TSBIRBV Ch 97

Chapter 97 Heaven above, Suzhou–Hangzhou below (9)

Zhang Qi, seated in one of Hangzhou’s famed restaurants, lifted his cup to wet his lips—then set it down.

His hands kept sweating, and the cup nearly slipped.

Taking a deep breath, Zhang Qi wiped his palms on his knees. He tried to steady himself with the scent of the expensive tea he’d ordered specially, but it wasn’t easy.

“For me, Zhang Qi—me, who used to wipe others’ backsides at the bottom of Hangzhou—to be meeting the master of a great trading consortium spanning the western Central Plains!”

A squalid life seemed to have sprouted wings.

Though he had not touched a drop of liquor, exhilaration washed through his mind.

It had been just yesterday. Zhang Qi had met a Hao gate operative he’d known from his days among the Red Blood Sect’s thugs. The man, who used to loiter around Zhang Qi hoping for scraps, pretended not to see him and hurried on.

Suspicious.

The instincts that fed him since his drifter days stirred.

Zhang Qi dogged the operative. Only after plying him with drink and a fistful of coins did the man speak.

“They say… the master of the Cheonghae Trading Company is in Hangzhou.”

Hearing that he was looking—regardless of size—for a solidly run consortium dealing in silk and based in Hangzhou as its core region, Zhang Qi’s ears pricked.

It was a once‑in‑a‑lifetime chance.

“It cost too much to take over the workshops. Before long, I’ll have to send money to the grand gentleman in Luoyang…”

Zhang Qi desperately needed an incoming stream of cash.

Monopolizing silk was beyond his capital. So he had shifted his gaze and found the dyeing workshops. Depending on how vivid the colors came out, even the same silk shot up to sky‑high prices.

Hiring the heterodox and swallowing workshops one by one had thinned his purse. The expected profit was considerable, thankfully, but until he digested it all, he would be strapped.

“Still better than the drifter days.”

Less chance of getting stabbed on the street, and far better money for the trouble. He still drew grudges like before, but he kept stout escorts and strutted about being called “sir.” Zhang Qi had no intention of going back to “Crooked Ear.”

By habit, he fingered the fortune mole on his ear lobe and thought of someone.

“Pit Viper—shame he’s dead.”

If he were still in the Red Blood Sect, he could have driven out workers for a cheaper price.

But, as with nine out of ten heterodox drifters, Pit Viper met a wretched end. Had that not sobered him, Crooked Ear’s life would have turned out quite differently.

Before Zhang Qi could sink into fresh sentiment, the sound of the hall door sliding open came.

“Ah, you’ve arrived.”

Head snapping up, Zhang Qi greeted the honored guest from the west with a broad smile.

“I am Zhang Qi, head of the Wu‑Sam Trading Consortium. It is a great pleasure to meet the master of the Cheonghae Trading Company.”

Zhang Qi swiftly took the measure of the Cheonghae master and his companion.

One was a man with long, sleek black hair tied neatly—so smooth the silk seemed to blush by comparison; the other was a youth with strikingly bright brown hair.

The black‑haired man was such a beauty that the phrase “ice and jade bones” felt inadequate. Yet the subtle pressure from his cold face made it hard to enjoy or comment on.

Though he had been lax in training since becoming a merchant, Zhang Qi, who had once eaten steel for supper, felt a chill down his spine.

“The solar meridian isn’t flaring—so not a martial artist. Then to startle a battle‑seasoned man like me on presence alone—the master of Cheonghae is extraordinary indeed.”

In contrast, the handsome youth with brown hair gave off a boyish air. His short hair, rare among martial men, stood out—and that was all.

He seemed a little giddy, as if he didn’t grasp the importance of the situation, pressed close to the man beside him without fear. Lithe where a man should be solid, he looked every inch a sheltered young lord.

“I had heard the master of Cheonghae was young, but did not expect so venerable a person.”

Zhang Qi laughed heartily and bowed to the black‑haired man.

“You misunderstand.”

Je Haryang answered coolly.

“I am only the chief steward; the master of Cheonghae is this person.”

Zhang Qi’s eyes widened. This downy‑faced fledgling was the master of Cheonghae?

“I’ve been remiss.”

At the blatant tongue‑click of the brat, Zhang Qi broke into a sweat, rubbing his palms.

