Chapter 27: Mistress

Historically, a fellow townsman of Xie An was dismissed from office and returned home with fifty thousand fan-shaped palm-leaf fans stockpiled. To help his townsman, Xie An took one fan for his own use. Upon hearing that Xie An used palm-leaf fans, scholars and commoners in the capital rushed to buy and imitate them, artificially driving the fan prices up several times!

This incident, cited as a vivid example of Xie An’s grace, has been widely circulated, yet the “fellow townsman” aided by Xie An never left behind his name—leaving room for Wang Yang to act.

The last two lines of the poem mean: when fifty thousand palm-leaf fans flap together, they can shatter the scorching summer heat; even if the cool breeze lasts only half a day, the bond of friendship endures for ten thousand generations.

With friendship comes reciprocity; with reciprocity comes further reciprocity—won’t this matter then find its resolution?

The brilliance of this poem lies in two aspects: first, it is a poem given to a girl, yet not frivolous—it contains no flattery of beauty nor any declaration of admiration. The entire poem praises the ancestors of the Xie family, making it a historical verse, and it ties back to the plausible reason of repaying the ancestral debt—thus it is reasonable and grounded. Second, this poem serves as the “written contract” proving the ancestor’s debt—the so-called “heart contract.” Thus, she will surely read it, rather than discard it outright as Fatty claimed.

Although Wang Yang devised an excuse to deliver the letter and ensure she reads it, it is still a clever trick—Xie Niangzi is no fool; can she not see through this? The key is whether she falls for it.

Wang Yang could not gauge Xie Niangzi’s temperament; seeing silence within the carriage, his heart grew uneasy.

Xiao Ning, seeing her mistress stare at the paper again and again, her fair face growing colder and her fingers tightening around the letter, ventured softly: “Mistress, this letter...”

“Arrest him!” Xie Xinghan’s slender white fingers clenched, crushing the letter into a ball.

Xiao Ning cried out loudly: “Mistress’s order—arrest him!”

“Run!” Wang Yang grabbed Le Pang and bolted, but Le Pang, stunned, stood frozen in place.

The four servants of the Xie household surged forward—suddenly, a torrent of white powder, like a river inverted from the heavens, rained down upon them!

It was flour!

This was flour Wang Yang had earlier ordered the Black Han to buy from a tavern, for his escape.

Along with the flour, a handful of copper coins were also thrown into the air.

“Pick up the coins!” Wang Yang shouted.

Flour stung eyes and scattered everywhere; the common folk scrambled to snatch the coins, the youths cheered in unison, and chaos erupted instantly!

Wang Yang, Le Pang, and the Black Han seized the moment and sprinted away!

“Don’t... don’t run anymore... I can’t... I can’t go on... really... can’t... run...” Le Pang bent over, gasping for breath.

“Did we... shake them off?” Wang Yang was equally exhausted; those Xie household retainers were relentless—covered in flour, they chased them for three streets!

The Black Han, with the best physical condition, turned back once he saw Wang Yang and the other had stopped running, to check if any pursuers followed.

“Good brother, today I owe you—this debt I’ll remember! Come, come home with me, we’ll drink properly.”

Wang Yang dared not go home with Fatty, for Fatty’s father was the Governor of Jingzhou. When Lu Su once advised Liu Bei to promote Pang Tong, he said Pang Tong was no mere local talent—he deserved a high post like Governor or Administrator.

By the Southern Dynasties, the Governor’s power had diminished from the Later Han era, yet he remained a high-ranking local official, akin to a vice-governor. Fatty might not discern Wang Yang’s true identity, but his father might.

“Another day. Today I have matters to attend to—I’ll visit after I’m done.” Wang Yang decided to first secure the two thousand copper coins, then proceed as planned.

“What ‘another day’? Today! Besides, don’t you need two thousand copper coins? I don’t carry much cash—only a string. Come home with me for wine, and I’ll give you the money.”

One string meant one thousand copper coins, strung together.

