ITIEQ C52

Chapter 52 – A Sudden Stir of Trouble

The xiuxi¹ festival was one of the great annual events. This road was the unavoidable path leading to the Zhen River, and so travelers thronged endlessly by. The houses near the embankment had all been shrouded in black cloth, curious passersby often turning their heads wondering—

In broad daylight—were shady deeds being done inside?

Their doubts were answered when, all at once, swathes of black cloth fell away, revealing the spectacle within—

Banners stretched into makeshift signs, bearing the industries of Qiuquan County. Odd‑shaped tools, heaps of textiles, and radiant fruits and vegetables lay stacked in organized sections. Each display paired with samples, pamphlets, painted advertisements—all meticulously prepared.

Serving as guides, students brimmed with youthful vigor, dressed in the distinctive robes of Qingbei Academy. They had long memorized their scripts word for word in training.

Others, tasked with survey and follow‑ups, had pens and papers readied—collecting exhibition data, sketching buyer profiles, drafting market reports in real time.

Clearly this trade fair was no sudden whim. It just so happened to coincide, and thus they chose to stage it here in Huizhou.

The students began their hawking:

“Come closer, take a look! Qiuquan Trade Fair!”

“Welcome, elders and neighbors! Don’t pass us by, don’t miss this chance!”

“Fill a form and receive a small gift—first come, first served!”

Such a novel style of selling—so new, most onlookers hesitated, only daring to glance from afar. Until they realized, those who went in emerged with small sacks of flour—gratis!

This caused no small commotion. Those who had hesitated now surged forward. Those who had received some hurried home to inform family, only to return again with wife and children in tow!

Though not eggs, the flour tactic worked just as well.

Yaoguang: “…You learned this from the academy too?”

“The booth layout is a bit rough, but for a first try, small flaws are allowed.” Shen Qinghe nodded. “As the saying goes—the pinnacle of all professions is sales. It’s not only book‑knowledge we must learn; sales itself is an art. Right now we may have Zhao Jinshan as a sole dealer, but this is far from enough. Great Yong has thirteen provinces—that is a vast blue ocean of opportunity!”

“Don’t idle,” Shen Qinghe eyed him up and down, “you, for instance—will handle crowd order. We lack security.”

With people swarming, their rented row of stalls was soon full. They had to limit entry at the gate.

A business that turned people away? Unheard of!

The crowd grew restless, but Yaoguang—tall, broad, standing arms crossed—was enough to restore docile queues.

“How strange! You don’t even sell things!”

Most had been lured by free flour, but half listening to the guides, they grew interested in the unique products—seeds yielding dozens of hu² per mu, fertilizers that could accelerate growth, silks with stitching finer than any loom. They had even chosen what they wanted—only to be stopped short!

The young men in blue‑white robes merely smiled, shaking their heads: “Our products are sold in limited quantities each day. Each person may only purchase a set amount. Once quotas are filled, the rest remain display only. Later, our goods will roll out across other provinces and counties—please remember the Qingbei brand.”

Such situations repeated again and again.

From the riverbank, Shen Qinghe watched the fair in full swing, gratified.

Qiuquan was entering an era of collective productivity. Output had already surpassed demand; even expanding to all Cangzhou Prefecture, it would not suffice. The people there had little disposable income—owning barely one plot per family, wealth enough only for food. No surplus for consumption.

But Huizhou was different. Here the average disposable income was severalfold higher—fertile soil for retail growth!

Besides, the true aim of the fair was not petty customers. Their manpower limited, foreign brands breaking into local markets was never so simple. What they sought was sustainable dealers, who in future might grow into franchise partners, extending Qingbei’s renown across Great Yong. To make real the motto: “Products of Qingbei—assured finest quality.”

In such growth, Qiuquan might rename itself Great Yong Qiuquan—a county of ten‑thousand revenues. The system still pressed daily for his scorecards. With such glowing results as governor, surely promotion and salary would follow?

Meanwhile, Huizhou Xue Residence. Rockeries with flowing water, cicadas shrilling among tall trees.

Inside the main hall, servants laid delicacies upon the table. A richly robed lady herself placed morsels into her son’s bowl.

