Chapter 22

“Old Black, what are you doing here? My wife’s having a fit—I won’t invite you in.”

Ding Jiu’s eyes darted away; they had served together at A Qu Garrison for five years, and he knew Du San had visited the Black Han’s home last night—but he dared not even peek out.

“Ajiu, I need to borrow some money from you.”

Ding Jiu had already guessed the Black Han’s purpose—Du San had come and gone, so of course the Black Han was here to borrow money! He quickly blurted out the excuse he’d prepared:

“It’s not that I won’t lend you, you know how my wife wastes money—my son was sick just a while back, I gambled a few rounds yesterday and lost, and my father-in-law just bought a new batch of chestnuts. That old man, you know how he is—now grain prices have soared, people can’t even afford rice, who has spare cash to buy chestnuts...”

Ding Jiu droned on for a while, then sighed: “If you’d asked me two months ago, I might’ve scraped together something—but now, I truly have nothing.”

The Black Han spoke earnestly: “Ajiu, this money isn’t for me—it’s for Young Master Wang. If you lend it, even just a thousand coins, I guarantee two things: first, I’ll repay you without fail; second, Young Master Wang will remember your favor.”

Ajiu gasped: “You’re still following Young Master Wang?! You saw what happened that day in Shoukang Alley! He couldn’t even get through the door! They wouldn’t even speak to him! That guy’s either a fraud or a fallen noble—now he’s clearly trying to trick you out of your money! Don’t fall for it again!”

He grew more animated, glanced around, then lowered his voice:

“Let me tell you—I thought about it after I got home, and something’s off. Robbers attacking the Langya Wang clan? That’s a huge matter! Why didn’t he report it to the authorities? And why does he have no proof at all? I think his identity’s fake—he’s probably not even from Langya Wang! Maybe he’s not even a scholar-official family! Didn’t you see how our Duizhu and the clerk avoided him? If his identity were real, wouldn’t they have rushed to flatter him? Why leave it to you?”

The Black Han shook his head: “Actually, I’m not courting him because of his scholar-official status.”

“That’s for fools outside. Don’t try it on me.” Ding Jiu didn’t believe a word.

“It’s true—or at least not only that. I don’t know if he’s real or not, but just from how he explained the Yongnian era name, how he’s dressed in rags with no documents, yet still made our Duizhu and clerk treat him with caution, how he turned the situation around in a few words and made the Shizhang kill those two Northern spies who betrayed him—I think he’s no ordinary man.”

The Black Han spoke with weight: “Ajiu, think—forget the scholar-official business for now. Someone like this—you and I may never meet another in our lives. Even if we did, if he weren’t down on his luck, would we ever have a chance to know him? Aren’t you always complaining you have no chance to rise? Now the chance is here—why won’t you grab it?”

The Black Han’s words shook Ding Jiu. He hesitated: “Then... how much does he want?”

“Not him borrowing—it’s me. I need fifteen hundred.”

“Fifteen hundred!” Ding Jiu’s eyes bulged. “What for? Building a house?”

“I can’t say what for—it’s for Young Master Wang’s use. If you lend it, I’ll tell him it’s Ding Jiu’s money. Whether you lend or not is up to you.”

Ding Jiu hesitated, then said: “Wait here for me.” He went inside.

The Black Han heard a woman’s shouting from inside Ding Jiu’s house.

After a long while, Ding Jiu emerged with a small cloth bundle, forcing a stiff smile: “I’m really tight—I only have five hundred.”

The Black Han thought: five hundred is better than nothing.

“Fine. I’ll repay you later. Should I write a contract?”

“No need for a contract—but you must get Young Master Wang to promise me one thing.”

“What?”

“Help me get discharged from military service.”

The Black Han was speechless: “Ajiu, what are you thinking? Even if you paid ten thousand coins to get discharged, do you have the connections? If ten thousand can’t do it, how do you think five hundred will?”

Ding Jiu grinned shamelessly: “If he can help me get discharged, then I won’t even repay the five hundred—I’ll add two thousand more!”

“That’s not how it works! If you openly pay to get discharged, who would agree? Add two thousand? Do you think this is buying rice? I don’t even need to ask—Young Master Wang won’t agree.”

Ding Jiu sneered: “You just think he can’t help me get discharged.”

The Black Han did think that.

He’d mentioned military discharge to Wang Yang before, even said A Wu was from a military family—and Wang Yang hadn’t responded. Clearly, it was beyond his ability. And rightly so—the court was strict now; military discharge wasn’t easy.

“Whether he can or not, let’s talk sense. If you’re paying someone to do this, even twenty thousand won’t work. If you want it done, you must rely on favor. And if it’s about favor, you must give first. You’re lending five hundred and already making demands? That’s ridiculous.”

Ding Jiu grumbled: “You can’t expect me to give without getting anything in return! What if I lend him the money and he does nothing?”

The Black Han remembered Ding Jiu’s gambling habit and said: “This is a gamble. If you’re willing to bet five hundred for a chance, then lend it. If not, don’t. Whether you bet, and how big your bet is—that’s your choice.”

Seeing Ding Jiu still dithering, the Black Han turned to leave.

“Old Black! Don’t go! I didn’t say no!” Ding Jiu grabbed his arm. “Here—five hundred coins, take them. Check them. Remember to tell Young Master Wang it’s my money.”

Afraid the Black Han would take credit, he added: “After I finish my work, I’ll go see Young Master Wang myself.”

After the Black Han left, Ding Jiu thought over his words, then rushed inside, frantically opening his chest.

His wife threw her body in front of him: “What are you doing?! You just took five hundred! What now?!”

Ding Jiu shoved her aside: “If you’re going to gamble, go big! I’m taking two thousand more!”

His wife lunged at him, screaming and clawing: “If you touch a single coin today, I’ll kill you! I won’t live like this anymore!”

After a violent struggle and shouting, Ding Jiu slumped to the ground, clutching his wailing son, feeling life was meaningless. The idea of “increasing the bet” was dead.

As the victor of this battle, his wife could never have imagined this moment would become her husband’s lifelong joke.

The Black Han took the hairpin to the Lisi’s house and exchanged it for two hundred coins, added his entire savings of two hundred, and the five hundred he’d just borrowed—barely making nine hundred. He was about to sell household items for more when Wang Yang stopped him: “Nine hundred isn’t much different from a thousand. Besides, I still have the thirty-three coins you gave me earlier. Let’s just go to Jingzhou City like this.”

A Wu looked up, hopeful: “Can you take me too, Young Master? I’ve never been inside a city!”

Wang Yang thought this was serious business—bringing a child would be inconvenient. “Next time. Next time I’ll take you into the city.”

Seeing A Wu’s head droop in disappointment, Wang Yang softened: “I’ll bring you candy when I come back.”

Wang Yang couldn’t fully grasp what candy meant to a poor child in this era.

Not just the poor—even ordinary families rarely ate candy. When they did, they couldn’t afford sugarcane or honey candy—only malt sugar.

Malt sugar was boiled down from sprouted rice, barley, or wheat (called “nie” in ancient times). A Wu had only tasted a soft candy called “jiao ya xing” during New Year’s past years—but this year in Jingzhou, grain prices had soared, and sugar prices had followed. She wasn’t even sure if she’d get any this New Year.