In ancient times, people carried money in three ways: one, in pockets sewn into clothing; two, in money bags; three, hung on the body or wrapped around the waist.

Pockets were commonly placed in two locations: one, sewn into the sleeve. The opening was at the elbow, opposite the cuff. When tied tight, nothing would fall out. Thus, during the Eastern Jin, a medical text was called “Emergency Remedies for the Elbow,” meaning a book kept in the sleeve for easy access—like a modern “pocket book.”

The second was the “triangular” pocket formed where the belt overlapped the robe’s front flap—carrying things there was called “hugging close to the chest.” Song-era Zen texts say: “I suspect my chest holds Buddhist teachings, yet untying my belt, I scatter robes.” “Holding Buddhist teachings close to the chest” was not merely metaphorical—ancient people truly carried objects in their chests.

In the Southern Qi, paper money had not yet been invented, and gold or silver were not mainstream currency among commoners. Though copper coins varied in value, the Southern Dynasties—except the Chen—never minted coins heavier than the five-zhu. Though ancient coins like Sun Wu’s “Daquan Dangqian” or Shu Han’s “Zhi Wu Bai Zhu” were permitted in circulation, such “high-denomination notes” were rare and had greatly depreciated in value; even the wealthy carried little copper cash.

Should I take one thousand copper coins first?

No, one thousand isn’t enough—I must get two thousand.

Wang Yang said: “I truly cannot today. We’ll drink another day. Black Han, go with Young Master Le to collect the money.”

Seeing Wang Yang’s firm refusal, Le Pang ceased pressing. Wang Yang called Black Han over, gave him instructions, then let him follow Le Pang home.

On the way, Le Pang asked Black Han about Wang Yang. Black Han replied: “Without my master’s permission, I dare not speak of my lord’s affairs.” Le Pang merely thought the Wang clan of Langya had strict household discipline, and took no offense.

They arrived at the Governor’s residence. Following Wang Yang’s orders, Black Han refused to enter, insisting on waiting outside. Le Pang had no choice but to let him.

“Shuangji, go to my accounts and draw two thousand copper coins for the black-faced man outside.”

“Young Master...” Shuangji hesitated, face troubled.

Le Pang, not noticing, walked into the courtyard and called out: “A Chang, gather ten men, take sticks, and come with me to block that bastard Sun Duo!”

“Quick! Bring me my clothes! Don’t let that bastard Sun Duo escape!”

After calling several times, Le Pang realized something was wrong—the servants did not rush forward as usual to attend him, but stood hesitantly, staring, as if wanting to speak but holding back.

“What’s wrong?” Le Pang stopped, puzzled.

“Wretched son! How dare you return? Guards! Seize this disobedient brat!”

Hearing his father’s shout, Le Pang shuddered, unsure what had happened, and bolted for the gate. Eight servants rushed to block him. Le Pang roared: “Get out of my way!”

The servants dared not physically restrain him, yet dared not let the young master escape—they blocked his path with their bodies, bowing and apologizing. Just as Le Pang prepared to force his way through, two guards lunged from behind and pinned him down.

“Why are you arresting me? What have I done?!”

“Young Master, forgive us!” The guards dragged Le Pang into the front hall, where his father, Governor Le Zhan of Jingzhou, stood holding a rattan cane, furious.

“Wretched son! Kneel!”

“Father—”

“Kneel!”

Le Pang dared not resist—he dropped to his knees in the center of the hall.

“I’ll beat you to death, you good-for-nothing, idle, uneducated wretch!”

Le Zhan struck without mercy; Le Pang screamed in agony: “Ow! Ah! Father, why are you beating me—ow!”

Le Zhan, enraged, only berated Le Pang for idleness, laziness, and causing trouble—never answering his son’s question. The rattan cane lashed back and forth, turning Le Pang’s cries into a pig’s slaughter.

“Governor Le, do not rage yet—first ask clearly, then punish.” A clear, refined girl’s voice rang out from the inner chamber.