Read Novel Full CHAPTER 52 PART1
CHAPTER 52 PART1
The atmosphere chilled at once, sharp as an early spring frost.
The Old Marchioness, realizing she had spoken amiss, cleared her throat. A touch flustered, she tried to explain: “Ah-Yan, the battlefield is full of dangers and sudden turns. I only worry for you—everything I say is for your own good.”
“If you were to end up like your father back then…”—defeated once more—
Her voice faltered. True fear gripped her, draining the color from her face as the shadow of the late Marquis’s downfall loomed over her once again.
For an instant, a dark, ruthless glint flashed in Xiao Yan’s eyes, but it vanished quickly. He straightened and said with firm composure: “Mother, don’t worry. I’ve already investigated. This rebellion is nothing more than a band of a thousand or so roving bandits—an unruly mob, hardly a threat.”
“Think about it: His Majesty even intends to send Lord Cheng’en. You know how deeply the emperor favors the Empress. If the situation were truly perilous, would he really let Lord Cheng’en lead the troops himself? Don’t you agree?”
“With the Xie family’s fall, many posts in the army have been left vacant. His Majesty clearly intends to grant military merit to the Liu family, paving the way for them to assume the remnants of the Xie forces in the north.”
In Xiao Yan’s view, Xie Yimo had been a fool. The Xie family had long since achieved glory. As the imperial son-in-law, had he surrendered his command years earlier and returned to the capital for an honored retirement, his household would never have faced annihilation.
“…” The Old Marchioness lowered her gaze, uncertain.
“Mother.” Xiao Yan stepped closer, gently taking her hand, appealing with all his earnestness. “I’m without office now, and I’ve offended Fu Chuan. Who knows how many years I’ll have to wait before another suitable post opens up?”
“This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. With the right connections, it’s certain to succeed.”
The more he spoke, the more impassioned he became, his eyes burning as he clasped his mother’s hand even tighter.
This was the plan he had devised on his way back from the Yin estate.
Without the hot springs manor and the stables, there was no chance of making Fu Chuan relent. He had to carve out a new path.
The Xiao family’s standing had always rested on military achievements—if they were to rise again, it could only be through the battlefield.
Persuaded by her son’s words, the Old Marchioness felt her resolve waver. Her thumb absently rubbed across the beads of her prayer bracelet. Yet the thought of ten thousand taels made her hesitate, and her eyes drifted toward a chest of account books nearby.
After the Yin family hauled away Madam Yin’s dowry, they dumped these account books at the Marquis’s household. Just earlier, she had sent Wang momo to tally them and discovered that there’s barely a thousand taels of silver left in the household coffers.
Which meant the full ten thousand could only come from her own purse.
Xiao Yan caught the indecision in her eyes and pressed on: “Mother, once I win merit, the Xiao family will restore the glory of our ancestors. No one will ever dare look down on us again—nor will petty merchants dare flaunt their wealth before our eyes.”
The Old Marchioness fingered her prayer beads in silence, her lips tightly pressed.
Xiao Yan urged eagerly: “And when that time comes, the Yin family will surely crawl back to us. I’ll make them repay you tenfold.”
For the Yin family, ten thousand taels was nothing.
At last, after a long pause, the Old Marchioness clenched her teeth and gave her order to Wang momo: “Bring me my coffer.”
Wang momo understood at once and hurried off to fetch the box of banknotes.
“Mother, I’m indebted to you for this.” Xiao Yan, relieved, lavished her with words of gratitude and flattery until she allowed a faint smile to soften her face.
Even so, her heart ached at the loss.
She had been born into a poor but upright family, with little dowry to her name. The wealth she held now had been painstakingly saved over the past decade.
That very morning, Xiao Yanfei had already extorted a large “dowry supplement” from her. Now another ten thousand taels were gone to her eldest son. More than half her life’s savings had vanished in a single day.
Overnight, she had been reduced nearly to poverty.
She had meant to caution Xiao Yan a little further, but the moment he secured the notes, he was impatient to leave. He took his leave in haste: “Mother, wait here in the manor for my good news.”
As he turned, his eyes darkened, his lips pressed thin. So much for saying it was “for his own good”—even a mere ten thousand taels, and she had stalled again and again.
Clutching the banknotes, he strode quickly out. At the gate of Ronghe Hall’s courtyard, his gaze fell at once upon Concubine Cui, standing beneath a willow tree.
She wore a moon-white gauze robe, her slender waist swaying gracefully. The breeze lifted her skirt and the willow branches together, and though she was thirty, she remained delicate and alluring, fragile as silk. Xiao Yan’s heart stirred at the sight.
In his mind rose the image of Cui Yingru as she had been more than ten years ago—youthful, radiant, gazing up at him as though he were her heaven and her earth.
“My lord.” Concubine Cui took a hesitant step forward, then stopped, her eyes trembling with watery light, her lips bitten in hesitation. “It’s all my fault, I…”
“It’s not your fault.” Xiao Yan cut her off gently but firmly. “I know—you only wanted Luan’er to have a better life.”
Back in those chaotic days, he and Yingru had been separated. He had nearly thought he’d lost her forever. She must have thought the same. Small wonder she had taken such a desperate gamble to swap the two children.
If he had truly died, Yingru and the child would have been left to Yin Wan’s torment.
Xiao Yan’s expression softened as he looked at her with deep pity. “It was only Yin Wan’s narrow heart.”
“My lord…” Concubine Cui gazed at him, tears shimmering ever brighter in her eyes.
