate warning and punishment, they too would need to be brought back into the fold with some reassurance. As Ning Yi had once said, these people weren’t necessarily lacking in loyalty—they had simply lacked confidence in Su Tan’er. These were capable people, after all, and any punishment shouldn’t go too far; having witnessed what had just happened here, they might well prove even more steadfast than others the next time a similar situation arose.
Beyond these matters within the family itself, word of the clan assembly’s outcome had already begun spreading, piece by piece, beyond the walls of the Su household, radiating outward toward the various major and minor merchant powers throughout Jiangning who’d been closely watching the outcome, stirring up ripple after ripple in its wake. The dumbfounded shock at Moon Fragrance Pavilion, among Xue Yan and his companions, was likely not the only such reaction that night.
At Changyun Pavilion, amid a heated argument, when Puyang Yi received word from within the Su household, he too sat stunned for a good long while, never having expected that a piece of news he’d only sought out of casual curiosity could deliver such a shock. He then related the whole series of events that had unfolded these past months among the cloth merchants to the others, still caught up in their argument.
The Puyang clan was Jiangning’s wealthiest family, their fortune dwarfing even that of the Su or Wu families combined. Skilled in business himself, Puyang Yi had, on various occasions, kept close to Ning Yi, largely out of genuine admiration for his talent. Throughout these past months of scheming and rivalry among the cloth merchants, he’d been little more than an observer, watching the performances of the various players unfold. As for Ning Yi’s involvement, he’d never held much expectation for it from the start, and what followed hadn’t surprised him much either. Still, watching such a talented scholar venture into commerce only to be humiliated left him with rather complicated feelings—part sympathy, part quiet satisfaction, a sentiment perhaps best summarized as: you’re brilliant at poetry, and I admire that genuinely, but in this field, I’m far more skilled than you—you never should have gotten involved in the first place.
His prediction for the Su family’s situation tonight had differed little from everyone else’s; naturally, this wasn’t a matter he’d taken particularly seriously either, hardly worth much thought. But when the news finally reached him, he found himself truly, genuinely shocked—nearly everyone in Jiangning who’d been following this affair, having felt so certain of the outcome for months, now found their expectations utterly, completely overturned. The feeling was, in truth, hard to put into words.
Everyone had assumed he was some minor, insignificant participant in this whole affair—perhaps not even a participant at all. Only now did it become clear that this very man had, in fact, been the true center of it all, that over these months he had steered the entire situation forward with a single pull of one thread connected to everything else, and no one had ever noticed…
Those present had little particular feeling about the Su family’s situation to begin with—more than half of them hadn’t even known the details. When Chen Lu recited the words of “Dingfengbo,” and Liu Qingdi’s face flushed red then pale by turns, the room had laughed it off, mocking the poem as nothing more than the man’s self-consolation—however fine the verse might be, what use could it possibly serve. He had gone on to recount the whole Su family affair, and the two sides had fallen into another round of argument, until Puyang Yi finally spoke up. “The Su family just reached an outcome…”
Only then did everyone truly feel the shock.
What had once appeared to be a series of seemingly aimless, incidental actions now revealed itself as a meticulous, step-by-step scheme; the restraint and quiet frustration everyone had witnessed these past months had taken on an entirely different meaning. Calm composure, boundless patience, an enormous scheme, the most magnificent reversal imaginable—it sounded like something straight out of a heroic legend. The group of literary men, after their initial stunned silence, began marveling openly at it all, while Liu Qingdi found himself with absolutely nothing left to say. All his earlier criticisms had, in an instant, become a great joke—and most damning of all, Ning Yi wasn’t even present. That poem he had written merely for a nine-year-old child, subjected to so much mockery just now, had suddenly transformed into a resounding slap, landing squarely and unmistakably.
Word of the Su family’s affair spreading tonight was only the first ripple to stir Jiangning this evening; no one yet knew how many further ripples would spread by morning, or what form Xue Yan’s earlier remark about “calculating ten steps ahead” would eventually take as it made its way around. As for Ning Yi himself, the man at the center of it all, he had no way of knowing that this very night someone would take that “Dingfengbo” poem and stir up a whole literary controversy over it, drawing an entire circle of scholars and literary men into the fray as well.
