Chapter 74#
Crack!
The sound of a teacup shattering broke the silence, startling the birds under the eaves into scattering in all directions.
Liangping County was built along the river, where the Wangtian Ravine slowed its torrent and the water grew gentle. But as the season grew colder, the river’s color appeared increasingly dark.
Inside the room, the woman silently drew her legs closer, hiding a pair of pink embroidered shoes beneath her padded skirt, her movements humble and cautious.
“He doesn’t care about the common folk’s lives at all—he’s just out to screw us over!” Wen Ze took a fierce drag from his tobacco pipe, the embers in the bowl flickering unsteadily. He turned to Wen Yingjing, his eye bags twitching with anxiety. “Father, we absolutely cannot give him everything we have!”
“Of course I know. He wants to use our money to curry favor with the people and win himself a reputation—how could I let him succeed?” Wen Yingjing’s face was covered in an impenetrable gloom. He sat upright in his armchair, tightly rolling a string of crimson prayer beads in his hand.
These beads had been blessed by the most renowned Dharma Master Faji in the area, said to ensure his fortune in wealth and keep him safe from harm.
Over twenty years had passed, and Wen Yingjing had thrived in Mianzhou like a fish in water, his status comparable to a petty emperor. He placed great faith in that monk’s words, usually keeping the beads enshrined in the incense room. But today, he clutched them constantly, never letting go.
“Ow, it hurts so much…” Wen Xu sat on a soft cushion, a heavy cangue locked around his neck, his arms firmly trapped inside. His broken arm was only roughly fixed with a wooden splint and gauze, without proper medical treatment. Now he wailed and cried as if his father had died. “Father, Mother, Big Brother! Think of something! This wretched cangue is chafing my neck raw—I can’t take it anymore!”
Wen Ze was already irritable, and his son’s noise only made it worse. He shot Wen Xu a vicious glare. “You worthless waste, you’re more trouble than you’re worth!”
Wen Yingjing ignored Wen Xu’s clamor, instead pointing at the woman standing with her head bowed nearby. “Look at the cursed spawn you brought into this world—come to collect my life!”
The woman still said nothing, only meekly lowering her eyes to conceal whatever lay beneath.
She walked slowly to Wen Xu’s side, carefully raising her hands to gently support the edge of the cangue, helping to bear some of its weight so he could be a little more comfortable.
“Mother!” Wen Xu showed no gratitude, instead grimacing and complaining, pain and venom mixed on his face. “He slapped me dozens of times, had my arm broken, and now he puts me in this criminal’s cangue to humiliate me! Father’s right—why didn’t you strangle him when he was born? Why bring him into the world to make me suffer like this?”
The woman’s body stiffened almost imperceptibly, a faint melancholy lingering in her brows. Still, she said nothing, only focusing more on supporting Wen Xu’s cangue, as if she hadn’t heard the sharp outburst.
Her hair was pulled back into a simple bun, fastened with a silver hairpin. She looked like a fragile epiphyllum, ready to wither at any moment.
Just then, hurried footsteps came from the courtyard. A trusted confidant who had stayed in Mianzhou City rushed in with a grave expression, falling to his knees as soon as he entered. “Grand Master, I’ve made inquiries. Every spice merchant who visited Mianzhou this time has donated their full share. That woman in charge of recording the silver is shrewd—she checks every sum clearly. No one dares to play tricks in front of her.”
Wen Yingjing tightened his grip on the prayer beads and snorted coldly. “Those old foxes—since when did they become so obedient to the government?”
“Grand Master, people are afraid of comparison,” the confidant sighed and said frankly. “Though they also suffered losses this time, when they see that the Wen family is donating everything we have, they feel their own losses are nothing. Mianzhou has always been a winner-takes-all territory. Being able to drag us down through this opportunity—they’re probably secretly thrilled!”
“Fine! Just fine!” Wen Ze slammed his pipe to the ground in fury, sparks scattering everywhere. “I knew it. Ever since we developed Touguxiang and monopolized most of the spice business, those people have been green with envy! Now they can’t wait to see the Wen family collapse completely!”
Wen Xu forgot his pain in his panic and quickly said, “Father! That bastard said he was going to shut down Dongyazi! Does that mean I’ll never get Touguxiang again? Without it, I feel terrible all over!”
