Having come from Jiangning all the way to the capital, the original plan had been to do what he could to help prevent the possible Jingkang catastrophe. But plans never kept pace with change; once he had gotten a rough sense of the situation within the Secret Investigation Bureau, the bulk of the plan he’d originally prepared could no longer be handed over as intended. What remained were minor details, and whether or not he explained them hardly mattered anymore.
When he first arrived in the Wu Dynasty, he hadn’t placed too much hope in what the physics and chemistry of later ages could accomplish here. Though the stones of other mountains might sharpen one’s own jade, in a world lacking any industrial foundation, reform would be hard-pressed to show decisive results in a short time — and if people came to depend on it, that might only further erode the fighting spirit of the soldiers. Second, the Confucian system was deeply wary of reform and technological revolution — not openly stated, but the moment reform threatened vested interests, resistance would arrive by all manner of means. After the affair in Hangzhou concluded, when Ning Yi turned his mind to what he might accomplish technologically, his first choice was no longer gunpowder, but earthen-furnace steelmaking.
China’s five-thousand-year civilization was vast and profound — so the saying went. But when it came to technology, take metallurgy for example: once a technology developed to a point where people felt it was “good enough,” across a thousand or even two thousand long years, ironworking techniques might see minor changes here and there, but never a true technological revolution. And even those small-scale changes were likely due, in large part, to blacksmiths guarding their own secrets — if a truly formidable technique existed, it would never spread widely, and would eventually be lost in the flow of time, leaving new craftsmen to start over and research fresh methods of their own.
Purely in terms of technological innovation, this self-sufficient and bountiful land had no appetite for taking in the new; its imprint was more one of drawing lines in the ground to confine itself, of clinging stubbornly to old ways. In the end, it was precisely because of this land’s abundance that, after the West’s industrial revolution, a great slap came across its face. Looking back from the present, many historically indignant commentators liked to point to the technological advances of the Song and Ming dynasties as the sprouts of an industrial revolution — but in truth this was nothing more than self-congratulatory daydreaming. Once the ruling structure and ruling culture of this land had taken initial shape, one could restart the process of development a thousand times over and still never produce an industrial revolution around the eighteenth or nineteenth century — unless there were foreign invasion, there would inevitably be internal fragmentation and attrition instead. A people without any sense of crisis would not seek change; they would only fear it. And so there would be no revolution in the eighteenth century — perhaps, in the eightieth century, there might be a chance.
Of course, even for Ning Yi, this was merely a tangent that occurred to him along the way. But because of these thoughts, he had considered a number of simple technological innovations that could be achieved in a short time, and the first that came to mind was still earthen-furnace steelmaking. In the final years of the 1950s, the earthen blast furnaces that had once covered the land in later China required no particularly rigorous or advanced technical standards. That movement had been widely criticized in later times — after enormous waste, of more than eleven million tons of steel produced, only around eight million tons met industrial standards. But compared to the ironwork of this era, even the more than three million tons of substandard scrap steel would, by many measures, far surpass the current standard of the Wu Dynasty.
There was no need here for any high industrial standard, nor any fear of wasting too much — so long as a line of thinking could be opened up, and the right carbon content found, it would be entirely possible to mass-produce blades as good as the ones blacksmiths here currently took half a year or several months to forge, enough to arm an elite unit. But since what the Wu Dynasty’s army currently lacked was not good blades but military discipline, Ning Yi had handed the preliminary experiments over to Lu Hongti instead.
On another front — though there had not yet been a painful precedent here quite like the Eastern or Western Depots of later dynasties, the upper echelons of this era were nonetheless cautious about establishing any large-scale espionage network, as could be seen from the many constraints placed upon the Secret Investigation Bureau in various matters. If not for the urgency of the situation, and the involvement of various imperial relatives balancing one another’s power, the Bureau likely wouldn’t even have the authority to act at all. For this reason, the plan to use the Bamboo Records as a foundation for developing a large-scale system of public-opinion guidance had been unlikely to gain support from the very start.
For one thing, the upper classes simply would not understand what significance there could be in mobilizing the lower classes — if anything, it would look more like the beginnings of a heretical cult. And once such a system was placed under the Bureau’s name, its expansion would make the Bureau itself uncontrollable. For these reasons, Ning Yi had decided to go it alone on this front. As for the matters concerning the cloth business on this trip, they were secondary — even if he didn’t get personally involved, once Tan’er arrived, she would have more than enough ability to get everything moving. What Ning Yi truly needed to accomplish, before he left, was to give sufficient thought to the affairs of the Bamboo Records.
