Chapter Eleven: On the Verge of Fortune

It was truly as if a pillow had arrived just when one was drowsy. Seeing the letter in Li Changsheng’s hand, Feng Jingzhe was struck by sudden inspiration for a lucrative business opportunity.

“You’re so careless—grown as you are, can’t you be a bit more composed…” He stepped forward, pressing a hand to Li Changsheng’s heaving chest.

“Young… young master… the letter… is from the la—”

“Oh, another letter from Xuan Yue? Didn’t we just receive one ten days ago?”

“No… it’s not… young—”

“Enough with the nonsense, hand it over.” Feng Jingzhe shot Li Changsheng a meaningful look. The two had grown up together, and at critical moments, their tacit understanding did not fail them.

“It’s… it’s from the young madam…”

Feng Jingzhe betrayed not the slightest hint of surprise, his expression serene from start to finish, as if letters from Beiming Xuanyue were perfectly routine. Yet, to Zheng Yongxiang and the gathered craftsmen, this was nothing short of a bombshell.

The fearsome General of the Western Frontier, Beiming Xuanyue, was in regular correspondence with this notorious wastrel before them.

“How could it be! That’s Beiming Xuanyue… someone so proud would hardly write letters lightly, even to her betrothed…” Zheng Yongxiang’s face shifted from gloom to uncertainty, his heart burning with envy and resentment. Why—why should such a useless fop be engaged to Beiming Xuanyue?

“It can’t be. The letter must be a fake! Dare you let us see it?” Wang Song, the steward, was far less composed than his master. His doubts slipped out before he could stop himself.

Feng Jingzhe cast him a sidelong glance, as if regarding a simpleton. “If you’re ill, go see a physician. Must I prove the authenticity of a letter from my own fiancée to you?”

Whether by design or not, Feng Jingzhe opened the letter right there before everyone. Inside were two full pages, the handwriting elegant and distinctive—at a glance, it was clear that only someone steeped in the art of calligraphy for years could write so beautifully.

“Is matters on Xuan Yue’s side truly so urgent? Such a large order at once…” Feng Jingzhe frowned lightly, muttering to himself. But he had hardly finished the thought before he caught himself, abruptly looking up at the crowd and tucking the letter away, folding it carefully.

“Master Zheng, this residence will not be sold under any circumstances, so you may give up on that idea.

Before the fifteenth of next month, I will repay every coin I owe, with interest. Now, please take your people and leave at once. The Feng family does not welcome you…”

Zheng Yongxiang, full of suspicion, could not decide if the letter was truly from Beiming Xuanyue, but seeing Feng Jingzhe’s certainty, he dared not act rashly. This unexpected intelligence he must report to his father at once. Once they had devised a countermeasure, he could return to deal with this wastrel at his leisure.

With that, Zheng Yongxiang snorted and strode out. Steward Wang, seeing his master depart, scurried after him, leaving the craftsmen looking at each other uneasily, all eager to make themselves scarce.

“Gentlemen, please wait…” Feng Jingzhe stepped forward to block their way.

“What is it, Young Master Feng? We’re but humble craftsmen invited by Master Zheng to survey the property. We know nothing of your dispute…”

“Yes, yes… if we have offended in any way, we beg your forgiveness…”

They bowed and smiled obsequiously, wanting nothing more than to avoid being dragged into wealthy men’s quarrels.

“You misunderstand. I overheard your discussions inside and can tell you’re men of some skill. This residence is due for renovations, and since you’re here, there’s no need to find others.”

Feng Jingzhe gestured expansively around the courtyard. “Look around—whatever needs changing, change; whatever needs replacing, replace. In short, money is no object.”

The craftsmen, hearing him boast so grandly, felt uneasy. Wasn’t it just now that he owed Master Zheng fifteen hundred taels? They’d heard everything. If you’re going to bluff, at least pick your audience.

“What’s this? Afraid I can’t pay you?” Seven or eight pairs of eyes regarded him as if to say, So you do know your own limitations.

Feng Jingzhe could not abide such doubting looks. In a fit of pique, he yanked the letter from his breast and waved it under their noses. “Look—look closely! Do you know what this is?”

“That’s… that’s certainly a letter from your esteemed wife…”

“Yes, yes—Young Master Feng and his wife are deeply affectionate. We won’t disturb you further, farewell…”

Seeing he was about to lose his temper, the craftsmen were startled. Whatever else he was, the man was still a viscount; a sinking ship still has its nails. They had no wish to provoke him.

“Stay where you are! No one leaves until this is settled.”

Feng Jingzhe gave Li Changsheng a sharp kick. “Changsheng, don’t just stand there—shut the gates. Loose the dogs!”

Li Changsheng, not knowing what his master intended or where the dogs came from, nevertheless grabbed a bamboo pole and barred the corridor to the front yard.

“A pack of snobs! I’m giving you work, not extorting you!”

The craftsmen looked miserable, instinctively ready to nod, but quickly switched to shaking their heads instead.

“No, no, Young Master Feng jests…”

“We’re all ears, truly… all ears…”

“Yes, anything we can do, we’ll do as you say…”

They all aimed to placate him and slip away as soon as they could. Once out the gates, whoever cared what became of him?

“Look at you, as if you’ve never seen the world! Since you’re so curious, I’ll read you the letter. That way, you’ll know I’m not making empty boasts.”

Thus, seven or eight old men in their fifties and sixties lined up, bowing and scraping, while the disheveled Feng Jingzhe stood before them, letter in hand, reading aloud word for word.

After about half an hour, the craftsmen, as if released from a great ordeal, finally stumbled out of the Feng residence, cursing that wastrel’s ancestors under their breath.

“Old Cang, do you think what was written in that letter was true?”

“Who cares, as long as we small folk stay out of trouble…”

“That’s not the point. If what the General wrote is true, that Feng brat is about to make a fortune!”

“Bah—what’s it to me if he gets rich? That kid’s no good, you can tell at a glance…”

“But if he does come into money, he’ll surely go through with the renovations. According to the plans, we’d make at least this much…”

One old man held up four fingers for emphasis. The others, quiet now, began to calculate as well.

Their conversation at the Feng family’s gates was hardly discreet. A few peddlers and diners on the street had overheard plenty…