Xing Muzheng suffered a lot from not having money during the war. From spears and daggers to armor and cotton-padded clothes, rice and vegetables, what in the army didn’t cost money? He didn’t like Brother Kong Fang to begin with, but in the end, he still had to calculate carefully. Xing Muzheng intended to let Qian Jiaoniang manage the accounts for him, not only the accounts of the Marquis’ Mansion, but also the accounts of the entire Yuzhou. His suggestion to Qian Jiaoniang to open an embroidery shop was just the first step, and he had already planned everything else. He also knew that Qian Jiaoniang didn’t want to take his money. When they escaped from Baohua County last time, she didn’t take any of the money he gave her. He was afraid that if he really let her run away, she would have to live a hard life again. Since she didn’t want his money, if she had her own shop income, she would be able to live better even if she ran away. Besides, with money on her, she would always have more confidence. Moreover, if she did a good job, she would have fewer things to worry about, and her desire to leave would be less.
Qian Jiaoniang had not expected that, to Xing Muzheng, this was a plan of immense profit. She only hesitated and said: “They all say merchants are base. You are the governor of Yuzhou, and I, as your wife, if I open a shop and go into trade, won’t people look down on the Marquis’s household?”
Xing Muzheng dismissed it without concern: “All that talk of trade being lowly—those are just words. To take by proper means, to uprightly support oneself—that is the right and proper thing. Just like on the battlefield—whoever survives is the victor.”
Seeing that he thought so broadly, Qian Jiaoniang couldn’t help nodding, feeling a breath of relief.
“But there are always flies buzzing around the Marquis’s estate. If tongues wag, it may not be good for you. Better to let a maid or old servant come forward, while you sit behind the scenes.”
Xing Muzheng did not object, and even found her thought thorough. Naturally, Qian Jiaoniang had no objection either. She had never imagined that she might one day become the proprietor of a shop. Her heart stirred with longing, and her lips curved upward.
Xing Muzheng took up a folding fan and turned slightly to fan himself. Though it looked as if he fanned only himself, most of the breeze drifted toward Qian Jiaoniang. Still absorbed in her own thoughts, she only felt the coolness, without noticing.
The study boy soon brought in the easel. Xing Muzheng went to fetch Master Liu’s painting. Qian Jiaoniang quickly went to help, and together they tested it. The width was just right, it could be partly displayed or fully spread open—very convenient. Qian Jiaoniang knew how much Xing Muzheng treasured this painting; for him to let her look at it daily in his study was already extraordinary. She had never thought of taking it out. The study was cool, and since he was often away, to embroider there alone was more than perfect.
“This embroidery cloth must be carefully chosen,” she murmured to herself.
The boy brought in mung bean soup to ward off the heat. Xing Muzheng sat first and drank, then said: “Zhen Hao’s family used to sell cloth, you could…” He broke off mid-sentence, as if suddenly remembering something.
The grand imperial merchant reduced to selling cloth—Qian Jiaoniang found it amusing. But then her eyes turned, and she asked: “My lord, in Yuzhou are there any weaving houses not far off from the Zhen family’s quality?”
Xing Muzheng arched a brow. “What do you mean by that?”
Qian Jiaoniang sat beside him.
“I once heard Qingya say the Marquis’s household feeds on Yuzhou’s tax silver, just like running a shop—the better the business, the more the profit. So I thought, Qingya’s birthday is in autumn, and the Second Prince’s consort’s birthday as well. They both like my embroidery, and you too said it was good. If I take fine local Yuzhou satin and make them dresses, and they wear them before noble ladies, then perhaps many young ladies will want Yuzhou’s silks. If the silk houses gain business, won’t the tax silver for the Marquis’s estate also increase?”
Xing Muzheng was silent for a moment, then burst out laughing. Qian Jiaoniang had spoken earnestly, but he laughed aloud. She thought he was laughing at her naivety, but when she raised her eyes, she saw him smiling like bright skies after rain, eyes shining with pride. A strange, hard-to-name warmth floated in her chest.
What he had just stopped himself from saying had been exactly such a plan. Yuzhou was not wealthy, and he had long resolved to make a bold push—not only opening wasteland for farming, but also fostering commerce and industry. Qian Jiaoniang’s embroidery was astonishing; if she truly set her heart on embroidering the “Pines on High Mountains” painting, it would surely be a work worth a fortune. He had planned to discuss with Xie Zhang and his aides whether this could open a commercial opportunity. He had not thought Qian Jiaoniang would think of it herself. How could he not be delighted?