On this trip north, neither Yun Zhu nor Jin’er had brought along any accompanying staff. The first batch of trainees was still undergoing training back in Jiangning — something that had been in preparation ever since returning to Jiangning from Hangzhou, similar to onboarding training in the later world, capable of producing personnel who, by the standards of this era, would already be more than qualified for use within two or three months. Once Yun Zhu and Jin’er were settled here, in a month or two, the first batch of staff — a mix of new and veteran hands — would arrive in the capital to begin preparing for work at the new shop.
And even after that, training in literacy, work skills, corporate culture, and the like would not stop. A sufficiently robust system of evaluation, promotion, and mutual oversight needed to be established, so that everything could run smoothly even without the constant supervision and involvement of proprietors like Yun Zhu and Jin’er. The basic framework for all this could begin taking shape now. On the other hand, to properly localize these things, he naturally needed to study the various restaurants and pleasure houses currently operating in the capital.
With all these things churning in his mind, though by day Ning Yi appeared at leisure, chatting idly all day with Cheng Zhouhai and the others, even proposing to Qin Shaoyu a plan to visit one new establishment each day starting tomorrow, and casually inviting Yao Zunian, Cheng Zhouhai, and the rest to join him — in truth, much of it was still turning over in his mind. From the words of well-traveled men like Yao Zunian and Cheng Zhouhai, he refined his own ideas, and at night, upon returning, he still had to write out, page by page, a charter modeled on modern corporations, analyzing what could be used, what needed to change, and what should simply be cut altogether. In a sense, it felt just like starting a business all over again — though this time around, of course, however many tedious matters there were, everything came far more easily, with practiced familiarity.
That afternoon, Qin Siyuan and the monk Juemin returned to the residence and mentioned to Ning Yi the matter of Zhou Pei. In recent days, this young county mistress had been busy with all sorts of visits, and it was said she was also preparing for an audience with the Empress Dowager, leaving her no free time to come see Ning Yi — though she had seen Qin Siyuan twice. The first time, she had asked where Ning Yi was staying; this time, she’d asked Qin Siyuan to pass along an invitation — two days from now, there would be a grand gathering at the residence of the County Mistress of Qingyang, and would he like to come see it.
“The County Mistress of Qingyang? Who’s that?” Ning Yi didn’t recognize the name.
“One of the most famous talented women in all of Bianliang, daughter of Prince Tan. After her marriage, her husband, Liu Qingzhou, was also fond of poetry and letters; the couple treat each other with the utmost respect, and often gather friends at home to discuss literature. Over time, her family’s Cai Mu Garden has become one of the most famous venues for literary gatherings — and the people who attend are always men of real talent. Liheng, if you’re interested, you should go take a look,” Qin Siyuan explained with a smile. Beside him, the monk Juemin added a few words as well, laughing — the County Mistress of Qingyang was his cousin, and Liu Qingzhou was someone he knew well.
“If you’re interested, you could come along with this humble monk the day after tomorrow to have a look.”
“Afraid I won’t have the time…” Ning Yi thought it over. He had never had much interest in this sort of poetry gathering, especially now — he had already prepared a good number of verses to use for the branch stores of the Bamboo Records and had no wish to waste them. “Still, how’s Xiao Pei doing lately?”
“In just two or three days, she’s already won over a great many people.” Qin Siyuan laughed. “I hear that yesterday afternoon, at Prince Chong’s residence, Grand Academician Yan Lingzhong tested her on her learning, and she answered every question fluently, dazzling everyone present — though her poetry does have a bit of an overly polished, workmanlike quality to it, which, funnily enough, is exactly what everyone seems to like most. Though it’s possible the prince arranged things deliberately, I’d wager that within the next couple of days, someone will be moved to propose marriage — ha ha.”
Speaking of this, Qin Siyuan laughed heartily. Zhou Pei’s looks were lovely enough that no one could deny it, and with her exceptional learning, she carried the reputation of a genuinely talented woman besides — add to that her family’s standing, and who wouldn’t want to court such a match? Since Zhou Pei had come to the capital this time, the goal Kang Xian had set for her was to find a talented young man she was fond of to be her match. This matter had, of course, already been discussed with Qin Siyuan and Prince Chong Zhou Ji as well, asking them to help keep an eye on things, lest Zhou Pei enjoy herself too much and lose any sense of urgency.
