Two days—neither long nor short.
Ning Nuannuan had gone through all twenty-eight account books.
After finishing, she didn’t rush to act. Instead, she made a table on paper. On the left, she wrote income; on the right, expenses; and in the middle, she left a column specifically to mark “problematic” entries.
When one sheet wasn’t enough, she used two. When two weren’t enough, three.
By the time she reached the seventh sheet, she set the brush down.
Not because she was done—but because she couldn’t be bothered to keep writing.
Starting from the third ledger, Zhang Dequan’s boldness had inflated like a balloon. In the first year, he still tried to cover things up, falsifying small amounts of twenty or thirty taels. By the second year, he dared to pocket hundreds in a single entry. From the third year onward, he didn’t even bother hiding it, fabricating entries openly.
One entry left a deep impression on Ning Nuannuan: last December, the account recorded “purchase of New Year tribute goods, expenditure of 1,200 taels.”
One thousand two hundred taels.
The Ninth Prince’s residence followed the rank of a Beizi. According to Qing regulations, the annual stipend was only 2,500 taels. Just one month’s New Year purchases had consumed nearly half a year’s salary?
Ning Nuannuan flipped to the inventory records from the same period. The New Year goods list contained only forty-six items. Calculated at market price, it would amount to at most 300 taels.
That left a gap of 900 taels.
Nine hundred taels of silver—enough to buy a two-courtyard house in the capital.
And that was just one entry.
Ning Nuannuan added up the numbers across the seven sheets. Over four years, the total deficit conservatively exceeded 8,000 taels.
Eight thousand taels of silver.
In her previous life, she had audited warlords’ accounts in Africa with a UN observation team. Those people embezzled in the millions of dollars—but they controlled mines and arms. This Zhang Dequan, holding nothing more than the accounts of a prince’s residence, had managed to siphon off 8,000 taels.
Impressive.
On the morning of the third day, Zhang Dequan appeared punctually at the door of the east wing.
He had changed into a clean gray fur coat, shaved his beard smooth, and wore an even thicker smile than before. In his hands was a neatly stacked bundle of fresh papers.
“Consort, I’ve reorganized the accounts. I haven’t slept for two days and a night,” Zhang Dequan said, placing the papers on the table with a bow. “I divided them into two columns—one for normal expenses, and one for… additional ones. Please take a look.”
Ning Nuannuan took them and flipped through.
In the “additional” column, he had listed thirty-two entries, totaling 640 taels.
Six hundred forty taels.
Ning Nuannuan set the papers down.
“Manager Zhang.”
“I’m here.”
“Do you really think I can’t read accounts, or do you think I’m easy to fool?”
Zhang Dequan’s smile froze.
Ning Nuannuan pulled out her seven sheets from the corner of the table and spread them in front of him.
The pages were densely filled with numbers, each entry clearly marked with the original ledger’s page number, date, category, actual market price, and the discrepancy from the recorded amount. At the bottom, a number was circled in red ink.
8,163 taels and 4 qian.
Zhang Dequan stared at the number. His lips moved, but no sound came out.
“You reported 640 taels,” Ning Nuannuan leaned back in her chair, legs crossed. “That’s a difference of 7,500 taels. How do you plan to explain that? Did you miscalculate, or did you think I would?”
Zhang Dequan’s knees weakened.
But he didn’t kneel immediately—because he still had one last card to play.
“Consort, these accounts… some of them weren’t decided by me alone,” Zhang Dequan lowered his voice, his small eyes darting around. “Lady Wanyan’s monthly allowances, fabrics, jewelry—many of them were personally ordered by the Ninth Prince. I merely carried them out. How would I dare make decisions on my own?”
He brought up Wanyan and Yin Jiu.
This tactic had worked before. Once the Ninth Prince’s name was invoked, who would dare investigate further?
But Ning Nuannuan didn’t take the bait.
She stood up and walked to the window. Outside stood a pomegranate tree, its leaves thinned by the autumn wind.
“Manager Zhang, let me ask you something.”
“Please speak, Your Consortship.”
“Your hands—which is stronger, your left or your right?”
Zhang Dequan froze.
What kind of question was that?
“R-replying to Your Consortship, this servant is more accustomed to using his right hand.”
Ning Nuannuan turned around and walked back to the table. She casually picked up a blue-and-white porcelain brush washer—a solid ceramic piece with a thick base, slightly larger than a fist.
She gripped it with her right hand, her fingers tightening.
Crack.
The finely crafted porcelain shattered in her palm into several pieces, shards slipping through her fingers and clattering onto the table.
Zhang Dequan’s legs gave out, and he dropped straight to his knees.
“Spare me, Your Consortship! Spare me!”
His head slammed against the stone floor with a dull thud. This time, it was a genuine kneel—every bone in his body trembling.
Ning Nuannuan tossed the remaining shards in her hand onto the table and brushed the powder from her palm.
“I’m not after your life. Your life isn’t worth eight thousand taels.”
Zhang Dequan knocked his head even faster. “I’ll hand it all over! All of it! Everything I’ve saved, spent, and hidden over these four years—I’ll return it without a single tael missing! Please, Your Consortship, leave me a way to live!”
“Don’t rush.” Ning Nuannuan sat down at the table. “The money will definitely be recovered. But before that, there’s something else you need to explain clearly.”
“What is it?”
“On Lady Wanyan’s side, how much did she take from you? Which amounts had the Ninth Prince’s approval, which were her own doing, and which were split between you two—don’t try to be clever. I can verify everything.”
Sweat dripped from Zhang Dequan’s forehead.
He hesitated for three seconds.
Three seconds later, Ning Nuannuan picked up another porcelain piece from the table.
Zhang Dequan stopped hesitating.
“I’ll talk! I’ll tell everything!”
Half an hour later, Ning Nuannuan had an additional confession in hand.
Written by Zhang Dequan, the handwriting was messy, but the figures were clear.
Over the past four years, the silver and goods Lady Wanyan had drawn from the treasury through Zhang Dequan amounted to roughly 2,600 taels. Of that, less than 800 taels had been explicitly approved by Yintang. The remaining 1,800 taels were privately handled by Lady Wanyan and Zhang Dequan together.
Every transaction had a destination. Jewelry, fabrics, and cosmetics made up the bulk. A portion had also flowed to Lady Wanyan’s natal family.
Ning Nuannuan folded the confession and looked at Zhang Dequan, who was still kneeling on the ground.
“Get up.”
Zhang Dequan didn’t dare move.
“I told you to get up.”
He shakily stood, his legs trembling so badly he had to grip the edge of the table to keep from collapsing.
“Within two days, return all the silver you can recover in full. For anything that can’t be retrieved, write an IOU. It will be deducted monthly from your stipend.”
Zhang Dequan nodded repeatedly.
“And one more thing.” Ning Nuannuan folded the confession and tucked it into her sleeve. “I’m keeping this. You’ll continue managing affairs, but you’ll report the accounts every five days—I’ll review them personally. If I find even a single coin unaccounted for again—”
She didn’t finish.
Zhang Dequan didn’t need her to. The pile of porcelain shards was still sitting on the table.
“This servant understands! I will definitely—”
“That’s enough. Get out.”
Zhang Dequan bowed as he retreated, his steps ten times lighter than when he arrived. His entire body shrank inward, head lowered deeply.
As he stepped out of the east wing, the autumn wind hit him, and the cold sweat on his back sent a shiver through his body.