WSMTATMC C14

Chapter 14

“That shameless lowborn wretch dares ride over my head now!” Tian Mama spat curses as she shoved the door open and entered.

“What’s this?” Liuzi and Old Tian looked up at her with dissatisfaction.

“It’s that little bastard Wang Ying — been running the household for just a few days and already doesn’t know his own weight. Today he even coaxed Madam not to go up the mountain to worship!”

The father-and-son pair sat up. “Truly?”

“Would I lie? Ever since he took over the keys, he keeps accounts daily. Now Liuzi can’t skim a single coin from the procurement, and he’s cut off our kickbacks from the temple too. How are we supposed to live?”

So it turned out that for years, Tian Mama had maintained a quiet arrangement with the monks at the mountain temple. Every time she accompanied Madam Li to burn incense, she urged the lady to donate silver — half of which ended up in her own pocket.

When the old master was alive, she’d been more cautious, each donation no more than two or three hundred cash.

But after his death, with Eldest Young Master gravely ill and Madam Li casting all her hopes on the gods, Tian Mama had begun urging larger and larger donations.

Outwardly, it was all “for the sake of the three young ones’ blessings,” but in truth she and the monks split the proceeds fifty-fifty. In just a year, she’d pocketed dozens of guan¹, living ever more luxuriously.

Cutting off a person’s livelihood is like killing their parents — how could she not be livid?

Tian Mama’s monthly wage was 200 cash; Liuzi earned 150, and Old Tian, who tended the animals, got barely 100. For ordinary folk, this was ample — but they were long used to indulgence, and couldn’t bear a poor man’s life, especially with Old Tian drinking daily and Liuzi eating meat every day.

“No — we must think of a way. If we keep letting him have his way, there’ll be no place for us in this household.”

“What do you suggest?”

It was Liuzi who suddenly spoke. “A few days ago, when I was out buying, guess who I ran into on the street?”

Both elders turned. “Who?”

“Young Master Qingfeng from Second Master’s branch.”

“Wasn’t he taken by the gamblers and marked for mutilation? He was ransomed?”

“Of course — cost them a lot, I hear. They even sold a shop, and he still got three fingers chopped off.”

The couple drew a sharp breath. “And then?”

“He said it was because our lady refused to help — that’s how he ended up like this. Then he asked me if I’d join him in making a big move… and that when it was done, half the Chen family estate would be mine.”

“What move?”

Liuzi lowered his voice. “He wants to kill Chen Qingyan…”

“Slowly. That’s it — keep going forward.”

In the Chen back courtyard, Chen Qingyan was pushing the small handcart, taking cautious steps like a toddler learning to walk. After more than a year bedridden, his legs were like wooden stilts, every step feeling like it weighed a thousand jin², and before long he was drenched in sweat.

“Rest a bit.” Wang Ying helped him back into the wheelchair, pushing him into the shade of a tree, before resuming work on his vegetable patch.

In a few days the tomatoes would be ready — he had to save seed. Such things were rare here; in this era they had yet to be brought in from overseas. Thankfully, the fertilizer from the experimental field made them thrive. The watermelons were already the size of fists; in ten days or two weeks, they’d be ready to eat.

He’d harvested a good deal. Plucking two tender cucumbers from the vine, Wang Ying rubbed off the prickles and handed one over. These were free of any pesticide — crisp and sweet with every bite.

“This afternoon, I’m going to have a look around town — see if there’s a suitable shopfront.”

“You mean to open a shop?”

Cheeks puffed from his own cucumber bite, Wang Ying said, “Living off the land is enough for basic needs, but if anything comes up, it leaves us strapped.”

Just yesterday, Steward Chen Xi had delivered the wheat money — eighty-six guan. When autumn came and the millet was sold, there’d be another sum. It looked like plenty, but it would spend quickly. Wang Ying wanted another source of income.

“What would you sell?”

“When the weather turns cold, I’d like to sell fresh vegetables from my field.”

The experimental field was a treasure — planting only wheat there was wasteful. Without greenhouses in this era, people lived off stored dried greens, radish, and cabbage through the winter.

Once his wheat was in, he planned to plant vegetables; come winter, selling them at a premium would make a killing.

“It’s a good venture — but I’m afraid busybodies will ask where they came from. If they learn your secret, that’s trouble.”

“I’ve thought of that. Doesn’t your uncle serve as prefect in Laizhou?”

Chen Qingyan nodded. “Fourth Uncle is prefect there.”

“I plan to borrow his name and say the produce is shipped in from the south.”