“So then, this poetry gathering at the County Mistress of Qingyang’s place is also meant to give her more options to choose from, I take it?”
Ning Yi voiced the thought with a laugh, and Qin Siyuan nodded. “The little thing has run out of excuses lately — apart from this gathering at the County Mistress of Qingyang’s place, there’s probably a whole pile of other literary gatherings she can’t get out of either. Liheng, you’re practically her teacher — keeping an eye on things for her is part of your responsibility too, isn’t it?”
“Now, Junwu, I’ll gladly claim as my student. As for Zhou Pei, Qin, that girl is sharp-tongued and mischievous — back then I was only teaching her a bit of arithmetic, and she spent the whole time bickering and picking fights with me, even thinks I’ve led her little brother astray. We’re not that far apart in age, so I’d rather not get involved in her marriage — wouldn’t want her resenting me for the rest of her life… If you ask me, this sort of thing is best left to someone older to oversee.”
“A teacher for a day is a father for life — age has nothing to do with it. Zhou Pei has always admired you, Liheng.” Qin Siyuan laughed and waved a hand. “Besides, this old chancellor is buried in ten thousand affairs of state, ha — where would I find the time to get involved in all this dragged-out business of the younger generation. When the time comes, if the monk here has time, perhaps he can look in on her.”
After all, it was only a minor matter, and Qin Siyuan didn’t say much more about the County Mistress of Qingyang’s gathering. None of those present, of course, knew that Zhou Pei had already been going around telling all her friends in the capital just how formidable her teacher — the number one talented scholar of Jiangning — truly was. When speaking to Qin Siyuan about it, she’d kept her tone light and offhand, but in truth her heart was fluttering with the worry of whether her teacher would actually show up at the gathering to back her up.
Still having a great deal of work to attend to, Ning Yi naturally had no time to waste on some tedious poetry gathering. After leaving the Qin residence, it was already evening by the time he returned to the Wenhui Tower, where he noticed that Yun Zhu and the others all seemed somewhat off, their moods appearing rather low. Jin’er, instead of her usual morning coldness paired with lively energy, wore a gloomy expression, and upon seeing him, walked off as though drained of all vigor. When he asked Xiao Chan what had happened, she only said that everyone had gone out that afternoon and tired themselves out shopping, then forced a cheerful smile.
Xiao Chan couldn’t hide this mood from Ning Yi. That night after dinner, Ning Yi called Su Wenyu over and asked about what had happened when everyone went out during the day. Su Wenyu, not daring to hide anything from him, finally told him what he’d seen.
It had been earlier that morning. Ning Yi had gone to the Qin residence, while Yun Zhu and the others had still needed to go out to buy things, with household staff accompanying them along the way. As they passed near the street they had walked the day before, they came upon a corpse.
From the look of it, the authorities appeared to be handling a case — pulling a corpse, wrapped in a sack, out of a small river. The mouth of the sack had already come loose, and even after being pulled out, some bloodied fluid was still leaking from it, clearly indicating the person inside had not been dead long. It was the corpse of a woman, entirely naked. At the time, quite a crowd had gathered to look; it was said the body had been dumped sometime before dawn.
Coming across the corpse of a murdered woman while out walking wasn’t, in itself, the kind of thing to leave someone in low spirits all day — but from the halting way Su Wenyu spoke, Ning Yi began to understand roughly what had happened. Inside the sack that held the body, there had also been some scraps of cloth and a headscarf. The corpse’s face was still intact, and whoever had dumped it clearly wasn’t concerned about family members recognizing who she was. Su Wenyu, seeing this at the time, had thought to himself that the woman looked very much like the one who’d been accosted in the alley by Young Master Gao the day before — though he’d only glimpsed her from a distance at the time, the shape of her face and the color of her headscarf were, at least roughly, similar.