“How dare you bring that up!” Wen Ze grabbed him by the jaw, his voice hateful. “Wen Zhuo has been looking for a handle on us for a long time. If Touguxiang comes to light, you won’t have enough heads to lose! You remember this: Touguxiang has nothing to do with those brats at Dongyazi. Even if you’re tortured to death, don’t admit it!”
Wen Xu’s face was twisted out of shape from the grip, and he muttered resentfully, “It’s not just me using it—Prefect Lou uses it too…”
Just as Lou Changsui was mentioned, the confidant quickly added, “Grand Master, there’s another more urgent matter. Prefect Lou has been thrown into prison by Chief Wen Zhuo! It seems the matter of Liu Kangren wasn’t smoothed over.”
“What?” Wen Yingjing shuddered, his fingers slipping as he jerked too hard, accidentally letting the prayer beads fall from his palm.
Perhaps the beads had been enshrined in the incense room for too long, the string having grown old and brittle. With the fall, the string snapped with a crack, and the beads clattered and rolled everywhere, scattering in all directions.
Everyone present changed color at the sight. For a moment, the room fell into dead silence, broken only by the cheerful rolling of the beads.
Wen Yingjing’s right eyelid began to twitch violently.
A broken prayer bead string was a dire omen.
He could no longer maintain his composure. “Summon Dharma Master Faji at once!” he ordered.
“Yes!” The confidant hastened to comply, but as he rose, Wen Yingjing stopped him.
Wen Yingjing took a deep breath. “No, I’ll go myself. Prepare the carriage.”
Dharma Master Faji lived on Zheshan Mountain, between Liangping County and Mianzhou City. There stood Wangxiang Temple, which for years had enjoyed thriving incense offerings and a multitude of believers.
But in recent years, Faji’s health had grown increasingly frail. He had not shown his face for a long time, and some speculated he might be nearing his final nirvana.
Fortunately, at this moment, Faji was still alive.
This was already the second day of the seven-day deadline Wen Zhuo had set. How could Wen Yingjing care about the fatigue of travel? He sped all the way to Wangxiang Temple by swift horse.
As soon as he entered the temple gate, he ordered his attendants to pound on doors and shout at the top of their lungs: “Is Dharma Master Faji here? Grand Master Wen has come specially to see you!”
A young monk hurried forward to stop them, pressing his palms together in apology. “Please calm your anger, benefactor. My master is unwell and has long since closed his doors to visitors. It is truly difficult for him to receive guests. We beg your understanding…”
On ordinary days, Wen Yingjing might have put on some pretense, scolding his men to be polite and not disturb the Buddhist sanctuary. But now, he had no such patience. He simply stood in the courtyard, arms behind his back, his face dark and brooding as he stared at the several closed wooden doors of the meditation rooms.
With Wen Yingjing’s tacit approval, the attendants continued kicking at the doors, pounding the panels until they boomed.
Finally, one door creaked open slowly. A thick medicinal smell wafted out, so strong it made people want to cover their noses.
Faji wore a monk’s robe washed to a faded white, leaning on a mottled staff. Hunched over, he shuffled out.
His hair was completely white, his body thin as a skeleton. Only his eyes remained dark and bright, full of spirit.
Before Faji could speak, Wen Yingjing hurried forward two steps and pressed, “Master, the prayer beads you gave me many years ago snapped for no reason today. Does this signify some ill omen?”
“Benefactor Wen.” Faji looked at him, slowly pressed his palms together, and made a respectful bow. His voice was old and hoarse. “Years ago, this humble monk advised you to keep good thoughts, uphold righteousness and avoid evil, not to covet what is not yours. Only then could your fortune in wealth flow smoothly and you enjoy peace year after year. I ask, in the past twenty-odd years, have you followed that advice?”
Wen Yingjing paused, his face unchanging. “Naturally.”
Faji’s expression was serene, but a hint of pity flickered in his eyes. “If you had followed my words, why would you be so anxious today? If you did not follow them, then you do not believe this humble monk—so why come to ask today?”
Wen Yingjing was momentarily speechless, cursing the old bald donkey for his insolence under his breath.