For the moment, he remained fairly optimistic about things.
That the Old Patriarch had exposed his part in things at the clan assembly did leave him feeling a touch resigned, but to claim he was truly shocked or caught off guard by it would be putting on airs. The old are cunning for good reason; that Su Yu would make this particular move came as no great surprise—had their positions been reversed, Ning Yi would likely have done the same. If Ning Yi harbored genuine ambitions of his own, this move would put the entire Su family on guard against him; if he didn’t, then no amount of wariness from others would matter much anyway—and it conveniently served as another card in Su Tan’er’s hand, useful for intimidating others besides.
As it happened, he genuinely harbored no particular ambitions at all. Of course, the reason he felt so unconcerned about the whole thing was precisely this: if he ever truly wished to accomplish something, the old man’s little arrangement here would mean nothing to him regardless—someone with the ability to break through such constraints whenever he chose had no reason to trouble himself over something so minor. The Old Patriarch’s concern for the Su family’s interests was reasonable enough on its own terms; one couldn’t expect complete, unconditional goodwill from anyone without reason, and so long as most of it remained genuine goodwill, that was good enough.
At this very moment, the ripples were continuing to spread far beyond the Su household. Within the estate itself, as far as Ning Yi was concerned, there was little left for him to do. The three maids each had their own tasks to attend to, and Su Tan’er had already gone out; Ning Yi had no clear idea what her plans were for the rest of the evening. But he assumed everything was proceeding as it should—Su Tan’er was hardly less capable than he was when it came to managing the finer details, and there was no further need for him to step in.
Having seen his wife off, he wandered idly around the Su estate for a while, taking in the chaotic mood scattered throughout the household, the occasional sound of a child crying after upsetting some adult and being punished for it. His mind began drifting toward his recent chemistry research, and toward Bamboo Records’ plans to open a second branch.
After finishing the telescope, he’d explained the basic principle to Old Kang and traded it for a few other things to tinker with. As for gunpowder, the military’s rocket weapons and fire-lances and the like—now that he had some working models to compare against, some improvements might well prove useful for self-defense. More importantly, with war likely approaching, a telescope could offer real value to the Wu Dynasty’s military as well—a small, casual contribution toward keeping his own peaceful life secure. Old Kang was presumably still studying the matter in detail.
As for Bamboo Records, plans were underway to open the second branch once the wine ban lifted; the current expectation was that the ban would likely be lifted before the New Year, at which point high-proof liquor could be launched alongside it—something worth building some marketing buzz around.
In truth, his thoughts turned more often to that place near Mount Lüliang—the telescope, alcohol, gunpowder, firearms. The latter two hadn’t been developed yet, but given the technical foundation already established in the Wu Dynasty, improving on them wasn’t likely to pose much difficulty. For now, though, he was inclined not to share these particular developments with Old Kang. The Wu Dynasty’s real problem, after all, wasn’t its weaponry—it was the fundamental weakness of its armies. The Jin forces could break seventy thousand Liao troops with a mere twenty thousand men, while Wu Dynasty forces scattered in terror at the mere approach of the Liao. Everyone involved was human—the real issue lay in morale and will. Even if he improved the existing fire-lances to a genuinely practical level, whether equipping the army with them would prove a blessing or a curse was difficult to say.
He simply wanted to experience the satisfaction of improving on these things for its own sake. If he could eventually make contact with Lu Hongti again, it might make more sense to develop a batch of these improvements for that side instead—though there was no telling how long such a connection might take to establish. Months had already passed; Lu Hongti should have made it back to Mount Lüliang by now, though what things looked like there at present, he had no idea.
Before long, Su Yunsong, noticing him wandering about, came over and struck up a conversation. Afterward, this influential figure within the Eldest Branch found himself, with some surprise, discovering that this fellow genuinely didn’t seem to have any interest whatsoever in what came next. Having learned from his daughter how Ning Yi had performed throughout this whole affair, and now witnessing this firsthand, Su Yunsong’s expression turned distinctly puzzled: he’d assumed Ning Yi must be some hidden asset for the Eldest Branch, that while he might not involve himself in many matters directly, he surely wasn’t entirely indifferent either—that he was likely quietly managing all sorts of things behind the scenes for Su Tan’er. And yet now… where was the man who behaved like that supposed to be?