“No need, mother—I can serve myself.” Xue Bufan muttered.

“So long absent, sharing but a meal, and you act estranged?”

“…No.” he laid down his chopsticks, letting his mother serve him roasted meat.

“So many years vanished—I thought you’d forgotten us entirely! What child severs ties so heartlessly? Not returning to repay kindness—but to avenge us, is that it?”

Madam Xue threw down her silver chopsticks. The youngest, Fourth Son, cried in alarm and ran to her, seizing her arm. “Mother! Don’t! Please don’t be upset!”

“See here—even your five‑year‑old brother is more sensible!”

Xue Cheng, the father, strode in, face storming. His eyes fell on the errant son—and fury swelled.

“So, you still know our door! Perhaps by luck alone—it nearly lost to your memory!”

Xue Bufan rose, bowing deeply. “Bufan is ashamed before father and mother.”

“I named you Bufan (‘Uncommon’), that you might bring glory to our family’s door! And what is this? The least accomplished of all!” The thought made Xue Cheng’s rage boil. At his son’s examination success, all Huizhou youth marvelled—banquets lasting three days. “I warned you again and again—these troubled times! Our Xue family no longer as strong as before. Unless those few houses, else barefoot fools—who would volunteer for deadly struggle at court! Yet you insisted on remote exile—you waste your promise in birdless Cangzhou!”

Xue Bufan listened quietly, never replying—a sieve, father’s words flowing in one ear and out the other.

Xue Cheng knew this stubbornness, sneered: “Submit resignation at once. Return to Huizhou. I’ll arrange you new post.”

Bufan, unyielding now, refused: “I fare well in Qiuquan. I shall not return.”

“You bastard child!” Xue Cheng slammed the table. “So well we fed and clothed you—only to raise an ingrate wolf cub!”

The younger burst into tears at his father’s shout. Madam carried him away, servants retreating, doors shut.

Bufan said: “You call me wolf child, then why care whether I live or die?”

Since first defying his father’s will, the gap between them had been unbridgeable.

“Care for you? Ha!” Xue Cheng paced, breathing ragged. At last, pointing straight at him: “Do you imagine the Xue clan what it once was? In youth you studied at finest schools, ate the best, dressed the best! You think such fortune falls from heaven?! It was the toil of generation upon generation—your great‑grandfather, grandfather—accumulated! Now it is your turn, and you cast it all aside? Will you be this thankless unfilial son?”

“Do I not have elder and third brothers?”

“Third—useless drunk! As for elder—timid as hare! Trust him to contend? Wait for the next life! All with eyes see our house decline, no fresh strength…” Xue Cheng sighed bitterly, weariness showing through. “Bufan, our Xue family depends only on you.”

Bufan blinked. “Father never told me so before…”

Indeed, born into noble houses, sons and daughters sheltered by ancestor’s merit, enjoying the finest—could not simply live for themselves. They inherited obligations: to bear the family burden, to step into the storm, to push further or at least shield the name, even withdraw in prudence—but never shirk.

Thus were century‑clans preserved—layer by layer, unbroken chains of sacrifice.

“When the new emperor rose, politics churned like clouds. Our family sat low, tail hidden, choosing no stand. I thought, if you had secured place before him, it might change things. But… but!” He sighed rankly again.

“Father—times are not as then.” Bufan met his gaze at last. “My current superior, Governor of Qiuquan, is no ordinary man. The Emperor seems to value him. Given time, for our family…”

“Too late. Too late!”

Bufan froze.

“The Wei house already sent invitation. I went, with your mother and brothers. Alone we cannot—only their shelter remains.”

Bufan moved to object, but his father cut him short.

“If you refuse to resign—then remain shut in the house these coming days.”

“Master Shen—how you made me wait! Across all Huizhou, none dare as you do.”

Shen Qinghe lifted the curtain—finding Liu Fulan half‑reclined at the couch. His long, slender fingers tapped a jade scepter idly, music wafting—flutes and zithers, girls’ voices singing.

Upon sight, Liu tossed the jade casually onto a singer’s lap, crossed arms expectantly.