After a long moment, he suppressed his anger and said politely, “My Wen family is facing great calamity now. Does Master intend to stand by and watch?”
Faji slowly closed his eyes. “The karmic seeds sown twenty years ago—this humble monk is powerless to change them.”
On the ground of Mianzhou, how many dared to speak to Wen Yingjing in such a tone? Besides, he had taken the trouble to climb the mountain in person—that was already showing more than enough respect.
If it were anyone else, Wen Yingjing would have long ordered his men to teach them a harsh lesson.
But he still had some reverence for Buddhism and did not lose his temper on the spot.
“Very well, then I won’t trouble you further!” Wen Yingjing’s face was ashen, his sleeves flicking. “I believe my fate is strong enough to outlast that stubborn, haunting bastard!”
With that, he turned and went down the mountain without looking back.
Back at the Wen family estate, Wen Yingjing immediately summoned the steward. “Compile all the assets on the books—silver, land deeds, houses, jewelry. Anything that can be liquidated, pack into chests!”
The steward dared not delay and hurried off to carry out the order.
One chest after another was brought out, causing Wen Ze’s heart to ache.
“Father, do we really have to give up so much? That kid Wen Zhuo doesn’t know exactly how much we have. Just scrape together something to placate him!”
Wen Yingjing stroked his beard, a crafty gleam in his wrinkled eyes. “Split these chests in half. Send half to Second Madam. I will write a letter of divorce personally and let her leave the Wen family immediately with all these assets.”
Wen Ze was stunned. “Father, you—”
He wanted to protest for his own mother, who had weathered the hardships of starting from nothing with Wen Yingjing, while Second Mother had only gained favor through her beauty. Over the years, his father had treated his mother coldly, and now he was giving most of the family fortune to Second Mother!
But then the thought struck him like a bolt of lightning, and he slapped his thigh in ecstasy. “Father, that’s brilliant! That way, these assets are no longer in the Wen family’s name on paper. If they fall into Second Mother’s hands, even if Wen Zhuo is dissatisfied, he’ll have to think twice before moving against her. Once this storm passes, you can quietly take Second Mother back, and the fortune returns to you!”
“Not too stupid after all.” Wen Yingjing glanced at him, his gaze drifting toward Mianzhou City, a contemptuous smile tugging at his lips. “That brat is still too green to match wits with me. He wants to put on a show for the people—let him.”
Wen Ze’s tone carried schadenfreude. “For the past four months, Liu Kangren has been giving out porridge everywhere. The local grain merchants couldn’t sell at high prices and had already gone to other regions! In Pingzhou, Gezhou, Zhenzhou, though they’re only forty to fifty percent disaster-stricken, the people there still have no grain to eat—most are gnawing on tree bark. The grain merchants made a killing there. When Wen Zhuo takes the silver but can’t get any grain, he’ll stir up the people’s resentment. I’d like to see how long he can keep up his arrogance!”
So, on the evening of the second day, Lin Yingniang regained her freedom.
Accompanied by more than thirty Wen family servants, she took several large chests and moved into the long-abandoned estate on the outskirts of the county.
The courtyard gate had long decayed, stained black with age, covered in years of rusty marks.
The servants pushed the gate open. With a rough creak, it wobbled unsteadily, as if a little more force would send the whole door crashing to the ground.
She lifted her skirt and stepped inside.
Weeds grew wild underfoot, yellow and withered. Night dew soaked her shoes and stockings, brushing against her ankles like lingering spirits resisting her intrusion into what was once theirs.
She had to stop, not daring to trespass.
The blue bricks that had once been carefully laid in the courtyard were now cracked and broken, eroded by grass seeds. Moonlight streamed through the broken eaves, illuminating the shattered window frames, the scorched doorposts, and in the southeastern corner of the yard, a small wooden horse made of yellow wood.
The wood had long since dried and split, the paint peeling away to reveal jagged splinters. It was impossible to tell that this had once been a child’s favorite toy.
Lin Yingniang’s heart felt as if it were being wound in dry weeds, pierced by moonlight—aching, little by little, a dull, hidden pain.
Ironically, twenty-two years had passed, and she had returned to the home she once shared with Wen Qimin.