The second strike came for Captain Zou. Zhang Kang lunged forward, the cangue on his neck slamming into the masked brute. Both men lost their footing and tumbled, rolling down the slope together.
Zhang Kang’s left arm smashed against a jagged rock. Agony flared, accompanied by the sickening crack of bone. He knew at once—at least one bone in that arm was broken.
That left him with only one usable hand.
When the rolling finally stopped, Zhang Kang kicked off the ground and staggered upright. His eyes swept the surroundings. In the corner of his vision, he spotted the ring pommel broadsword lying beneath a nearby tree. He had no time to feel relief—wind tore in from behind.
He hunched his shoulders, guarding his throat.
At the same time, he heard a sharp “crack.” From the feel of it, he guessed the attacker’s weapon had struck the wooden cangue.
Seizing the moment, he spun around.
In that instant—faster than thought—his body moved on instinct honed through years of martial training. With his only functional hand, he grabbed the wrist of the masked man holding the dagger.
But the blade still pierced his neck.
Zhang Kang had only one hand. His opponent had two—and far greater strength.
The dagger slid deeper, almost unimpeded.
Despair flooded Zhang Kang’s eyes. His body, worn down from long travel without rest, was failing him. His mind was exhausted to its limit.
Give up…
The thought flickered—
—and at that exact moment, a small figure appeared in his mind.
Youyou.
A fair, jade-like little girl smiling as she handed him a small pouch.
“I’ll send you the very best white sugar lychees.”
He had made her a promise.
And he had not yet kept it.
He could not die here.
The pouch pressed against his chest seemed to carry boundless strength. In an instant, a fierce will to live erupted within him.
That strength surged through his limbs—
Enduring the pain, Zhang Kang slowly moved his left hand. The moment his fingers closed around the dagger, a hoarse cry tore from his throat.
His eyes were bloodshot. He stared at the masked brute, inch by inch—slow, agonizing, yet utterly resolute—forcing the blade away.
Just as the dagger withdrew from his neck, the brute’s gaze shifted past Zhang Kang, toward something behind him.
“Don’t attack! We must not kill a life burning with such a fierce will—otherwise, Wotulin will wither the grass and dry up the rivers.”
Zhang Kang’s heart jolted. He turned.
Behind him stood another man, blade already raised high.
At those words, the man cupped his hands in salute toward the masked brute and stepped aside.
The brute withdrew his dagger, then bent to pick up the ring pommel broadsword from the ground.
The two of them left in haste.
They did not spare Zhang Kang another glance.
Only after their figures disappeared did Zhang Kang finally relax. The release of tension brought its consequence—his vision went black, and he collapsed.
When he woke again, night had fallen.
Everything around him was silent.
The mist had thinned in the darkness. Two green lights approached from afar. A rank, animal stench drifted on the wind—and soon, the massive shape revealed itself.
A tiger.
“Want to eat me? Dream on!”
Clutching the pouch at his chest with one hand, Zhang Kang roared at the beast.
“Ahhh—!”
The ferocity of his spirit made even the tiger hesitate, stepping back.
It was a very long night.
Man and beast faced each other in a standoff—until the brilliant sun rose in the east. Only when distant shouts echoed through the hills did the tiger finally retreat, reluctant.
Zhang Kang could no longer move his stiffened body. Only his eyes shifted upward.
Golden sunlight spilled across his face.
He wept with joy.
Some people are brought back to life in the sunlight.
Others nearly collapse beneath it.
The latter was Jiang Yan.
At the official residence, Jiang Yan picked up the letter again. His hands trembled uncontrollably. Unable to believe what was written, he read it once more.
From Lady Huang and the County Magistrate’s attitude toward Lu Wumou, it was clear—this was no ordinary man.
Magistrate Huang had been vague about his identity. So Jiang Yan decided to investigate himself.
But his connections were limited. More than twenty days passed before he received a response.
…Not entirely reliable.
The letter came from a former classmate now serving as an official in the Imperial Capital. Cuixi County knew nothing of the Thousand Mechanism Trickster School, but in the capital, tales of Master Lu had long circulated.