“That’s… unwise. If it reaches his ears, he might take offense.”

Wang Ying chuckled. “It’s over six hundred li³ from here — a round trip takes half a month. How could word travel so far? And for so small a thing, he won’t be angry. Using his name is just to save us trouble.”

Chen Qingyan hesitated. “I’ll write to him. If he agrees, we proceed.”

“All right — better yet, with Mid-Autumn coming, I’ll buy some gifts to send along.”

“Good.”

That afternoon, Wang Ying took Qingyun and Qingsong to town.

The children, thrilled at the idea, skipped and bounced, earning themselves a scolding from their mother before leaving.

Since arriving here, Wang Ying had been to market only a handful of times — there wasn’t much to see.

Even Changxing Town, the largest in ten li around, had but one main street and maybe thirty-odd shops. On ordinary days it was quiet, bustling only on market days ending in five, when farmers came in with mountain goods and wild game.

Today was the 25th of the seventh month, and the market was lively.

Many villagers had stalls at the roadside — a bit of everything: eggs at a coin apiece; homegrown vegetables and fruit, cheap at three or five coins a heap.

Everything caught the children’s eyes. Wang Ying gave them a whole string of coins each, letting them buy what they liked, while he inspected shops.

Most shops were rented — three to five hundred cash a month. Buying outright was costly: at least a hundred-eighty taels of silver, but ownership was permanent, and inheritable.

Passing by the Chen Biao family’s shop, Wang Ying noticed it was for sale. Once it had sold incense; after pawning it to ransom his son, the gambling house now hung a “for sale” board.

The price was not high — only sixty taels — but Wang Ying didn’t care to deal with the Biao household. Buying from them would invite trouble later.

Moving on, he caught sight of Liuzi slinking into a side alley — and behind him, two familiar faces: Chen Qingling, the second son of Chen Biao, and another man Wang Ying hadn’t met, but whose looks matched the description of Chen Qingfeng.

What was Liuzi doing with those two?

Quiet with curiosity, Wang Ying trailed them, keeping far enough not to be noticed. They turned into a courtyard he recognised as the current dwelling of Chen Biao’s family — their grand house long since taken by the gambling house.

“Liuzi! Come in!” Chen Biao’s voice called warmly from inside, clasping Liuzi’s hand and pulling him in.

The place was a mess, barely space to set a foot — hard to imagine it belonged to the once-prosperous Second Master’s branch.

“Second Master,” Liuzi said awkwardly as he sat.

Biao scowled at his surroundings. “Those bastards at the gambling den — not only maiming my son, but taking my home. We have to make do here.”

The open window carried voices clearly to where Wang Ying crouched outside. He sneered inwardly — some nerve, blaming others for your own son’s gambling.

“So — what did you think about what Qingfeng told you?”

Liuzi frowned. “It’s not that I won’t, Second Master… but it’s risky. If it comes out, it’s a death sentence.”

Wang Ying pricked up his ears. What could be so serious?

“Do you want to be a runner all your life? I hear that new son-in-law doesn’t even respect your mother. Once Madam Li dies, you’ll have no place here.”

“That’s true. Mother’s furious — she sent me to ask you for a way forward.”

Biao shot a look at his son. Qingfeng pulled out a folded deed and laid it on the table.

“When it’s done, the Chen family fortune will be mine. Half the manor fields I’ll give to you — enough to keep you and your parents in clover.”

Liuzi could read a little. His pulse raced as he saw the deed spelled it out — over a hundred mu of land, worth sixty to seventy guan in rent yearly.

“Second Master — what do I do?”

Biao’s eyes glinted with predator’s light. “My nephew’s body is frail. If he ‘dies suddenly’ no one will think it strange.”

From his belt, Qingfeng brought out a small paper packet with his two remaining fingers. “This is arsenic. Have your mother put it in Chen Qingyan’s food — one meal and he’s done for.”

Liuzi took the poison with trembling hands, tucking it and the deed into his robe.

“That’s all for today. Once it’s done, we’ll drink to it.”

Outside, Wang Ying’s hands and feet were ice, his scalp prickling. They were conspiring for murder.

Good thing he’d followed — or he’d never even know how he died.

No — he had to get back and tell the household at once!

notes:

1. Guan (贯) – A currency string: 1,000 copper coins, worth about 1 tael of silver depending on region and era.
2. Jin (斤) – A weight unit; here 1 jin ≈ 0.5 kg.
3. Li (里) – A traditional measure of distance; in the Qing dynasty, 1 li was about 576 metres.