Chapter Three: Little Emerald

“The eldest young master has just returned from the northern barbarian frontier, so I rushed over to tell you this good news,” Xiaocui said excitedly, still panting from her run.

Though she appeared breathless, Wang Yuanfeng knew well that it was no easy feat to run from the main gate to his courtyard—a distance of no less than five li. Yet, despite the effort, not a trace of sweat could be seen on her. He had long realized that Xiaocui was no ordinary girl. Even a practiced martial artist would have broken a sweat running that far, let alone a girl of fifteen. Still, given what he was used to in this household, it no longer struck him as unusual.

His eldest brother, Wang Yuanhong, was a man fond of martial arts and frank in character. Though he was not the one who had suggested digging that tunnel back then, as the eldest, the Marquis of Wu’an had seen it as him leading the way. In the Marquis’s estate, nothing could be hidden from its master; thus, his brother had been sent from Shengjing to the northern frontier as a form of punishment, and it had already been two years since. Now, he was finally back.

“My brother is back? I’ll go and see him,” Wang Yuanfeng said.

“There’s more,” Xiaocui continued. “The eldest young master brought back a woman, very beautiful. She was fine before entering our gates, but the moment she stepped inside, she claimed she felt unwell. Isn’t that strange? I think there’s definitely something off about her.”

Indeed, it was odd. When the estate was constructed, a Taoist priest from the Temple of Supreme Emptiness had been invited to design it for the purpose of gathering qi and nurturing both body and mind. For a newcomer to feel unwell inside was certainly strange. Since Xiaocui had said so, it was likely true; though he didn’t know how she could tell, her cultivation was undoubtedly higher than his own, so he asked, “Do you know where my brother found this woman? Did you notice anything unusual about her?”

“I’m not sure where she’s from, but the eldest young master is very attentive to her. He had Xiaolian escort her to his private residence.”

“Oh?” Wang Yuanfeng was a little puzzled, but thought no more of it. Perhaps she was simply a woman his brother fancied. She didn’t seem to be the Fifth Princess, who was betrothed to his brother but had not yet married in, and in any case, even if she visited, she wouldn’t be resting at his private quarters so casually. No noble lady would behave so indiscreetly; without an official engagement, she could not come and go so freely. Most likely, he thought, this was a concubine brought back from elsewhere.

“Come, let’s go pay my brother a visit,” he said to Xiaocui.

Xiaocui hesitated. “But the imperial guards are still watching this place. Is it really alright?”

“Don’t worry about them. Just treat them like clay figurines. It’s been two years now, and when I used to crawl out through that tunnel, they never said a word. This is a special occasion, so we’ll make an exception,” Wang Yuanfeng replied, seeing her reluctance.

Xiaocui considered this and nodded. Indeed, when the tunnel was first being dug by several young masters, progress was slow, so they enlisted maids and young servants of similar age, herself included. Over the past two years, the Fourth Young Master had often used that tunnel to sneak out for fun, and even she had crawled through it twice. The guards watching the place never reported it; they likely pretended not to see. So, she nodded in agreement. “Alright.”

Wang Yuanfeng buckled his three-foot sword at his waist and, together with Xiaocui, left the courtyard heading for the family hall.

Although the Liang Dynasty valued civil virtue over martial skill, the Wang family had built its name on martial prowess, with letters as a supplement. All the household, whether young masters, maids, or servants, were trained in some degree of martial arts—the only difference lay in their level of attainment.

Whenever a male member of the Wang family left the house, it was customary to wear a sword. But above all else, there was one thing that everyone had to learn—the art of discerning the human heart: principles of self-cultivation and managing a household, conduct and judgment, and the strategies to see through intrigue. These were mandatory studies, and it was due to this practical approach that the Wang family had endured for a thousand years. Their pragmatism led scholars to call them petty, while military men considered them effeminate.

As Wang Yuanfeng and Xiaocui made their way to the hall, the imperial guards watching them pretended not to notice—not because they truly did not see, but because they chose to look the other way. This, of course, was thanks to the status of the Marquis of Wu’an and the wealth of Wang Yuanfeng’s maternal grandfather.

The Marquis’s position was unassailable, and Wang Yuanfeng’s maternal grandfather, Jia Wanqian, was the richest man in Jiangnan. With the Jia family’s support, the estate would never want for money, even without income of its own.

It must be mentioned that the Marquis of Wu’an had three wives and four concubines, as was fitting for an official of the third rank or higher: one principal wife, two equal-status wives, and four concubines. The principal wife, Madam Liu, bore the eldest son Wang Yuanhong and the second daughter Wang Ling’er. She was the daughter of the General Who Pacifies the Frontier, a grand general of the first rank commanding a hundred thousand men at the northern front. The second wife, Madam Zhang, bore a son and a daughter, Wang Yuanling and the eldest daughter Wang Xiner. Her father was the Minister of Revenue, a man of considerable influence in the court. The third wife, Madam Jia, bore three sons: Wang Yuanxing, Wang Yuanfeng, and Wang Yuanqing. Her father, Jia Wanqian, was a merchant whose fortune rivaled that of a nation.