“Jiaoniang, you truly are remarkable.” Xing Muzheng’s smile would not fade. There were many clever men at his side, who had offered many schemes, but none had ever given him such satisfaction. Were it not for his naturally reserved character, he would even have wanted to show off before Xie Zhang and the others right now.
Qian Jiaoniang lowered her head to sip the mung bean soup, the tips of her ears faintly red.
Xing Muzheng thought a moment, then said: “In that case, spread word that the Dingxi Marchioness is seeking fine cloth at high price, and let them all present what they have. If it works, we’ll use it. If not…then have the Zhen family move here to Yuzhou, for my use.”
“That could be done?” Qian Jiaoniang asked. “The Zhen family is settled well enough in Minghu—how could they just be moved?”
“It can be done. It only requires careful calculation.” Xing Muzheng pondered a moment, then raised his voice to summon the boy, ordering him to invite Xie Zhang and several others Qian Jiaoniang did not know to the estate.
Having finished his mung bean soup, Xing Muzheng’s face still held a smile.
“It seems my wife has quite the gift. As your husband, I shall cast a brick to attract jade: I’ll buy the first shop for you, as an investment, so that later, when you are wealthy beyond measure, your husband may also bask in the glow.”
Qian Jiaoniang thought only that Xing Muzheng had grown ever more skilled with words. Clearly, he was afraid she had no silver to buy a shop, yet he phrased it in such a way that it made her feel comfortable. Clearing her throat, she said: “If the Marquis wishes for heaps of silver, isn’t it easy enough? In the house isn’t there already a living God of Wealth?”
She naturally meant Zhao Yaoqian. Neither kin nor guest, this Miss Zhao had been living in the Marquis’s household for half a year. Qian Jiaoniang knew Zhao Yaoqian occasionally sought out Xing Muzheng, but he had never given a clear response. At first she had thought it none of her business, but after so long, it truly was a matter.
Xing Muzheng of course knew who she meant. His smile faded a little.
“Yes, she hasn’t taken a liking to anyone yet?”
“How could she?” Qian Jiaoniang often played polo with Zhao Yaoqian. She did not dislike the girl, and could see that she liked Xing Muzheng. She made no secret of it. “Her heart is set on you, my lord.”
Xing Muzheng chuckled. “That’s troublesome.” He wanted the treasure map, but no more entanglements with women.
“What trouble? It’s a good thing.”
Xing Muzheng said: “Treasure is indeed a good thing. You should befriend her more, sound her out—see if we can learn where the other half of the treasure map is hidden. If we find it, Chou’er will sit upon a mountain of gold.”
Qian Jiaoniang’s smile was ambiguous. She had pored over Xing Muzheng’s private ledgers. With just Chou’er as heir, he was already assured of wealth as vast as a mountain of gold. How could he pretend the treasure was for their son alone? Clearly, he had other intentions.
“That is not very fair.”
“What fairness or unfairness is there? Miss Zhao will not be wronged.”
As the couple spoke, Ding Zhang came from outside to announce that a guest sought audience, claiming to be kin of the Xing family.
This was an utterly unexpected matter. Xing Muzheng was an only heir, and his forebears had long had no surviving relatives. For someone now to appear claiming kinship was startling. But if it was a false claim, it was bold indeed. Xing Muzheng resolved to meet them, bringing Qian Jiaoniang along.
She did not object. Before long, they arrived at the main hall. The guest had already been received inside. Three men sat on the lower seats, and when they heard movement behind the curtain, they all rose together. Qian Jiaoniang swept her eyes over them—indeed, they looked like three generations: the elder about sixty, with grizzled beard and dark skin; the middle one of about forty, wearing a scholar’s cap; and the youngest, seventeen or eighteen, pale-faced and beardless—at first glance, bearing a few traces of resemblance to Xing Muzheng in his youth.
The three men paid their respects. The middle-aged man reported his name: “Lord Dingxi Marquis, this is my second uncle, named Xing Shuihou. I am Xing Yanan. This lad is my eldest son, Xing Muzhao.”
Xing Muzheng found it somewhat interesting — the generational names of these three did in fact match the Xing family’s naming line.
The old man called Xing Shuihou continued, “My father’s name was Xing Hejiang, and my grandfather’s name was Xing Ankang.”
Xing Muzheng looked toward Qian Jiaoniang. In her eyes he saw a trace of surprise.
Indeed, Xing Muzheng’s great-grandfather was named Xing Hejiang, and his grandfather had a brother named Xing Ankang — all recorded in the family genealogy. Yet his father had once said that great-uncle went missing during wartime and, never returning to his hometown, was presumed dead.
“Do you have a genealogy record?”
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