Outside cicadas screamed enough to pierce ears. But within—cool breezes and ice tubs at all four corners, cubes snapping as they melted.

Shen Qinghe, sweat‑drenched from canvassing all day, entered to face such decadent ease. Capitalism at its vilest.

“Not to compare with you—idling daily at leisure.”

He poured himself tea calmly, all languid elegance.

Liu Fulan invited him day by day, at first to test him. Later—discovering him idle, a debauched rake, frivolous and lustful.

Now, even openly aiming his attentions at Shen himself.

Shen detested being treated as dish on a tray, yet still, some advantage compelled him to play along. Busy balancing rich clients at the fair—one stage of fawning there, another here with Liu. Body and spirit exhausted!

Today, if no gain—he would kick the man aside.

Liu too saw his cold impatience. Yet Shen’s cold face charmed him more. He cultivated patience.

“I know you’re busy. That is why I wait till you’re free.” Liu rose, ornaments clinking, smiled sly. “Come, let me show you more amusement. Compared to your Qiuquan, our Yunzhong is stronger by a hundredfold! And Jiangling, we—four seasons of moonlit waters, stars mirrored in wine—”

In scant days, he had brought Shen to countless haunts of excess, scattering wealth without care. Shen thus witnessed first‑hand how rich clans, despite turbulent world outside, could live decadent and free.

Yet another outing? Likely fruitless. Shen schemed excuses to depart.

But Liu brought him to a wine‑house—plain storefront, modest decor. Unalike his earlier dens of luxury.

“Boy!”

One call—and the server’s eyes lit. “Young Master Liu! Please, inside!” Then saw Shen, hesitated. “This is—”

Liu swiped his fan across the boy’s head. “He’s with me. Hurry and lay our table!”

The boy led them in at once.

Shen followed bored. Inside—dark, curtains drawn even in day, lit by dozens of candles. On shelves, rows of wine‑jars, each hung labeled plaques: Fragrant Soft Jade, Lightly Brushed Brows, Untended Fragrance, Pale Luo‑fu…

How odd, such wine names. House special vintages?

He looked at Liu Fulan. Awaiting answer.

The youth laughed loudly, waving feather fan. “Bring today’s finest for Master Shen!”

The boy fetched a jar from the top shelf. “Make Fair the Moon’s Beauty³—five hundred taels silver, dear sirs.” He poured a cup.

Shen’s face blanched. Five hundred—to swindle me?

He sipped defiantly. Looking up, the word “extortion” was written plain on his brow.

Liu delighted at the sight—his shock so amusing the cost seemed worth it.

The boy grinned, explaining: “Honored guest, know that with this five hundred you buy not only fine sake, but gifts besides—value beyond price!”

“This ‘Make Fair the Moon’s Beauty’—means a woman bright as moonlight, slender as fairy Chang’e.”⁴

Shen stared at the crystal wine, stomach lurching to nausea.

“And those?” he muttered, pointing to the plaques.

The boy, thinking him intrigued, recited eagerly: “Women like wines! ‘Fragrant Soft Jade’ gentle and sweet; ‘Lightly Brushed Brows’ learned and refined; ‘Untended Fragrance’ modest and pure; ‘Pale Luo‑fu’ chaste and beautiful… Each, if not so rare as what you hold, still unmatched treasures! And all once cloistered in sacred temples, touched with immortal aura—”

“CRASH!”

The jar of Make Fair the Moon’s Beauty shattered across the floor—smashed to dust.

Footnotes

1. 修褉 (xiuxi) – Traditional spring purification rite on the 3rd day, 3rd month, when nobles gathered at rivers to drink, wash away misfortune, and compose verse. Became lavish aristocratic banquet. 
2. 斛 (hu) – An ancient capacity/volume unit. Precise measurement varied with era. 
3. 作婵娟 (Make Fair the Moon’s Beauty) – Term “婵娟” is classical metaphor for the moon, often personified as the goddess Chang’e. Here used to euphemistically name an enslaved woman. 
4. Chang’e (姮娥) – Moon goddess in Chinese mythology, symbol of beauty and delicate grace.