“Well now… I have done you a great discourtesy. My apologies.”

“Enough.”

A cold wind seemed to whistle. Zhang Qi hunched his shoulders despite himself, then forced a bright face.

“To overlook such a fault—truly generous.”

He could flatter a snot‑nosed five‑year‑old if he had to.

But Zhang Qi did not know.

He had yet to meet a true specimen.

“To think this is the best you brought.”

Yegyeol, after poking at Zhang Qi’s goods this way and that, clicked his tongue and set them down. Zhang Qi’s shoulders twitched as if struck by a rod.

“Antique, yet not behind the times; light as a cicada’s wing, yet bearing proper weight when worn; takes creases yet doesn’t crumple; colors vivid but not gaudy, and shining under sun or starlight without blinding—that is the silk I asked for.”

“If such silk existed, it would be used for a fairy’s robes, not a human’s!”—the line rose to Zhang Qi’s throat and went back down three or four times.

So this is what it means for blood to boil upward. If nothing else, he was certain blood was coming out of his ears.

He had underestimated the Cheonghae master as a fledgling, but the fussiness rivaled the royals of Luoyang. Perhaps it was this eye that built his success, but Zhang Qi felt he had crossed the Yellow Springs several times in a moment.

“What does my chief steward think?”

“You came with great expectations and found very little. I should have inspected ahead; my subordinate’s sloth has inconvenienced the master—please punish me.”

With a measured bow and lowered eyes, the steward earned a gentle pat on the shoulder and a “It’s fine” from the master—the first warmth since they’d entered the room.

Even that passed in a heartbeat. Turning to Zhang Qi, the master asked:

“Heard that?”

The chin‑tilt toward the silk was high‑handed.

“My subordinate finds it a mess as well. I came to Hangzhou with great expectations and find little to speak of.”

The master shook his head.

What a stiff neck for such a young pup! Zhang Qi nearly let his face crack.

But he forced a smile and asked,

“Ah, master. In making space quickly, I couldn’t bring the finest among what I handle.”

Zhang Qi put on his best “good‑natured” grin. The corner of his mouth twitched, but he was the one who needed this.

“If you had to name a single most regrettable flaw, what would it be?”

“I’ve been wearing out my mouth and it hasn’t helped?”

Yegyeol shook his head, as if regretful.

“I’ll say it once more. I’ve seen plenty of fine silk. You know how famed Shu brocade from Sichuan is.”

Zhang Qi nodded. Shu brocade was such a luxury that they said it sold out for lack of supply. Cheonghae handled Shu brocade; the scale of those deals was, he’d heard, beyond his imagining.

“But I came here because I heard Hangzhou has excellent dyeing workshops and sells silks in varied and bold colors. Yet you show me only silk with color bleed, patterns that don’t take, and muddied designs—most disappointing.”

At the very word “disappointing” from the master’s lips, the black‑haired beauty standing behind him—the “chief steward”—pressed Zhang Qi with a chilly gaze.

Since the moment he’d entered and stated who the real master was, that man had treated Zhang Qi like air. In some ways, he felt more oppressive than the master.

At first, Zhang Qi doubted he was truly just a steward. But the “chief steward” had a talent for conjuring whatever the master wanted at the slightest shift of body or brow.

No retainer, page, or even slave Zhang Qi had seen served with such devotion.

“Then does the Cheonghae master really employ someone that extraordinary as a mere steward?”

Zhang Qi had no subordinates worthy to call hands and feet. He felt a pointless surge of anger, thinking his own failures came from subordinates who could not support him.

The master’s cold voice cut into his thoughts:

“…Are you certain your consortium has better than this? If you mean to waste my time further, I would rather end talk of trade here.”

Zhang Qi felt cold sweat break.

“O‑of course. I have ordered my men to bring stock from a special vault; by tomorrow at the latest, I can show you the proper goods.”

The master sighed, loud enough to be heard.

“Very well. One must grant a chance.”

Having thought he could easily butter the man up by looks alone, Zhang Qi cursed his past self and bowed his head.

“I, Zhang, will bring something that catches the master of Cheonghae’s eye.”

At that resolute promise, the master stared straight into Zhang Qi’s eyes. A heavy silence plunked onto his shoulders.

“I will trust you—and the Wu‑Sam Consortium’s ability.”