The sixth day of the second month, eleventh year of the Jinghan era, Bianliang.
Having shed the cold of winter, the capital had already begun to warm; along the street corners and roadsides, the trees had already sprouted fresh green leaves, and a few birds chirped as they occasionally flew across the sky. It was morning, the sun hiding behind a stretch of unfurled clouds, casting down its warm light. At the Ning residence, Su Wending and the others, having finished breakfast, were gradually heading out for the day.
By now, the various members of the Su family each had their own responsibilities, and most had found their footing. Su Wending had taken charge of the Su family’s textile shop’s newly opened branch in the capital; since it was still new to the area and hadn’t yet made much of a mark, for the time being it was enough just to keep it running—a chance for him to get some practical experience.
Su Wenfang oversaw operations at the large compound outside the city—the daily lives, meals, rewards and punishments of the craftsmen and servants there. Since the overall direction was still firmly in Ning Yi’s hands, what Wenfang handled amounted mostly to routine, procedural work.
Su Yanping had somewhat more on his plate—overseeing the production and delivery of the new honeycomb briquettes, as well as the manufacture and sale of the stoves. Both workshops were still fairly small, and now, tied in with Zhu Ji, they relied on the larger enterprise for their survival, with the major business decisions still resting with Ning Yi. Yanping, too, was still in a learning phase—his job was simply to hold things steady and, following Ning Yi’s guidance, allow things to grow gradually.
Of those from the Su family who had come north, these were the ones with relatively close ties. There was also Su Wenyu, who had by now returned to Dulong Ridge to manage the labor reform camp there. Beyond these, along with Su Tan’er’s arrival, a number of the Su family’s shopkeepers, accountants, and even usable young relatives from the family had all been assigned to various posts, beginning their work and training.
These young men of the Su family, who in the past had been rather idle, weren’t, truth be told, particularly gifted or talented. But people, in the end, weren’t all that different from one another—given sufficient opportunity and guidance, managing routine affairs step by step was never truly a problem, and with enough experience accumulated, cleverness and shrewdness would naturally follow. Ning Yi placed more faith in experience earned through practice than in raw intelligence.
Over these past few months, though none of the Su family men could yet be called truly capable of holding their own independently, they had, to some degree, found their footing and taken on a somewhat more composed bearing. In this feudal era, though clever people certainly existed, most people went through their whole lives without ever gaining much real exposure to the world. Having been put through Ning Yi’s training, they could now genuinely be counted among the more impressive young men of their generation. Many scholars who studied in poverty, or those traveling to the capital for the imperial examinations, might never achieve, in their entire lives, the kind of standing these young men now had.
“I heard before that among the Su family, the old patriarch always favored Second Cousin the most. Now that the family’s divided up, it really does show—it seems this time the Su family sent up nearly every usable young member to Bianliang. The old patriarch must have placed tremendous hopes in Second Cousin…”
Coming from an official household himself, Song Yongping wasn’t too astonished by Su Wending and the others as they stood now. He recalled his father’s earlier assessment—that the younger generation of the Su family had, on the whole, no one particularly reliable among them. Though he’d crossed paths with them a few times before, he’d been young then, and Su Wending and the others younger still, so nothing much could really be told from those earlier encounters. After these past few days spent with them, this was about the only conclusion he could reach. Watching them joke and roughhouse over breakfast, speaking with such spirited enthusiasm—even a certain ease and confidence—about their respective responsibilities, he couldn’t help feeling a touch of envy deep down—though this, he told himself, was really no more than the decent bearing of merchants; it still fell short of true steadiness after all—they were even pushed to go out and practice martial arts every morning, and though the gentlemanly Six Arts did emphasize physical fitness, skills that could leave you bruised and bloodied still struck him as far too crude.
Eating his morning porridge, mulling over these thoughts, he glanced toward the host’s seat, only to find it empty.
“Second Brother-in-Law left early this morning—today’s Miss Shishi’s performance for the Zhu Ji, after all.” Su Wenfang mentioned this to Song Yongping, then added, “By the way, Xiao Si, are you going to come watch tonight? We’ll all be heading over there in the afternoon.”
“Uh… I think I’ll pass.” Song Yongping said with a smile. “With the examinations coming up, I still have some reading left to finish, so I don’t plan on going out today. If anything interesting happens, you gentlemen can fill me in when you’re back.”