The Trickster School stood alongside the Confucian, Daoist, Legalist, and Mohist traditions as one of the Hundred Schools of Thought.
Where Confucianism clarified human relations, Daoism followed nature, Legalism governed the state, and Mohism preached universal love—
The Trickster School dealt in strategy.
It proposed no ultimate ideal, yet taught the means to reach one. It built no eternal order, yet contained the wisdom to shape any order.
Its founder excelled in mechanisms and numerical arts, even possessing the ability to construct entire cities. Hence the title “Thousand Mechanisms.”
Later generations called it the Thousand Mechanism Trickster School.
Lu Wumou was its most renowned inheritor.
It was because of him that the school became widely known.
He had once served the emperor and earned merit in aiding his ascension, rising to the rank of third grade official. Had he not pushed his luck, he could have gone even further.
But when a close colleague was condemned—his entire clan sentenced to execution—Lu Wumou remembered a promise.
He had once sworn that no matter what happened, he would preserve a trace of his friend’s bloodline.
So he offered up his official hat in exchange, petitioning the emperor to spare the man’s young son.
The emperor was furious.
But in the end…
There was a saying in the world: A promise from Master Lu is worth more than a thousand gold.
Even before that incident, his reputation for keeping his word was already well known.
He had once promised his wife a lifetime of devotion—one man, one woman. When she died young without bearing children, he refused to remarry or take concubines, even at the cost of ending his lineage.
There were many such stories.
When he later resigned, he said only one thing:
“My friend was innocent.”
To this day, people believed the court had wronged that man—not that Lu Wumou spoke falsely to save face.
Such was his reputation.
If he pointed at someone and declared, “This person breaks their word,”
Even the emperor would have to accept that judgment.
Jiang Yan slowly lowered the letter.
As Magistrate Huang had said—the ten thousand taels of silver must be deposited into Youyou’s account on time.
There could be no gamble.
He paced the room several times, then strode out, crossing the inner courtyard—just in time to see Jin Sui directing servants carrying several chests toward the west wing.
The place was bustling.
He waved off formalities and stepped inside.
At the desk, Qian Yuanyuan was working her abacus, not even lifting her head.
“Line the chests along the wall. I’ll inspect them after I finish the accounts.”
Jiang Yan walked over.
The ledger was filled with neat, delicate handwriting:
Curved robe, one set… bamboo hairpin, one… earrings, one pair… belts, three… jade disks, five…
Twenty bamboo mannequins… total two strings and four hundred coins…
Round collar riding outfit No. 1 delivered… settlement five taels three mace…
The totals required complex calculations.
Jiang Yan barely scanned a page before his head spun.
Yet Qian Yuanyuan hardly needed the abacus—after a moment’s thought, she recorded the final figure.
Like father, like daughter. A merchant’s child was born for trade.
Jiang Yan felt slightly reassured.
Qian Yuanyuan had already noticed him, but did not rise.
“Why has my husband come?”
“I came to see you,” Jiang Yan said, sitting down. “On my way back, I passed Qian’s Brocade. There’s a notice posted—closed for renovation. Yuanniang… there’s not much time left before the three-month deadline. Can you really earn ten thousand taels?”
Qian Yuanyuan looked at him calmly.
“One coin buys a coarse bun. One tael of silver buys a hundred measures of grain. Fifteen taels buys a working horse. One hundred taels buys a hundred mu of farmland.”
“Ten thousand taels… is the entire wealth of the Qian family. It took three generations without major mistakes to accumulate.”
“You want me to earn in three months what my family built over decades.”
Jiang Yan lowered his gaze, unable to meet her eyes. He poured tea and offered it to her.
“Yuanniang, have some water.”
She did not take it.
He set it down awkwardly.
“I know it’s difficult… but I’ve already agreed—”
“I’ve seen what happened to the Wan and Zhang families,” Qian Yuanyuan said coldly. “I don’t dare slack.”
“Jiang Yan—are you being an official, or a gambler?”
He slammed the table and stood.
