Chapter Forty-Five: The Fall of the Song Family

Eighth rank? Song Gong was utterly bewildered, only snapping back to his senses when his fist collided with Su Yang’s. This young man—he’d advanced to the eighth rank in the midst of their battle? How could this be?

When others broke through, they sought seclusion, sometimes even bathing and changing clothes, burning incense and praying, purifying themselves of all distractions to reach the next rank. Who could possibly advance in the heat of combat? And to think he’d unwittingly aided this boy’s breakthrough!

Song Gong felt as though he’d just eaten filth, and now had to swallow more. The nausea rose in his throat, his anger burning hotter.

“Who would have thought Young Master Su’s fortune so extraordinary? Battling my brother-in-law and advancing to the eighth rank—blessed indeed!” Dongmen Qing was surprised as well, though in his eyes the eighth and ninth rank made little difference; neither could match him.

“What? My brother-in-law reached the eighth rank? Wonderful—thanks to this very contest!” Wang Xiahe’s eyes sparkled with cunning; she knew well her brother-in-law’s intentions and shouted her congratulations. Zhang Qingshi, Zhang Ji, and the others all looked pleased.

Only Zhang Qingshi’s mother frowned, glancing first at her daughter and then at Su Yang, musing silently, “This Su Yang seems rather talented. Perhaps one day he’ll return as a successful scholar.” If he passed the higher examinations, he might become a county magistrate or even higher—prosperity would be within his grasp. Now that he’d reached the eighth rank in martial skill, he’d have little to fear even if rebels entered the city, so long as he kept his wits.

Whether Yanggu County remained under imperial rule or fell to the rebels, they would need learned men as officials. By then, he might no longer look upon her daughter, preferring the daughters of prominent provincial or capital families. If he had remained the Wang family’s son-in-law, there would have been no chance, but now, with a foot in both houses, entering the Su family might not be so bad.

Seeing Su Yang’s breakthrough, Song Gong grew only more agitated. His technique fell into disarray, and the newly advanced Su Yang seized the chance, forcing a draw—both staggered back seven steps, breath ragged and faces pale.

“Enough,” Dongmen Qing intervened as Song Gong tried to press on. “You are evenly matched. Any further and you’ll only sow discord. Settle it another day, once you’ve healed.”

“Brother-in-law, give me a few more rounds and I’ll surely defeat this pitiful son-in-law,” Song Gong gritted out, glaring poisonously at Su Yang. His anger was not at the draw, but at having helped his rival break through—a humiliation worse than swallowing a fly. He’d hoped to steal another man’s wife, but now the fellow held his own wife in one arm and Song Gong’s in the other.

“Don’t let your temper impede your future advancement,” Dongmen Qing said generously. “I recently acquired a ten-year-old Snakeheart Fruit. I’ll have the servants bring it for you. Once you’ve healed, it may help you reach the seventh rank within a short time—then Brother Su will be no match for you.”

After reaching the sixth rank and becoming a mid-tier martial artist, these lower-tier medicinal herbs lost their effect. Better to give it to his brother-in-law, who might one day be of use.

“A ten-year Snakeheart Fruit?” Song Gong’s eyes lit up, and he quickly latched onto Dongmen Qing’s arm. “With that, I’ll reach the seventh rank within three months!”

“Good, good. I’ll have them fetch it for you. Now, let’s get back to the opera.” Dongmen Qing brushed him off with obvious distaste.

“Su the son-in-law, our paths will cross again,” Song Gong sneered, looking at Su Yang as if he were already prey. As for Zhang Qingshi, she was clearly smitten—she would never agree to his suit now. But that was fine; since things had come to this, he would simply wait. Within three months, he’d reach the seventh rank, then kill Su Yang and ravish Zhang Qingshi. Who would marry her after that? Then, proposing marriage would be a mere formality.

With those thoughts, Song Gong’s spirits soared, and he called for the opera troupe to resume their performance.

“Yes, we shall see each other again,” Su Yang nodded, surprised by the windfall of the Snakeheart Fruit. He wondered how much incense merit it might save him. To reach the seventh rank from the eighth probably required around eight hundred incense points, and from seventh to sixth, perhaps two thousand.

Ninth, eighth, and seventh rank were lower-tier martial artists; sixth, fifth, and fourth were mid-tier. The ten-year-old Snakeheart Fruit was most effective for a seventh-rank attempting to break through to sixth; if used after reaching the sixth rank, its effect would be greatly diminished.

As the opera resumed, Su Yang excused himself to wander the estate under the guise of needing the privy, memorizing every alley and corner, and teasing a few maids for information.

Unfortunately, all these maids had the lowest grade bone structure—useless for his purposes. Having mapped out the estate, he returned to watch the opera for half an hour, then left the Song residence with Liu Wenxiang.

Seeing Su Yang depart, Zhang Qingshi also took her leave with her mother. Su Yang, meanwhile, arranged with Dongmen Qing to visit his mansion five days later—a stalling tactic, knowing the man had eyes for his mother-in-law and needing time to prepare. He planned to visit Zhang Qingshi tomorrow and, if all went well, propose as soon as possible. A woman with top-grade bone structure—if he let her slip away, he’d regret it for life.

He’d already envisioned their future: two children within three years, eight within ten! Upon returning home, after Liu Wenxiang and the others had gone to their quarters, Su Yang opened a perfumed note in his hand—it bore a time, date, and place. Its sender was none other than Dongmen Qing’s concubine, Jin Ping’er. That little vixen—he’d forgotten to test her bone structure. These days, he had standards: if she was of the lowest grade, he wouldn’t waste effort; if higher, he’d consider it.