It was in the midst of this atmosphere that something neither Su Tan’er nor Ning Yi had anticipated quietly set its sights on him, adding an unexpected complication to this otherwise significant night.
After finishing his conversation with Su Yunsong, Ning Yi was preparing to return to his room to read, and to organize his thoughts on everything he knew about modern firearms. Before he’d even reached the small courtyard, a servant came running toward him. “Young master, Sister Chan’er… she’s been hurt over there, hit by something—Second Young Miss isn’t around, please hurry over and take a look…”
At these words, Ning Yi’s expression changed at once. He followed the servant toward the courtyard he’d indicated, along a road leading to a side gate of the Su estate, relatively quiet and secluded. Just as they neared the side gate, the servant fell back slightly, then pressed a blade against Ning Yi’s back from behind. “Young master, don’t walk too quickly. Just do as I say from here on out.”
The Wu family’s gone mad… Ning Yi frowned—though this seemed unlikely, it was, for the moment, the only explanation that came to mind. They weren’t far now from the small courtyard by the side gate where carriages were kept. Ning Yi raised his hands. “Chan’er wasn’t actually hurt, was she?”
“We don’t really know who this Chan’er of yours even is, but… if you tell us, we wouldn’t mind arranging for her to get hurt a little, all the same.”
Ning Yi nodded, then broke into a smile. “Wonderful.”
…
Outside the city, at Ten-Step Slope.
“Why did you have someone try to assassinate my father?”
After Su Tan’er asked this question, Xi Junyu blinked, stunned for a long moment, as though the question struck him as utterly absurd. “Where did you… hear something like that? That’s impossible.”
“Just admit it.” Su Tan’er looked at him, then shook her head. “On my way here just now, I was thinking about how you’ve always had such a keen eye for reading a situation, Brother Junyu, so I found myself wondering what you’d say when I asked. When I was small, you taught me so much—back then, I thought, Brother Junyu, you’d be my mentor and friend for life. I feel genuinely hurt right now, Xi Junyu—is it simply because I’m a woman that you’d humiliate me like this?”
As she spoke these final words, the coldness in Su Tan’er’s demeanor grew unmistakable, her gaze fixed on the man across from her, her words landing one deliberate beat at a time.
“You… the imperial merchant affair went badly, the clan assembly turned out the way it did today. I can understand your feelings about that, but…” Xi Junyu paused. “Have you lost your mind entirely from this defeat?”
“You’re still thinking that way. Unfortunately, you’ve miscalculated everything…” Su Tan’er shook her head. “I already control the Eldest Branch now. Neither Second Uncle nor Third Uncle has anything left to say about it. Everyone was thoroughly stunned by what happened at the clan assembly tonight—it’s a shame you weren’t there to see it…”
“That’s impossible. The entire Eldest Branch was finished, there was no way back—so many people involved, and you’re telling me you managed to turn all of that around? Even with the Old Patriarch forcing your rise to power, that alone couldn’t have accomplished this… Haven’t I helped you think through possible solutions before? Once something’s ruined, you have to accept it, you…” Xi Junyu looked at Su Tan’er with growing hesitation, genuinely beginning to wonder whether the woman before him had simply lost her grip on reality—that explanation, in fact, seemed more plausible than the alternative that she’d somehow actually learned the truth. He glanced at Guard Geng, then at the gaunt man holding the blade beside him.
“The Wu family’s cloth has faded.” Su Tan’er tilted her head, waiting for Xi Junyu to absorb the full meaning of these words. “For months now, everyone’s been trapped inside this scheme. When my father was assassinated, all of you made sure everyone believed someone was out to destroy our Su family, striking with both hand and heel at once—my grandfather spent ages working to smooth things over and calm everyone down. You did that deliberately, to make the Su family let its guard down at exactly that moment. With your abilities, given just a little room to relax, you could accomplish a great deal—you must have thought you had complete control over the whole situation from within…”
As she spoke, from outside, two sharp clashing sounds suddenly rang out—the unmistakable clang of weapons meeting—followed immediately by a burst of raised voices.