“At the time, Miss Nie, Miss Yuan, and Xiao Chan didn’t say anything, but… I’d guess they were thinking the same thing…” Su Wenyu frowned. “Before she died, that woman… suffered a great deal of abuse and torment. Her… her… down there, there was even a stick shoved in. We didn’t look closely. Afterward, not long after noon… we came back…”
Ning Yi opened his mouth but in the end found nothing to say. He rubbed at his mouth and fell silent for a long moment. Thinking back to that morning at the Qin residence, to what Cheng Zhouhai and the others had said, he began to piece it together. After Qin Shaoyu had returned and told Yao Zunian and the others about the encounter with Gao Muen, Yao Zunian, Ji Kun, and Cheng Zhouhai had likely had the Secret Investigation Bureau look into it. If the order had gone out the night before, the first report could well have come back by the next morning. Cheng Zhouhai’s cursing of the Grand Marshal’s household for its lawlessness had been directed precisely at what happened to that woman — the Bureau might have picked up the trail once the body was dumped, or it was even possible that, on the very night the Grand Marshal’s household took action, the Bureau had already learned of it. But that possibility meant nothing — even if they’d known, the Bureau could never have intervened. A situation like this was, perhaps, the most stifling and infuriating kind there was.
In that sense, keeping the propaganda and public-opinion apparatus separate from the Secret Investigation Bureau, and running it independently, was indeed the right call.
And beyond that, Ning Yi could even extend the thought a bit further — given Gao Muen’s temperament, he likely wouldn’t have given that woman a second thought. Grand Marshal Gao Qiu didn’t care that his son played around with women, but he would certainly want an extra safeguard in place, to keep him from touching anyone he shouldn’t. That safeguard was likely the very people placed around him. Back in that alley, Lu Qian had stopped Young Master Gao from accosting people in the open street — but going home afterward, if Young Master Gao vented his temper on him, Lu Qian would have had to bear it too. So it was likely Lu Qian himself who had truly been responsible for having that woman seized. Not that he couldn’t be allowed to play around — just that he couldn’t be allowed to cause problems while doing it. This was a man with judgment, ability, and means — no wonder he’d managed to make things so miserable for Lin Chong.
He sat there thinking all this over, while Su Wenyu sat off to the side, not even daring to breathe too loudly, because his second brother-in-law’s expression had suddenly turned quite dark. But after a moment, that darkness passed, and Ning Yi’s gaze turned toward him. “Anyway — you were the one keeping Jin’er company on the way, weren’t you? Did you do any flirting along the way… uh, did you two talk at all?”
Caught off guard by the sudden shift in topic, Su Wenyu was stunned for a moment. “That… because of what happened, and Miss Yuan didn’t seem to be in a mood to talk… she seemed to be avoiding me a bit, though maybe…”
“Fine, never mind that. They’re all feeling upset over this, and you already know that.”
“Mm.”
“So what are you waiting for? Jin’er’s in a low mood — go comfort her.”
“Uh… but…”
“Seize the opportunity, no buts about it. If there’s nothing to talk about, find something to talk about. If she won’t comfort you, you comfort her.” Ning Yi patted his shoulder. “That’s how courting a girl works — don’t be so worried about saving face. Trust me on this.”
“…Oh.”
Su Wenyu hesitated, clearly torn, but in the end went off to do it anyway. Ning Yi sat there thinking it over. In truth, neither Yun Zhu nor Jin’er were strangers to the darker side of the world — even in a place like the Jinfeng Tower, how many years went by without a girl or two dying and being quietly carried off? For something like this to happen right before their eyes wasn’t something even Ning Yi could feel good about; there was always a stifled, choked-up feeling in his chest over it. But to say that witnessing something like this meant he ought to go dispense justice, even take on the Grand Marshal’s household directly — Ning Yi knew he didn’t yet have that kind of power, and neither Yun Zhu nor Jin’er would expect that of him. More than anything, it was probably because that woman from yesterday had drawn attention to herself, and now this side had drawn attention too — the fear and pain of putting themselves in her place was hard to avoid.
That feeling was a bad one, but thinking it over, Ning Yi wasn’t sure how to offer comfort. If he were as formidable as Lu Hongti, perhaps he could go tonight and kill Lu Qian and Young Master Gao both, and take Gao Qiu’s head while he was at it. Unfortunately, for now, that could only remain a thought.
If only there were a chance to get Gao Qiu caught up in some political struggle and crushed — that would feel good… He pursed his lips, indulging briefly in the fantasy. Then he went into the back courtyard of the inn, meaning to find Yun Zhu to talk, but she wasn’t in the courtyard. He ran into Su Wenyu again, who said Jin’er couldn’t be found either.
“Maybe she went for a walk nearby, let’s look around some more.”