The four concubines came from distinguished backgrounds as well, giving birth to three daughters and one son: the fifth young master Wang Yuanqing and the third, fourth, and fifth young ladies Wang Rong’er, Wang Shuang’er, and Wang Shuang’er.

It could be said that the Marquis’s current status owed much to the power and resources his wives’ families brought. With such connections and the careful management of these imperial guards, who were not above accepting a few extra perks, the guards enjoyed a comfortable assignment at the estate. As long as Wang Yuanfeng didn’t draw the attention of the Ninth Princess, there would be no trouble; as for the Emperor, he had likely forgotten about such matters long ago. The guards thus continued their ceremonial vigil, like terra-cotta soldiers standing watch.

Wang Yuanhong’s return, after all, was something of a triumphant homecoming. Having left Shengjing as a mere idle city guard, he had now been promoted to a third-rank general—a position that required the Emperor’s personal appointment. Though his family’s influence and wealth had played a part, Wang Yuanhong’s own merit could not be denied; he was brave in battle, accomplished in martial arts, and had earned his rank honorably.

As Wang Yuanfeng and Xiaocui neared the main gate, they heard a commotion ahead. His courtyard was set apart and not within the inner residence, so reaching the family hall required passing through both the front and rear halls, making the main gate an unavoidable point of passage. Approaching a rockery, they saw several household servants confronting a man dressed as a bodyguard at the gate—clearly not one of their own, but likely a retainer of the Prince of Nine Mountains.

One of the servants, swelling with arrogance, declared, “The young prince has graced this place with his presence. Hurry and send word for the household to come out and kneel in greeting. If the young prince is pleased, it will be a blessing for your house.”

At the gates of a prime minister, even a seventh-rank official would be found. Though the Marquis of Wu’an’s power was great, he did not dominate the court, and many harbored resentment toward him—the Prince of Nine Mountains among them. Even a bodyguard in the prince’s retinue could speak freely in Shengjing, and few would dare contradict him.

Though the Prince of Nine Mountains ruled a small domain in the east with only thirty thousand men, rumors abounded that he possessed the Emperor’s fate, and the Emperor’s obsession with the elixir of immortality only fueled such speculation. As a result, the prince’s son, Li Gongzi, acted with utter impunity, and his followers were equally overbearing.

The presence of the Prince of Nine Mountains was the sole reason the east remained stable; thus, the Emperor dismissed the rumors as slander and paid them little heed—as long as the prince did not rebel, there would be no chaos.

The bodyguard, angered by the servants’ lack of respect, barked, “Show me the way at once! If you delay the proper welcome for the young prince, can you bear the consequences?”

Yet the servants stood their ground, refusing to yield. The man had brought no formal letter of introduction and acted with unwarranted arrogance. Moreover, it was well known among the estate’s staff that anyone associated with the Prince of Nine Mountains, including his son, was forbidden entry. Without explicit orders, they would not let him in—not even with a blade at their throats.

Frustrated by this blatant disrespect, the bodyguard gripped his sword, preparing to act.

At that moment, Wang Yuanfeng emerged from behind the rockery with Xiaocui and called out, “What is the meaning of this? What stray dog dares make trouble at the Marquis’s gate?”

He could have ignored the matter had he not seen it, but since he had, he could not stand aside. In the distance, he spotted a sedan chair and a group of bodyguards arrayed in battle formation—clearly not here to curry favor, but to pick a fight.

If it came to blows, the estate’s four guards would be outnumbered by the prince’s dozens, and with Li Gongzi’s temperament, a brawl at the gate was likely. Even if, afterward, Li Gongzi was detained, what could they do? At most, give him a beating. But the estate would be the one to lose face.

Approaching the gate, Wang Yuanfeng cast a scornful glance at the bodyguard. The servants bowed and greeted him, “Fourth Young Master.”

He nodded to them, ignoring the bodyguard, and looked toward the sedan.

The sedan chair was an oddity. There were sedan chairs for sixteen, eight, four, or two bearers—but never seven. This one was bedecked in pearls, jade, and agate, with a lid of fragrant wood, a body of pearwood, and even the carrying poles were made of nanmu. The curtains were a bright red, but it was clearly not a bridal sedan. The only word to describe it was gaudy.

Beyond its ornamentation, what truly drew his attention was the number of bearers—seven. In sedan etiquette, even numbers were used for the living, odd for the dead. In architecture, it was the opposite: buildings for the living used odd numbers, tombs and coffins even. For a living person, a sedan would have an even number of bearers; for a coffin, an odd number.

What was Li Gongzi’s intention in using seven bearers for his sedan?

The Emperor’s own sedan required sixteen bearers; high-ranking officials eight; those below third rank, four; minor officials, two. Commoners were forbidden from using sedans at all, except during weddings, when the rules were relaxed: commoners used two bearers, minor officials four, middle-ranking officials eight, and high officials sixteen. On the road, even princes and nobles would yield to a bridal sedan.

But Wang Yuanfeng was certain this was no wedding procession. Had this been a bridal sedan, he would have stepped aside out of courtesy, but with Li Gongzi’s rank, he could use an eight-bearer sedan for a wedding and only four on regular occasions. So what was the meaning of this seven-bearer sedan?