Chapter Twenty-Three: The Curse upon the Pavilion of Lingyan

Chapter Twenty-Three: The Curse upon the Hall of Lingyan

His words rang out with thunderous force, causing the faces of all present to change dramatically. The Ren family indeed had the backing of the Duke of Bao, and possessed more than a dozen commercial establishments under its name, with grand residences and estates both within and outside the city of Chang’an—more than one, in fact. Yet, the Ren family barely touched the edges of the great aristocratic clans; compared to those of royal blood, they were less than dust.

The moment the Ren family obtained the "spiritual medicine," they immediately joined forces with two other merchant giants to sell it, both to disperse the danger and to display the strength of their business. However, if they acquired the formula for the "spiritual medicine," it would be like a child carrying a gold brick through a bustling market—any misstep could result in the loss of both fortune and life.

"Master, your old servant was reckless just now. Please punish me as you see fit!" Having swiftly sorted through the cause and effect, the steward Ren Fu wiped sweat from his brow and offered a deep bow in apology.

"Enough, you acted for the sake of the Ren family," Ren Qiong waved his hand, his interest waning. Then, with a solemn tone, he pressed further, "Have Zhang’s clothes been returned to him? Were they damaged or missing?"

"They were returned, all of them, the evening before last. Not a single item was lost or harmed," replied Ren Fu, his face reddening once more at the question. He raised a hand to wipe the cold sweat from his forehead and reported quietly, "I even had the damaged spots—where the wolf tore them—mended by someone skilled in weaving."

"Good, as long as they were returned. He has shown me kindness; I cannot let others mock me for coveting even my benefactor’s clothing," Ren Qiong exhaled and nodded gently.

Hearing this, Ren Fu’s face flushed even hotter. He hastily explained that he had initially mistaken Zhang Qian for some charlatan flaunting strange clothes acquired from who knows where, which was why he tried to investigate the materials, craftsmanship, and origin—not out of any desire to offend.

But Ren Qiong was uninterested in excuses. He lightly waved him off and interrupted, "You are ambitious and capable, far beyond the ordinary. To remain merely a steward is an injustice to you. Here’s what I propose: the Duke of Bao is preparing to open a branch in Gold City, connecting the flow of goods between the Western Regions and the Central Plains, and is in need of someone competent and responsible. I believe you are the right person. I will write you a letter of appointment; take it and go fulfill your duties there. The sooner you arrive, the sooner you can establish our foothold, and reassure the Duke."

"Master!" Ren Fu was so shocked he nearly lost his soul, dropping to his knees with a loud thud and kowtowing repeatedly. "Your old servant acted solely for the Ren family in meddling with the immortal’s clothing—there was not a shred of selfishness. I swear by heaven—"

"Get up, get up. I’m asking you to take charge, not casting you out," Ren Qiong stood and walked over, grasping Ren Fu’s arm with the hand unaffected by his wound. "Others would be overjoyed at such a chance."

"Master!" Ren Fu, afraid of disturbing Ren Qiong’s injury, stood slowly, choking back tears, his grievance beyond words. "I know I erred. I am willing to relinquish my duties as steward. Please, give me another chance—do not send me away. Even if I must simply lead your horse or hold your stirrup—"

"Nonsense! How could I use you for such tasks?" Ren Qiong smiled, wiping Ren Fu’s tears away with his thumb. "Ren Fu, I said it before: sending you to Gold City is not a punishment. Your ambition and decisiveness will be well-suited there. The Duke of Bao has united several prominent figures to open up trade routes to the Western Regions and needs someone exactly like you. Here in Chang’an, the waters are deep and dangerous; what is needed is not ambition, but stability! Better to hesitate and miss opportunities than to act rashly."

He turned to glance at his wife and children, raising his voice slightly as he sighed and added, "These words are not meant for Ren Fu alone. You all must be careful in your conduct—do not let newfound wealth tempt you into inviting trouble. Chang’an is treacherous; a single misstep could bring disaster upon the entire family! Remember when Emperor Taizong honored the founding ministers by sculpting the likenesses of twenty-four dukes in the Hall of Lingyan? What glory that brought to those families and their descendants. Yet, when the wise Son of Heaven ascended last year and, in remembrance of the difficulties of the dynasty’s founding, summoned the descendants of those dukes back to Chang’an and restored their honors, only nineteen families remained!"

"The twenty-four sages of Lingyan, whose merits founded the empire, could not guarantee lasting prosperity for their descendants. The strife in court grows fiercer by the day; for us, a small household, caution is essential. If we are dragged into the turmoil, we will vanish without a trace!"

Fearing his wife and children might not believe him, he sighed again and continued in a grave tone: "Of the twenty-four founding families, nineteen suffered misfortune, yet the Duke of Bao’s household, for whom the Ren family has served for three generations, was spared. Why? First, the original Duke of Bao passed early, in the sixteenth year of the Zhenguan era, before the later struggles over succession. Second, the first Duke wisely raised his sons, allowing the old duke and his brothers to focus solely on making money, forbidding involvement in anything that brought mere surface glory. After his death, the old duke’s lack of seniority meant he had no power to meddle in major affairs. Thus, by fortune’s twist, the Duke of Bao’s household became one of the most prosperous among the founding families."

"Master, your foresight is unmatched. I know my mistake," Ren Fu dared not protest further, bowing deeply to Ren Qiong. "When I arrive in Gold City, I will do everything in my power to secure a new place for our Ren family and for our patron, the Duke of Bao."

"When you leave, take extra funds from the accounts—do not let yourself be caught short-handed," Ren Qiong felt a surge of reluctance in his heart, nodding solemnly.

He then turned his gaze to his wife and children, continuing in a low voice, "I have never spoken these words before, nor will I again. The times are dark and uncertain; I would rather you idle your days away than draw attention to yourselves. Since your great-grandfather’s era, the Ren family has steadily accumulated wealth with the Duke of Bao. Even if you do nothing, you can live comfortably for several generations. But if you take the wrong path or stand with the wrong faction, your death will not be yours alone—the entire clan could be destroyed by your actions!"

"Your children will heed your teaching!" Ren Yingying and her siblings, though only half understanding, replied in unison.

"No wonder Cong’er is so enamored with swordsmen and immortals, and you never stop him. You are thinking so far ahead!" the matron smiled gently, nodding slowly.

She was about to say a few more pointed words, lest Ren Cong’s heroic deed in saving his father overshadow his siblings. But from outside the door, the voice of the chubby boy came, panting: "Father, Father, urgent news! Brother Zhang has an important message for you. The warding pill—after taking it, for twelve hours, you must not touch alcohol. Otherwise, the medicine will clash with the wine, and the taker’s life will be in grave danger!"

"Ah—" Ren Qiong’s hair stood on end, sweat pouring from him in an instant.

This disciple of the Mohist school was truly deserving of his reputation! Thankfully, he had changed his mind at the last moment today and did not push Zhang too far. Otherwise, he would never have received this warning in time, and a single cup of celebratory wine would have turned joy to tragedy.