Though, since arriving in the capital, he’d long wanted to catch a glimpse of the capital’s reigning beauty, this time he had no interest in going. Part of it was genuinely the approaching examinations—the truly anxious candidates had all begun withdrawing into themselves to focus their minds, and that was the larger reason. But a smaller part of it stemmed from something he himself preferred not to dwell on—a slightly arrogant, or perhaps darker, streak of feeling.
He still hadn’t quite figured out what kind of man his brother-in-law really was. Naturally, with the examinations approaching, he had no intention of digging into that just now either. His father had once said the man was quite impressive, and had suggested he try to get to know him—that he even carried some fame as a talented scholar in Jiangning. He’d read the man’s poetry himself, and it truly was remarkably good—but writing was, after all, an eternal pursuit, and since the Tang dynasty, few had managed to secure office through poetry and prose alone; composing verses, in the end, remained a minor pursuit. On the other hand, the man was quite formidable in business, and could even secure Li Shishi’s presence—that, too, should count as a mark of real ability. Still, for a man of considerable literary reputation to devote himself so diligently to the pursuit of money—meeting with Li Shishi ought to have been a refined, elegant affair, and yet, as things stood, it couldn’t help but seem rather vulgar instead.
These thoughts merely passed through his mind—after all, they were family, and Song Yongping did genuinely feel some warmth toward him. Even to Ning Yi’s eyes, this would have looked like nothing more than youthful pride—a young man’s instinctive comparison upon meeting an accomplished peer close to his own age. He spent that morning at home reading, and before long, a visitor arrived—a fellow scholar he’d befriended in the capital over the past few days, coming by today to exchange thoughts ahead of the examination just a few days off.
Juan’er, staying home to mind the child, had a servant bring out tea and refreshments, and the group of them settled into discussing poetry and prose in the courtyard. Before long, as the atmosphere grew livelier, the conversation drifted to other matters, and upon learning that Song Yongping’s brother-in-law was none other than Ning Liheng, the group grew rather astonished, and the talk soon turned to Zhu Ji, Li Shishi, and the new poems set to be unveiled at today’s performance.
“Speaking of which, I’ve actually visited that little Zhu Ji place—it’s quite well put together, refined without being extravagant, though that’s really all it is. As for the new work Miss Shishi’s set to perform this time, everyone’s quite eager to hear it. Brother Song, since you’re staying there, have you had the good fortune to catch an early glimpse of it?”
At this question, Song Yongping waved a hand with a smile and said he’d been too focused on preparing for the exam these past few days to pay it much attention. In truth, on his first couple of encounters with Ning Yi, he had considered discussing poetry with him, but Ning Yi showed no interest whatsoever in the subject—Su Wending and the others had rather wryly confirmed as much—so Song Yongping had let the matter drop. Naturally, he had no intention of mentioning this in front of outsiders either.
After a few more exchanges, one of the visitors, a young man named Zhang Xilian, himself the son of a capital official, spoke up. “Speaking of Miss Shishi’s performance at Zhu Ji today, I actually heard something—though I’m not sure if it’s true.”
“Please, Brother Zhang, do tell.”
“It seems someone intends to go stir up trouble there.” Zhang Xilian rubbed his chin as he spoke. “This morning, as I was heading out, I overheard someone mention going to make trouble for Zhu Ji. That person is one of the capital’s spoiled young lords—does no honest work, spends all his time consorting with a gang of other layabouts. Miss Shishi’s reputation in the capital is enormous, and there’s no shortage of men jostling over her favor—it’s possible your cousin-in-law has caused too much of a stir this time, and drawn some jealousy because of it. At the time, I believe I also heard mention of finding someone to give him a beating…”
Zhang Xilian’s father was a capital official—not a particularly high-ranking one, but with connections all the same. Having learned of Song Yongping’s family background, he’d shown some interest in cultivating a friendship with him. After the group discussed the matter for a while, Song Yongping paced about the courtyard in thought for a moment, then made up his mind.
“Since Brother Zhang has brought up such a matter, and given that we are, after all, family, I can hardly stand aside and do nothing. This afternoon, I too will head over to Zhu Ji. If any of you gentlemen have other matters to attend to, please feel free—I understand the capital runs deep with hidden currents, and it’s better not to get entangled in this kind of trouble if one can avoid it…”
At this, the others hurried to their feet, protesting. “Does Brother Song not consider us friends!”