The Wenhui Tower occupied considerable grounds; the back courtyard was reserved for guests of standing and came complete with ponds and gardens. Ning Yi strolled all the way to the garden, only to see, at a round table amid the trees ahead, a woman sitting with her chin propped on one hand, lost in thought beneath the orange glow of lantern light. That faintly forlorn expression belonged, unexpectedly, to Jin’er. She had clearly already seen him come in, and still sat there with her chin in her hand, gazing over at him with indifferent eyes. Ning Yi, who had simply been strolling in, now clasped his hands behind his back and kept walking forward — then, under Jin’er’s watchful gaze, circled around a rockery and walked off in the direction he’d come from.
He ran into Su Wenyu again on the way, who came over looking excited, exchanging information with him. “I just ran into Xiao Chan and Miss Nie — they’ve gone back to their rooms.”
“Jin’er’s in the garden. Go comfort her properly.”
“Uh, all right…”
At the mention of Jin’er, Su Wenyu still looked a bit sheepish. Ning Yi shook his head, silently cursing the rookie. Though his own experience with women in his past life had been rather crude, by the standards of this era it was still formidable enough — with someone so skilled guiding him, and still this timid… truly a hopeless case. He made his way back, and when he reached the courtyard where Yun Zhu was staying, he found her sitting beneath the eaves, giving him a gentle smile — she seemed to have already worked through whatever had been troubling her, and was simply waiting for him to arrive.
“I heard from Su Wenyu about what happened this morning.” Ning Yi put an arm around her shoulders and sat down beside her.
“It’s nothing, really — just thinking back to how we ran into it ourselves yesterday, it gives me a bit of a chill.” Yun Zhu managed a smile and leaned her head against his shoulder. “Liheng, do you think that woman could really be the one we ran into yesterday? It looks like her… but there’s no way to be sure, right?”
“Mm. But if it really is her, then whoever did it was that attendant of Young Master Gao’s — Lu Qian.”
“Hm?”
“The one who talked Young Master Gao down in the alley. As a servant of the Grand Marshal’s household, he couldn’t let this get out and turn too ugly — but stopping Young Master Gao meant he’d be the one blamed for it once they got home. So the best move was to seize the woman that night…”
Ning Yi’s tone was light as he laid out his reasoning mechanically, point by point. At a time like this, saying anything to ease her mind wouldn’t undo what had already happened. As her man, he could, of course, use the bond between them to press down whatever was weighing on Yun Zhu’s heart for the moment, but that would never stop her from thinking of it again later. So instead, he simply made the whole thing mechanical, expanding the scope of who was implicated, letting the mood turn cold and clinical — perhaps that, rather than comfort, would do more to dull the tragedy.
He sat there speaking in that cold, detached tone for a long while — who was the mastermind and who the accomplice, what was cause and what was method, who was shameless and who thought himself blameless — and once he’d finished, he simply held the woman beside him and sat quietly for a while.
At that very same moment, not too far away, in another part of the garden, a different scene was unfolding.
Lantern after lantern hung along the corridor, casting a warm golden glow; in the garden, fireflies drifted sparsely over the water. By the stone table, a man and a woman were talking about something. Su Wenyu stood up, stepped back two paces, and lowered his head to speak softly. Across the table, the woman rested her chin in one hand, fingers pressed against her lips; she wasn’t looking at Su Wenyu, her expression carrying a certain haughtiness, her gaze cold. Such an expression was rare to see on the usually lively Yuan Jin’er — but Su Wenyu, the one it was directed at, felt neither anger nor hurt because of it. For on that proudly raised, coldly haughty face, tears were falling.
…
“What’s going on with Jin’er, anyway? Seems like she’s got quite a grudge against me…”
Time slipped by quietly. Much later, in the courtyard, Ning Yi changed the subject.
Yun Zhu laughed. “You don’t know? Of course she’d have a grudge against you…”
“I haven’t done anything, though…” As to why he might be disliked, Ning Yi could more or less guess, but the matchmaker’s role, more often than not, tends to get misunderstood — not particularly surprising. In the end, he figured, she’d come to understand him eventually, and that would be enough. That was how he saw it.
After his mutter, Yun Zhu fell silent for a moment, then her expression turned somewhat serious as she looked at him. “Liheng, about Jin’er’s matter — I want to talk to you about it…”
“Mm.”
Ning Yi nodded. Just as Yun Zhu was about to speak, a voice suddenly cut in from behind them. “Ning Liheng. Come out here.”
The tone was stiff and resolute. Turning around, there stood Yuan Jin’er at the courtyard gate, dressed in a goose-yellow robe, looking their way, chin raised high as though squaring off for battle.
Her tone was anything but friendly.