Waiting for him in the courtyard was Shui Niang, the wet nurse. Her figure was full, clothed in plain black cloth that did nothing to hide her graceful curves. Young and fresh-scented, she greeted him, eyes brimming with tears and words unsaid.

“Don’t worry. I’ll handle your matter, but you’ll need to cooperate,” Su Yang said, burning the note in his room while eyeing her up and down.

“I’ll do whatever you say, Master.”

“Good, wait here for me.” After burning the note, Su Yang searched his room and finally found a hemp rope, a playful smile on his lips.

…

In the dark, windowless room where Shui Niang’s husband was held, the air was thick with damp, crawling insects, and rats. The rotting wooden door creaked as Su Yang entered with Ma Han and Shui Niang, who appeared pitifully helpless, tied with the rope.

Her husband was a painfully thin man—few grew fat in these troubled times—his mouth stuffed with rags. Seeing his wife and their captors, he could only whimper, bruised and swollen from Ma Han’s beatings, his eyes full of terror. He was the sort who bullied the weak and cowered before the strong.

“Untie him,” Su Yang ordered. Ma Han removed his bonds and the gag.

“Spare me, young master, spare me!” The man dropped to his knees, clutching Su Yang’s leg, pleading for his life. In great households, the depths were unfathomable; who knew what filth lay behind these grand walls? Especially in chaotic times—a wealthy man could kill as easily as squashing a dog.

“Get lost!” Su Yang kicked him aside, his face full of disdain. “Your wife broke my jade pendant. That’s a hundred taels of silver—how will you pay?”

The man turned deathly pale. A hundred taels was an impossible sum for him. Su Yang pulled two contracts from his robe. “A deed of sale and a promissory note. The Su family will buy your wife as a maid for ten taels; you’ll owe the other ninety, to be repaid later. Refuse, and go to the authorities—then things won’t be so simple.”

The two sheets fell into his hands like weights. After a long, tearful hesitation, the man signed them both. Looking back at the grand estate, he felt as if a lifetime had passed. He’d entered a wealthy house and lost his wife, yet still owed ninety taels. This world devoured men whole and spat out bones.

“This world is unjust,” he muttered bitterly. His wife was only a wet nurse, not even responsible for maidservant duties—how could she break a jade pendant? Clearly it was a trap. Signing might at least spare his life. If he refused, his corpse would end up in the family’s dry well before dawn.

He’d treated his wife cruelly, using her more as a beast of burden than a spouse. Yet she was his property, his to command. That night, he sat outside the city, clutching a stubborn resolve. He spent three days caring for his old mother, then strangled her on the fourth day and enlisted as a soldier. On the fourth day, he died defending the city—a nameless recruit, driven by obsession and a desire for merit, nothing more than cannon fodder.

…

“Now you are free from your husband. From today, you are a bonded servant of the Su family. Serve well, and you’ll be treated well,” Su Yang said, helping Shui Niang to her feet. She was soft and light, a milky scent lingering around her.

“Master, rest assured. From now on, I will see the Su family as my own and serve you with all my heart.” Her face was full of gratitude, eyes red, cheeks streaked with tears, delicate and pitiful.

“Take care of yourself for now—restore your health first.” All the new maids were frail and needed time to recover and form bonds. Once restored, if she bore a child, it would be safer. Of course, if a maid was unwilling, he would not force her to become a concubine.

“Thank you, Master.” After today, Shui Niang’s legs were weak. Su Yang carried her to her room, comforting her until she buried her blushing face in his chest, her embroidered shoes dangling in the air. In the gentle night wind, she huddled in his embrace, clutching his robe, feeling safer and more excited than ever before. Her long-sealed heart pounded wildly.

After settling her in bed, Su Yang left, instructing the maids not to neglect her: chicken soup once a week, two eggs a day. The household’s chickens had hatched chicks, but more would need to be bought. Tonight, he’d gain some silver from the Song family.

Outside the gate, another group arrived to sell their daughters and sons. Su Yang checked their bone structures—all were the lowest grade and he refused them all.

…

Night fell. Moonlight poured over white walls and black tiles, casting dappled shadows through falling leaves beneath the eaves. Within a carved wooden window, a woman dressed in white sat on a straw mat, her hair loose about her shoulders, her cold eyes softened by longing. Her slender figure was delicate and graceful.

Staring at the bright moon, she thought of that handsome young man. “Before my bed, the bright moonlight, like frost upon the ground…” She raised her head and gazed at the moon, lowering it to think of Su Yang.

Anticipating tomorrow’s meeting with him, Zhang Qingshi was too excited to sleep. Her mind raced with stories from romantic novels—like those secret tales of maidenly love. If Young Master Su were to draw her away to a secluded place, should she refuse or accept? At dinner, if he brushed her foot beneath the table, what should she do? If, during her nap, he sent her maid away…

Zhang Qingshi was cold only before outsiders—her aloofness a shield against those she scorned. With someone she admired, she would be passionate, wishing to cling to him day and night, reciting poetry, basking in romance and intimacy.

Oh, Young Master Su…

…

Meanwhile, Su Yang donned black clothes, his Black Snake Dagger at his waist, and slipped into the night toward the Song residence. He had already memorized every alley and corner by day. As long as Dongmen Qing had not stayed the night in the guest room, it was time to act.

The best plan was to slip into the servants’ quarters and interrogate them. At the gate, a man in his forties trembled as the cold dagger touched his neck, his voice quaking with terror, “He’s gone, he’s gone—Master Dongmen really left…”

With a crisp crack, Su Yang broke the man’s neck, leaving him dead in the gatehouse. He interrogated several other servants; all gave the same answer. Only then did he relax his guard.