TSLSILMH Ch 41

Chapter 41

\At last Yu Chuxi spoke, his tone light as drifting clouds: “It’s nothing much. Today was the routine summons from the Censor-in-Chief of Salt Affairs, Lord Gu…”

Salt Censor?

Xie Shu instantly recalled—the father of Gu Yuanke, young master of the Gu family who had presided at the Western Garden Poetry Gathering, was none other than Gu Zhong, the Censor of Salt Affairs.

Salt, like iron, was in antiquity a vital state resource, strictly controlled by the crown.

Unlike iron—a strategic material—salt was a necessity of every household. Most supplies came from the coast, but with transport and commerce underdeveloped, salt became scarce and precious.

And because salt was also immensely profitable, the state monopolized it, first enforcing purchases only of “official salt.” But poor quality and corruption drove merchants to risk the black trade. Thus, later systems evolved—private refining but official purchase.

Even so, being a licensed merchant in salt brought huge advantage, especially here in Jiangnan—a fertile land beside rivers, crossroads of transport. Once granted rights, one’s wealth was guaranteed.

Thus the post of Salt Censor became one of the empire’s most lucrative offices. Gu Zhong had held it for ten years.

But if it was merely an ordinary inspection, why then was the Young Lord’s face clouded?

Sensing something amiss, Xie Shu asked gravely: “Young Lord, don’t keep this from me. If you won’t tell me, whom will you tell? Or… do you think I cannot share your burdens?”

Yu Chuxi was startled—never could he think that. Shaking his head quickly, his gaze softened at Xie Shu’s gentle calm—he realized this man was deliberately coaxing him.

He glared faintly, then sighed. “It was not Lord Gu who met us today. It was someone else I had never seen. He looked a man, yet carried strange softness—clearly one of the eunuchs from court… He inspected all the salt merchants, but none of my men were summoned. I thought of going myself to Gu’s residence, yet there’s been no word.”

Frustration shadowed his look. The Yu family had always been scrupulous—taxes paid, laws observed, never guilty of fraud. If accused of faults, at least charges could be addressed. But to be frozen out entirely—what could this mean?

Xie Shu’s heart sank. Was this truly a palace eunuch? Why suddenly here, in Jinling, meeting salt merchants? Was there trouble from court? Did Lord Gu really know nothing?

To see all others but deliberately not the Yus—what was intended?

Hearing his sigh, a pang of helpless sorrow rose in Xie Shu.

He longed to help—yet he knew nothing of salt affairs, nothing of commerce law. He had no advice. The old saying came bitter—“A scholar is useless outside his books.”

Having voiced these worries, Yu Chuxi’s tension eased. He said with sudden lightness: “Never mind. He only just arrived today—perhaps there was no time. Tomorrow I will see him. And truthfully, the Yu family has nothing to fear—we are careful, we have no fault to find.”

But Xie Shu, though he returned his smile, felt heavier than before.

For in this age, where power was law, there was the cruel maxim: If one wishes to punish, doubtless a crime may be found.

Yu Chuxi surely knew—yet kept it hidden, to spare him worry.

And Xie Shu could not bear to force open the truth. Instead, he spoke gently: “In any case, since he just arrived, doubtless there will be banquets for him. Tonight, you should send men quietly to learn where he goes. A word here or there may give news.

If tomorrow he still refuses to meet—then tell me. At the poetry meet, I had some acquaintance with Gu Yuanke. He was courteous. I can try him. Do not fret for me. As I am now disciple of Master Jiang, men must show me some courtesy.”

Yu Chuxi nodded lightly, though wished to say more. For he knew well—after that poetry gathering, though Gu Yuanke had sent invitations, Xie Shu had refused, keeping to distance as Yu had earlier urged. That slight could not have been forgotten.

Now, how could he visit the Gu family to assist? And as for leaning on Jiang Hong’s name—that seemed unworthy. Yet Yu did not voice it.

They gazed into each other, silence warming, until both could not help but smile.

In such a moment, it was rare sweetness indeed.

Meanwhile, in a grand tavern of Jinling, wine and opera filled the air. Across lacquer screens, rising from river-light, sat Liu Qiang.

Near thirty, pale-faced with no beard, features narrow and sharp, manners full of ritual—he was a chief eunuch of the Imperial Household.

The Imperial Household Department oversaw all palace needs—garments, food, stores. Liu Qiang had been dispatched under its Seventh Division, to secure the empire’s affairs in Jiangnan.

Such assignments brimmed with hidden profit—Liu Qiang had angled fiercely to win it, aided by the Third Prince himself. And favors given must be repaid.

Before leaving, the prince had whispered commands. Liu Qiang had not forgotten.

Why the Third Prince so targeted the Yu family he did not know. They were rich, yes, but mere merchants. To spend such effort? Mystifying. But not his concern. He need only obey.

That night at the banquet, salt merchants brought tribute—chests of gold, jewels, treasures—slipped discreetly to him. He accepted all, drunk with satisfaction, then departed.

When he left, the merchants exhaled.

Said one: “This Liu eunuch is not hard to please. But did you hear? From his tone, His Majesty truly plans a southern tour?”

Another grumbled: “And who do you think will build the palaces along the way? Not the government—we will donate.”

A third sneered: “And what of it? Look at the Yus—they cannot even get audience. Their patriarch is dying, the heir but a 雙兒 (shuang’er—a third gender male, able to bear children). However skilled, what difference? The eunuch’s snub of Yu is warning enough—give generously, or share their fate.”

Another whispered darkly: “So—is the Yu family to be the sacrifice? Or more—are higher powers moving?”

Talk shifted, reeling gossip—“Was it not the son-in-law, Xie Shu, who just gained Master Jiang’s favor? From the capital itself? Perhaps all this connects…”

That night, husband and spouse did not sleep.

They played chess quietly in lamplight. At first distracted, then slowly soothed by the familiar game.

As hours passed, Yu’s eyes drooped with fatigue—yet still he resisted, awaiting news runners that had not returned.

Xie Shu watched, aching for him. At last he said softly: “Young Lord, rest now. If word comes, I will wake you.”

Yu’s lips tightened, unwilling.

Xie Shu sighed gently, smiling. “Young Lord—seeing you like this, makes me worried.”

A flush of protest rose on Yu’s lips—then Xie Shu leaned closer, his voice almost playful:

“Are you afraid I’ll let you sleep through the news? Then—why not lie upon my lap?”

Yu froze. Had he misheard?

The lamplight glimmered soft, but not as gentle as the man’s eyes.

A faint reply escaped him: “Mm.”

And so, the chessboard set aside, the couch cleared, Yu lay down—pillowing his head across Xie Shu’s lap. Yet sleep did not claim him. His eyes lingered bright, fixed upon the man above.

Xie Shu lowered his gaze tenderly, hand brushing over his soft black hair.

Footnotes

1. 鹽政禦史 (Salt Censor) – A powerful inspector post in charge of salt affairs, among the most lucrative offices in imperial administration. Salt was heavily taxed and strictly controlled, crucial for state revenue.
2. 欲加之罪，何患無辭 – Ancient proverb: “If one wishes to convict, there will be no want of offense.” Referring to judicial or political pretexts for false charges.
3. 南巡 (Southern Tour) – An emperor’s grand procession touring the southern provinces. Historically used to display power, inspect waterways, appease populations—but staggeringly expensive, often draining treasuries.