“They’re here!”
“Kill him!”
“Don’t let them get away!”
Amid the sudden chaos, Xi Junyu looked toward the sound; Su Tan’er turned her head as well. It seemed someone outside was trying to force their way in, had been discovered, and a fierce clash had erupted, with people fleeing in every direction.
“Your people?” Su Tan’er asked Xi Junyu. “So they really did come to save you. Do you believe me now? Even they must have realized you had no chance of getting lucky here.”
Xi Junyu turned his head away, saying nothing, his expression one of stunned disbelief, unable to comprehend how things had truly come to this point.
“The day my father was attacked, it was originally supposed to be my husband and I distributing the porridge—Father hadn’t planned to go at all. The assassin had already been positioned there ahead of time, along with an entire prepared narrative meant to damage my family’s reputation. That doesn’t fit with a plan aimed at killing me, then suddenly changing course to strike my father instead. There must have been an insider—someone who knew exactly when my father would return and stop there, someone who understood the family’s habits and routines well enough to know this. That’s who decided to strike my father at that precise moment. You were too clever by half—such an enormous oversight. When we deceived everyone into believing the Su family’s yellow cloth was flawless, that insider was bound to believe it too, because he would have been able to see it with his own eyes, firsthand…”
“Now the Wu family’s cloth has faded, and they have absolutely nothing left to fall back on—deceiving the emperor is a capital offense, and their only recourse was to come begging the Su family for mercy. Wu Qilong had no choice but to tell us everything… I had always suspected there was an insider within the Su family, but I never imagined that you yourself were the mastermind behind it all. What impressive maneuvering—you must be quite proud of yourself. What a pity that you, too, had already been drawn into a scheme far larger than your own…” The sounds of fighting outside continued unabated, and suddenly another scream rang out—it seemed more than one person was now pushing inward, though plenty of others lay in ambush around the courtyard as well. Su Tan’er drew several sheets of paper from inside her robe. “This is what Wu Chenghou signed. I made a copy. Would you like to see it?”
Xi Junyu leaned back against the chair, listening to the fighting outside, not even glancing at the papers on the table, his expression complicated. After a long moment, he finally looked up at Su Tan’er. “Deceiving the emperor…” He understood well enough what kind of leverage this situation could yield without even needing to look at the papers; he only shook his head. “This isn’t something you did… you couldn’t have gone this far…”
Su Tan’er fell silent for a moment, then broke into a faint smile—a gentle smile—and answered softly.
“That’s right. It wasn’t me…”
…
Near the side gate of the Su estate.
Two figures followed close behind two others, pausing briefly.
Because the figures ahead had also stopped. One of them was dressed as a household servant, the other walking in front, his left hand wrapped in bandages, now raised into the air.
“Old Two’s got him. Go tell Old Four to bring the carriage around—we’re leaving right now.”
“Got it… keep an eye on Old Two, though, don’t let him go too heavy-handed. This one’s just a weak scholar—if he ends up dead, we’ll have a hard time explaining that.”
“Understood.”
The two figures ahead began walking forward again, glancing around as they went; the two behind them quickened their pace to catch up. Before long, Old Two and the scholar rounded the front courtyard gate, into a stretch of road that was somewhat dark. As the two men behind them reached the courtyard gate as well, there came a sudden thud ahead—a figure had collapsed onto the road in front.
“Old Two, that temper of his…”
One of the men muttered a curse under his breath and hurried forward a few steps; both of them ended up standing by the gate.
Under the starlight, the scholar’s silhouette stood out clearly. He stood there, head tilted, looking down at the figure collapsed on the ground, his bandaged left hand waving idly in the air a few times, his right hand holding the household servant’s narrow blade, scratching awkwardly at his hair. He shifted position, apparently about to bend down and drag the fallen body aside, then turned around, spotted the two figures at the gate, and straightened up.
Six eyes met across the darkness, in a moment of tender, meaningful connection…