“Yingru, don’t be afraid.” Xiao Yan placed a hand lightly on her slim waist, tender as though she were still a girl. His voice was low, fervent: “I promised you long ago—never again will I let you suffer a single grievance in this lifetime.”
With his eyes, he soothed her, assuring her everything would be all right.
“My lord, I know.” Concubine Cui choked with emotion, tears brimming in her eyes, her luminous face as clear and radiant as the moon.
She rested her cheek lightly on Xiao Yan’s shoulder, though unease still lingered in her heart.
His hand lingered briefly on her slender waist, caressing gently before he pushed her back and said, “Ru’er, wait here for my good news. Our Luan’er has suffered much this time. Comfort her well—everything will be fine.”
Concubine Cui nodded obediently. “My lord, I’ll be here awaiting your return.”
Xiao Yan pressed a tender kiss to the crown of her head, then strode off, leaving the Marquis’s residence in haste. Mounting his horse at the Outer Ceremonial Gate, he galloped away.
Once he left, his days became consumed with one thing alone—running errands, currying favor, seeking connections. His every thought was bent on securing a place in the campaign to suppress the bandits in Youzhou, rushing about like a headless fly.
Nearly the entire ten thousand taels was spent before he finally managed to bribe his way into a commission with the Divine Pivot Battalion. Only then did he settle in relief, waiting to march, eager to trail behind Lord Cheng’en and seize his share of military merit.
But Lord Cheng’en, haunted by the shadow of last year’s disastrous battle at Lanshan City, dared not take the field again. In the capital he stalled and delayed, protesting loudly of loyalty and piety—insisting he must first remain until the emperor’s birthday, to offer his felicitations, before setting out.
One petition after another from officials urging immediate deployment was firmly suppressed by the emperor himself.
Meanwhile, in Youzhou, the bandits captured Shangguo County and swiftly took Fengpu City as well. Refugees began streaming into the outskirts of the capital, reduced to begging for survival. Soon, rumblings of discontent spread among the people and the scholar class alike:
“Lord Cheng’en refuses to march—plainly he fears battle!”
“Indeed! Our Great Jing’s lands and people suffer at the hands of mere brigands, yet he sits idle—shameful!”
“Clinging to life, fearing death—such a man is unfit to command troops!”
“…”
Inside a teahouse in the capital, scholars in plain robes and gauze caps crowded the main hall, voices rising one over another in indignation.
A youth in blue robes, not yet twenty, cried at the top of his lungs with righteous fervor: “Since ancient times, when the relatives of the throne seized power, they brought nothing but calamity to the realm!”
“Utter nonsense!”
On the second floor, Liu Chaoyun slammed her palm against the railing, her lovely face dark with rage, the cinnabar mole at her brow burning bright with anger.
“Brother!” She jabbed a finger down toward the scholars railing below, seething as she addressed Liu Jia, heir to Lord Cheng’en. “Have them all arrested, these insolent curs!”
It was the autumn examination season, and scholars from across the realm had begun arriving in the capital to prepare. That day, some had organized an impromptu debate at this Four Directions Teahouse.
Hearing of the event, Liu Jia had come with his sister and companions to spectate—only to be greeted by slanders against his father.
Expression hard, Liu Jia raised his hand slightly.
At once, two Liu family guards at his side drew their blades an inch from their sheaths, cold light flashing, murderous intent thick in the air…
“Well, well. Playing magistrate of the capital, are we?”
A honeyed, mocking voice rang out. “Even the Prefect of the Capital has no right to seize men without cause.”
Liu Chaoyun’s arched brows knit sharply. She turned her gaze toward the speaker, her eyes narrowing like drawn steel.
There, a few paces away, stood Princess Ning Shu, arms folded leisurely, smiling as she met Liu Chaoyun’s glare. Her voice was lilting, teasing: “Fear of death is fear of death. What, are we not even allowed to say so?”
“Ning Shu, don’t go too far!” Liu Chaoyun struck the railing again, her tone righteous with anger. “Affairs of state are not for idle tongues to bandy about!”
The tea server at their side looked utterly lost, glancing nervously between the parties, sweat beading his brow. Both sides were nobility, each vying for the teahouse’s only private room—how could a mere server afford to offend either?
Ning Shu gave a sharp, amused laugh, about to retort further, when the girl beside her tugged lightly at her sleeve.
It was a young maiden of thirteen or fourteen, clad in a pale green jacket embroidered with butterflies and blossoms. Her delicate oval face framed a pair of phoenix eyes, dark irises gleaming with a cool, poised light—dignified and serene.
“Sister Ning Shu, don’t quarrel.” The girl’s voice was calm and clear, almost chilling. “We can fight.”
The suggestion delighted Ning Shu, though she hesitated a moment.
“They’ve more men. We’ll be outmatched,” she muttered softly.
“Thump, thump, thump…”
From the staircase came the sound of approaching footsteps, along with a server’s cheerful announcement: “Miss, your friend is already upstairs—arrived just a quarter hour before you.”
Up came Xiao Yanfei, clad in a crimson dress. Her fair, delicate skin seemed all the more radiant against the vivid silk, like snow blooming amidst scarlet blossoms.
The rowdy teahouse seemed to brighten at her entrance.
Liu Jia’s gaze burned upon her, inwardly marveling: What a beauty! …Yet something about the little beauty’s face stirred a flicker of recognition.
“Yanyan, over here!” Ning Shu waved cheerfully, beckoning her. “Come, come!”
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