“Qian Shi!”
She showed no fear.
“I’m here.”
Jiang Yan fell silent.
He suddenly realized—he had no way to deal with her.
This was a blade that could not be dulled.
He forced himself to speak calmly.
“I’m doing this for the people! The safety of the Cang River dam is critical. If it fails, countless families will be destroyed. As an official, can I stand by and do nothing?”
“My clan lives here too. Half the village is related to me. If disaster strikes, no one escapes. I accepted this knowing the risk—but I don’t regret it.”
He paused, then added:
“Don’t worry. Magistrate Huang promised to back us.”
Qian Yuanyuan gave no reply.
She had no energy left for “righteous duty.”
All her strength was spent thinking—and doing.
“Lady Huang has already spoken to me. If ten thousand taels fall short, there are ways to make up the difference. But the money deposited into Youyou’s account must never be touched.”
Jiang Yan understood at once.
Any such “methods” would carry risks.
Money did not fall from the sky.
The county yamen certainly could not mint it.
Then where could it come from?
He sighed.
“At least reopen the shop first…”
“The layout is wrong. It needs renovation,” she cut in. “If we want crowds, we must make a splash. Now isn’t the right time—and the goods aren’t ready.”
Jiang Yan looked at the stacked chests.
“That must cost money… did you ask your father?”
“No. I’d have to explain—and they wouldn’t agree to me doing business anyway.”
“Then where did the money come from?”
“Credit. And what couldn’t be credited—I borrowed.”
“How much?”
“Five thousand taels. Already spent three thousand two hundred eighty-one taels and three mace.”
Jiang Yan’s eyes widened.
“You borrowed that much? And they lent it to you?”
“Not from one place. It’s under your name.”
Jiang Yan sat down and pressed his forehead.
Business required capital.
The bigger the business, the greater the cost.
Qian Yuanyuan ignored him and continued inspecting the goods.
Jin Sui and Yinzhu stood beside her, taking notes.
Gradually, all three women forgot Jiang Yan entirely.
Watching her, Jiang Yan felt something shift.
He had never seen this side of his wife.
She knew every shipment, every flaw, every figure.
People came and went, all looking at her with admiration.
I know nothing of trade. But she… has everything planned.
He made a decision.
He would urge—but not interfere.
Silently, he left.
No one noticed.
Ten days later, Miss Player’s carriage slowed near a back alley.
“Miss, that looks like the County Deputy Magistrate ahead,” Wen Yan said.
“Pretend we didn’t see him.”
She had no interest in greeting irrelevant people.
Wen Yan lifted the curtain.
“He looks… strange.”
Miss Player raised a brow.
Jiang Yan was sneaking along the wall, sleeves covering his face, glancing around like a petty thief.
She watched for a moment, amused.
“What is he doing?”
“Debt collectors blocked his carriage. He’s sneaking home alone.”
Miss Player stared at Wen Yan.
“You brought this to show me?”
Wen Yan panicked—
—but she burst into laughter.
“Ha! Well done!”
She had completely forgotten that some of her own debts were also coming due.
Meanwhile, Jiang Yan returned home and went straight to Qian Yuanyuan.
He slapped a stack of payment notices onto the table.
“They dared surround an official—this is outrageous!”
Yet he knew the truth.
Too many loans.
Too many creditors.
When the due date came, they all came at once.
“Debts must be repaid,” Qian Yuanyuan said calmly.
“When will we see any return?”
“I know what I’m doing. Don’t interfere.”
“I can’t keep avoiding people forever—”
“Then don’t mind them. We still need money.”
She flipped through the notices.
Some were not hers.
They belonged to Youyou.
She knew.
She simply said nothing.
After a moment, Jiang Yan pressed again.
“What’s your plan?”
She finally answered:
“In ten days, on an auspicious date, Qian’s Brocade will reopen.”
Time flew.
On the forty-third day since the exile convoy departed—
The first basket of lychees arrived at the county yamen.
On the same day—
Qian’s Brocade reopened.
The entire county was shaken.
The spectacle rivaled a temple fair.