“How can you say such a thing…”
“The capital is the seat of the Emperor himself, a place of law and order—surely no one would dare act recklessly here. We’ll go along today too, just to see whether such a thing really comes to pass.”
Zhang Xilian laughed. “Brother Song, to speak this way is treating us far too much like outsiders. Given our friendship, whatever comes up, I certainly can’t stand by uninvolved either. Truth be told, though my father’s official rank in the capital isn’t especially high, he does know a fair number of people, and carries some measure of influence. Should this fellow really cause trouble, even if it were brought before the Kaifeng Prefect himself, there’d be nothing to fear…”
Song Yongping hastily offered his thanks, already turning over countermeasures in his mind. The capital was crowded with powerful figures beyond counting; his own father, serving as a prefect out in the provinces, might carry little weight here. But regardless, should any real conflict arise, having a son of an official family step forward would always carry more weight than a merchant doing so. In his own experience back home, he understood well enough the give-and-take of official dealings, knew how to gauge such matters—if trouble truly arose, it would be best for him to step forward on his brother-in-law’s behalf; after all, they were family, and family ought to help each other when needed.
As for Zhang Xilian’s connections, whether he’d actually need to call on them remained to be seen—but since the man was eager to cultivate a friendship, there was no harm in letting him extend the favor. And should things truly come to nothing else, he could always fall back on invoking his connection to the Right Chancellor’s residence, borrowing a bit of that authority to intimidate the other side if necessary. That, too, would let people know not to underestimate him.
With this in mind, by the afternoon, the group set off cheerfully for Zhu Ji’s Evening Glow establishment, Song Yongping feeling that his outing today had taken on real purpose. As for the others, they were mostly thinking of the chance to speak up chivalrously in front of Miss Shishi, and perhaps make a good impression.
Their group arrived somewhat early, but lunch had only just ended at Zhu Ji, and a good number of scholars were already upstairs enjoying tea while they waited. No sooner had they entered the building than they happened to run into Ning Yi. Spotting Song Yongping, Ning Yi greeted him warmly with a smile, then exchanged greetings with the rest of the group in turn. Ning Yi, appearing to have other matters to attend to, had one of the attendants lead them upstairs to a private room to sit for the time being. Song Yongping had come specifically to help resolve the brewing trouble, but with the situation still unclear at this point, he naturally couldn’t bring it up with Ning Yi just yet.
As they made their way upstairs, Zhang Xilian spotted a few familiar faces from the capital’s circle of scholars and went over to greet them, hoping in the process to find out exactly whom Ning Yi had offended. Meanwhile, Song Yongping searched about upstairs for any sign of Ning Yi, thinking to himself that with the fire practically at his heels, who knew where his brother-in-law had gone off to, still fussing over some trifling matter. He shook his head—well, no matter what, he’d simply have to do his best to help.
He sat back down at his seat and chatted with the others nearby. Before long, Zhang Xilian returned, his brow furrowed, and sat down with an oddly strained expression.
“Your brother-in-law… how on earth did he manage to offend someone like this…”
“Who?”
“That notorious playboy, Gao Muen…” Zhang Xilian’s brow knit tightly as he said the name, and seeing that Song Yongping didn’t quite grasp the implication, added, “Young Master Gao—the son of the current Grand Marshal, Gao Qiu.”
Song Yongping sat there, stunned into silence for a long moment.
At that very same moment, outside Zhu Ji, Ning Yi, Wenren Buer, along with Zhu Biao and a good number of men from the Secret Investigation Bureau, were all busy handling various small matters unrelated to the performance itself.
In some corner of Bianliang, under Wenren Buer’s direction, more than a dozen men were closing in on a quiet little courtyard.
Ning Yi drove his carriage along the city streets. After turning down just two streets, he exchanged a few words with Zhu Biao beside him, and Zhu Biao’s gaze sharpened, and he nodded.
Light streamed through the window lattice into a room, where Chen Fan poured himself a cup of water, lifted the cup—and suddenly froze in place.
More than a dozen agents of the Secret Investigation Bureau drew their blades and vaulted over the courtyard wall!