Chapter Eighteen: The Youth Outside the Government Office

Xu Hong was well aware of the formidable reputation of the Shen family. If there truly was another master capable of subduing those five little devils at home, that would indeed be a blessing. As for his younger sister, Madam Xu, plotting against Shen Ruoxi, it was likely out of jealousy, along with some tangled affairs within the Shen household. He felt he ought to offer some counsel and, at the same time, find out who had injured that Maoshen.

******

Old Master Shen had always cherished his only granddaughter, Shen Ruoxi. When he heard news of her improving health, the elderly man was so pleased that he enjoyed an extra bowl of rice porridge at breakfast. Perhaps buoyed by his good mood, he even asked Shen Lian an additional question. Steward Wu, ever perceptive, promptly reported all that Shen Lian had been up to recently. Besides Shen Lian's now unsurprising dedication to self-imposed physical training, the young man had spent his days reading and writing in his room.

Of course, Steward Wu did not realize that Shen Lian possessed a photographic memory; over this period, he had read through every book used to decorate his courtyard, committing each to memory to better understand this world.

“This child is destined for great things—calm and unhurried,” the old man remarked, entirely untroubled by Shen Lian’s refusal to yield, and admiring him all the more for it. The more he admired him, the greater his hope that his own legacy might one day be entrusted to such hands. Yet, it seemed Shen Lian did not share any particular enthusiasm for the vast riches of the Shen family. In truth, this pained the old man somewhat, for the things he held most dear did not seem to hold value for Shen Lian.

Nevertheless, he instructed Steward Wu to summon Shen Lian for an audience. Never before in his business dealings had he lost his composure, but today was the first time—and likely not the last.

Their meeting took place in Old Master Shen’s study. In his youth, he had neither the means nor the leisure to read, yet he loved to collect books, perhaps influenced by the belief that a family should be steeped in poetry and literature. Thus, every member of the Shen family—including Shen Lian—had a study in their quarters; even Shen Ruoxi was no exception.

After a month apart, the old man scarcely recognized Shen Lian. The transformation was remarkable—like a rare orchid or a stately jade tree thriving in the Shen household.

“I hear you’ve been diligently reading this month?” the old man began lightly.

“I wouldn’t call it diligence—I’m not preparing for the civil service exams, after all,” Shen Lian replied with a bright smile, his white teeth and sunny demeanor giving him the air of a spirited youth.

“Our family has never needed to struggle over books by candlelight,” the old man replied. Education was a virtue, but to study to the point of weariness was folly—it led only to pedantry.

“I want to go out tomorrow,” Shen Lian declared suddenly.

“You haven’t mentioned leaving once in a whole month. Why the sudden urge?” The old man thought Shen Lian ought to show more restraint at such a time.

“My mother is buried at Jialan Temple outside the city. I wish to pay my respects,” Shen Lian said calmly.

There was nothing amiss in his demeanor, and his reason was sound.

“But that’s not quite enough,” the old man said, though he was tempted to agree outright, for the mention of his deceased daughter tugged at his heartstrings. Age had softened him. Yet, his merchant’s instincts demanded a bargain.

“Once I return, I’ll give you an answer,” Shen Lian replied without hesitation.

“Very well, you may go.” The old man did not ask what answer Shen Lian intended to give, but both understood. He believed Shen Lian to be a man of his word; should that not prove true, then it would mean he had misjudged him—and Shen Lian would no longer be of consequence.

Having lived so many years, the old man had come to terms with many things he once could not understand.

Shen Lian thus secured his opportunity to leave, fully aware that this was his chance.

The man in the blue robe was being held in the county jail, as he had learned from Steward Wu. For all his shrewdness, Steward Wu could not match the knowledge of someone whose soul hailed from an age of information explosion; he did not realize there was such a thing as the art of conversation. One might say nothing directly, yet from the content of one’s words, others could infer what they needed to know.

******

The prefecture yamen of Qingzhou was vast and imposing. It was said that so many trees had been felled from the western hills outside the city just to build such a grand official residence. This was, of course, a jest among the townsfolk at the expense of the officials, yet it spoke to the corruption that pervaded officials below the rank of governor.

Grass and trees grew everywhere—some clustered beneath the few ancient trees still standing outside the yamen, others sprouting between cracks in the stone slabs. As long as one did not clear away the grass, there would always be patches of green.

Yet today, the weather was less than pleasant—cloudy and oppressive, as if rain was imminent. A young man arrived at the gates of the yamen. His attire was plain, not the silks and brocades of the wealthy, yet to a discerning tailor’s eye, every stitch and thread bespoke extraordinary craftsmanship and fine material.

In Shen Lian’s words, this was understated luxury with substance.

He did not seek indulgence for its own sake, but neither did he glorify hardship. Material things existed to serve oneself, not to enslave; in both his past and present lives, this was Shen Lian’s creed.

As he stepped out from the Shen family mansion, many people tailed him, yet after a single circuit, no one could say where he had gone. Those shadowing him could only stare in disbelief as he vanished into the bustling marketplace.

How those men would explain themselves to the old master was of no concern to Shen Lian. He only wished to see the man in blue.

The prefect of Qingzhou bore the rare surname Shuo. He often explained to outsiders that it signified “abundant fruit,” though the local people privately joked that it meant “fat rat.” Just the previous night, Prefect Shuo had spent his time amidst powder and perfume, and when the servants reported a visitor, he was still lounging in the bed of a newly acquired concubine, unwilling to rise. Serving as an official away from home and family, he indulged himself without restraint.

“So early in the morning—who is it that wishes to see me?”

“A young man, sir.”

“Go, go, I’ve no time to waste on children’s nonsense.” Behind him, a fair, delicate arm reached for his hand, drawing it across the softness beside him, making him long to indulge himself further.

“He says his surname is Shen.”

“Even if his surname were Chen, it wouldn’t matter to me,” he grumbled.

Chen was the imperial surname!

“Sir, I think you should see this young man. He’s from the Shen family,” the steward coaxed softly.

“Which Shen family?” Prefect Shuo asked, sitting up.

“Sir, is there a second Shen family in all Qingzhou?” the steward replied.

“Then I suppose I must see him,” Prefect Shuo said, mustering all his willpower to resist his concubine’s charms, quickly dressing himself.

He would not be cowed by the Shen family, but neither could he afford to slight them; otherwise, many of his policies would be hard to implement, and his official hat might be at risk. Moreover, the mention of a young man surnamed Shen instantly brought to mind exactly who this visitor must be.