Gu Zhao had once hoped Zhu Qingyu would remain unaware, yet now he even more wished that she knew—better than being the only one trapped in his dark, baseless imagination.
She need not be married.
Liu Wenhui’s words suddenly popped into his mind. Once they appeared, they repeated over and over, leaving only these four words in his head:
She need not be married.
After all, the barrier between him and her was nothing more than these four words.
He tucked the pale cloth into his bosom and said:
“Understood. You may leave.”
Later that night, Gu Zhao lay in bed with his eyes closed, caressing the soft cloth that felt as smooth as a woman’s skin, his mind replaying the scene when she had appeared in the room that afternoon.
Her clothes were half-damp, she had been so close, and when he had circled her with the chair, her fragrance had infused him completely.
Gu Zhao pressed the cloth to his face; the cool scent enveloped him again, even closer than when she had been present, as if he were holding her in his arms.
Outside, the attendants kept watch through the night. Half-asleep, half-awake, they heard an intimate call from inside:
“Lady Zhu…”
It sounded like a call, a murmur, even a whisper of breath.
The first time he heard it, the attendant had been fearful and uneasy, avoiding sleep for days, worried that even a single word might provoke the young lord to silence him permanently.
Now, perhaps accustomed to it, the attendant remained calm, not even raising an eyelid, and drifted back to sleep.
…
Back at the Zhang family mansion, after settling Zhang Ruohua, Zhu Qingyu wrote to Zhang Shen through the night.
After much deliberation, she omitted any mention of Gu Zhao, only writing about Lord Liu’s ill intentions toward the Zhang family and Zhang Ruohua’s earlier detainment. She sent the letter via swift horse to the Huai Bei Salt Works, instructing Zhang Shen to stay vigilant, beware of danger, and return to Yangzhou quickly.
Gu Zhao had instructed Zhu Qingyu to take more people when going out; in the following days, she barely left the house.
First, Zhang Ruohua, being young and frightened, needed her presence.
Second, the managers came monthly to submit the account books. Since Zhang Shen was away, they now delivered them to Zhu Qingyu.
That day, the head manager reported:
“The master withdrew a large sum of silver last month. Now, if the silver in the accounts is to pay the salt tax, it may not be enough. Lord Dai of the salt bureau has already sent people several times, asking how much prepayment of salt permits we plan for this year, and when the prepaid taxes will be settled. I explained that the master is away and dared not decide alone, hoping for an extension, but we cannot delay much longer.”
Speaking deliberately, the head manager was interrupted by the second manager, an impatient man, who snapped:
“Oh, head manager, time is critical! Can you just get to the point? I’ve checked—this year, the Zhou and Wang families will prepay double last year’s salt taxes. The total salt permits are fixed. They’re determined to take our share and push us out! Madam, with the master absent, you must decide quickly. This salt tax cannot be delayed; if we wait, nothing will be left!”
Flipping through the account books, Zhu Qingyu said:
“There’s no need to panic. Given the current market, the Zhou and Wang families taking more may not be a bad thing. The master went to Huai Bei for this reason. I’ve already sent him a letter; he should return in a few days. Naturally, we cannot offend Lord Dai. Head manager, prepare gifts for him and ask for more time. Wait until the master returns. In the meantime, recalculate how much silver we can offer. Pay as much tax as we can, and do business within our means. Don’t be greedy.”
The head manager had already calculated beforehand and nodded knowingly:
“No family can produce the full yearly tax in cash; if we only do cash business, we can manage about 30% of it, as in previous years.”
The second manager exploded:
“I don’t understand! Why must we stick to cash? The salt bureau could handle permits through loans without spending a penny, as the Zhou and Wang families do. Why can’t we? Only doing 30%—how is that doing business?”
Zhu Qingyu found his agitation odd and asked:
“Second manager, just because others do it doesn’t mean it’s right. Why imitate them? Right now, official salt business is a trap; why rush in? Salt isn’t the only business in the world. Do less in salt, more in other trades—so why not do business? The master withdrew the silver for a reason—don’t you understand?”
Refuted, the second manager jumped up:
“Madam, I don’t understand! Salt business is highly profitable. I’ve served the Zhang family for decades, seen generations build this fortune on salt, and now the master abandons such a good business and pushes it outward—I just don’t get it!”
Zhu Qingyu put down the account book and asked seriously:
“Times change. A ‘good business’ doesn’t last forever. One permit yields three hundred catties of salt, the tax is three taels per catty. Borrowing silver at 80% interest adds 2.4 taels per permit in costs. Lord Yan’s management these past two years, after various offerings and damages, yields only 0.3 taels per permit—less than buying land and collecting rent. Second manager, you’ve done this for decades; calculate properly. A permit loses 2.1 taels—bigger business, bigger loss. How is that a good business?”
Flushed and indignant, the second manager muttered:
“But Madam, times change! Those extra 2.4 taels can be recovered if salt prices rise eight wen per catty. And Lord Dai isn’t Lord Yan.”
Stubborn even without reason, Zhu Qingyu countered:
“Official salt is already 60 wen per catty. Raise it 8 wen, and do you think the people will buy it? They’ll choose 20-wen private salt instead. Lord Dai isn’t Lord Yan, but do you know what he wants? Silver from the government is not so easily borrowed. If we can’t repay by year-end, the government seizes property and arrests people. Do you think only Jingyan will go to jail? Will anyone in this room escape? Me? Or you, second manager?”