Chapter 30: Thirty, Gift of the Pearl

Thirty, Gift of the Pearl

Human relationships can sometimes be a strange thing.

One day you might be furious, resentful, and refuse to speak again; the next day, you meet and greet each other as if nothing happened.

A new day, a new atmosphere, and a new junior sister…

Today is the day of the Yuanming Tower’s charity banquet; the morning sun rose early, and the sky should remain clear and bright all day.

Ouyang Rong left early, carrying a few bread cakes, gnawing on them en route to the government office, where he sat again in the office room flipping through Peng Lang Ferry’s commercial tax ledgers, waited a while, then handed over duties to the County Assistant, who arrived precisely on time and clearly hadn’t slept enough.

After learning the banquet preparations were going smoothly, the two discussed details, confirmed the schedule, and went their separate ways.

Yan Liulang had been absent from Longcheng recently; Ouyang Rong had sent him to Jiangzhou several days ago to handle affairs, including leading a patrol unit to supervise the transport of three thousand shi of grain from the Ji Min Granary.

Although the grain was not much, Ouyang Rong now dreaded any unplanned disruptions—he had to watch everything closely to feel even slightly at ease.

Thus, for these past few days, the duty of guarding Ouyang Rong naturally fell to Xie Ling.

Today was no different.

The two met again in yesterday’s “a bit stuffy” office; Ouyang Rong noticed his junior sister’s expression was normal, they exchanged morning greetings, and their interaction was unchanged from usual.

Ouyang Rong silently exhaled in relief.

But today, Xie Ling wore male attire—not the narrow, tight-collared Hu-style robes popular in the Great Zhou, but a refined long robe with wide sleeves, no longer accentuating her figure.

Yet her radiant beauty made any attire look exquisite; one could only marvel that the centuries-old noble house of the Chen Commandery Xie family had produced such superior genes—standing like a jade orchid tree, smiling like the bright moon entering one’s arms… though the junior sister rarely smiled.

But Ouyang Rong paid little attention to such things; his focus was entirely on today’s business. As noon approached, he set aside his documents and left with Xie Ling for Yuanming Tower.

Riding together in a bumpy carriage, neither mentioned yesterday’s incident, as if it had never happened.

Inside the carriage, Ouyang Rong sat upright, gazing straight ahead at the curtain.

Xie Ling sat beside him, also sitting upright.

Both were upright gentlemen.

Yet someone broke the silence first.

“Here.”

A slender white hand extended straight before Ouyang Rong, holding a crumpled silk pouch.

“What’s this?”

“Isn’t this a public donation drive? Can’t I donate?”

“Uh, yes, you can—but you’re not obligated.”

“Then consider it a personal favor. Take it and donate it. I didn’t bring much on this trip; after buying the sword and bow, I only had six taels of gold and a few taels of silver left. I already sent a letter home yesterday—more private funds will arrive in a few days, and I can donate again.”

“Gold isn’t widely circulated now; six taels can fetch six or seventy guan—nearly seventy thousand wen. You’re donating too much.”

“Then how much does Senior Brother expect to raise?”

“At least three thousand guan.”

“Then my donation isn’t much,” Xie Ling shook her head.

“Three thousand guan is meant to come from the combined donations of these wealthy landowners and gentry.”

Ouyang Rong said softly: “Most of Longcheng’s wealth lies in their hands—they’re all big dogs. Seventy guan means little to them, but you’re an individual donor; this amount equals my three years’ salary…”

Here, Ouyang Rong suddenly realized: the Chen Commandery Xie family was also a big dog—far more powerful than the Liu family of Longcheng, which only held sway over Jiangzhou, though they were more refined and discreet.

But such noble houses didn’t seek the kind of immense wealth of local strongmen; they pursued reputation, influence, and hidden foundations.

For instance, Ouyang Rong’s famed reputation as an upright gentleman was precisely what they valued.

Moreover, Xie Ling and their master were merely one branch of the Xie family; the Xie clan had many other descendants and branches, a vast tree with sprawling roots.

But in Ouyang Rong’s memory, their master Xie Xun lived frugally and simply; Xie Ling seemed much the same—utterly uninterested in the family’s commercial pursuits, regarding scholarly study as the highest priority. Clearly, within the Xie family, wealth was seen as trivial, left to collateral branches to manage, and given little importance.

“Alright.”

Ouyang Rong nodded and took the wealthy junior sister’s pouch.

“Wait.” He hesitated, then reached into his sleeve, finally pulling out a luminous round pearl and offering it to Xie Ling. It was the one he’d found in the Jingtu Palace.

Amid her puzzled gaze, he joked:

“In recognition of Miss Xie’s pioneering donation to this charity banquet, I, the official, bestow upon you a single luminous pearl as a token of appreciation—may your heart remain as clear and pure as this pearl.”

Xie Ling suddenly recalled: this pearl was the very one she’d mistaken him for stealing at Sanhui Temple—that was the seed of their first meeting.

She glanced at her senior brother’s solemnly absurd expression, suppressed the faint curve forming at her lips, nodded, and accepted and tucked it away.

She felt… the pearl hadn’t changed, nor had the man—this senior brother still had a touch of irreverence…

Xie Ling lightly pressed her vermilion lips, while Ouyang Rong said with evident reluctance:

“This pearl is quite valuable—it glows even under moonlight. Yesterday, in plain clothes, I visited several pawnshops; their offers were all high, but I felt they were trying to cheat me, so I didn’t sell it. Take it, sister—later, find a connoisseur to appraise it.”

“Alright.”

Xie Ling nodded, though she didn’t pay it much mind; she was eager to ask:

“How much grain can my donation buy?”

“Now, seventy guan can buy less than five hundred shi of rice.”

Xie Ling lowered her gaze, calculated silently, and frowned: “Why is rice so expensive? In the Jiangnan Circuit, wasn’t rice ten wen per dou? Ten dou make one shi… shouldn’t one guan buy at least ten shi?”

“That was before the disaster. Now, Longcheng’s rice prices rise daily. Though I’ve issued price caps, many unscrupulous merchants still add hidden terms when selling grain. Currently, prices are at least fourteen wen per dou—and even at that, few merchants are selling.” His tone was calm.

Xie Ling took a deep breath and slowly exhaled two words: “Corrupt merchants.”

Ouyang Rong said nothing, lifted the carriage curtain, and gazed ahead at the increasingly near riverside luxury pavilion.

He had no desire at all to deal with those corrupt merchants—he feared it would soil his hands—but the Great Zhou court was unreliable, behind him lay tens of thousands of refugees and an imminent flood—he could not remain aloof.

He had to soil his hands.

…

Before the Yuanming Tower’s noon banquet began, Ouyang Rong warmly received the local landlords, gentry, wealthy merchants, and scholar-officials at the hall’s entrance, showing sincere goodwill.

The County Assistant introduced them one by one.

For example, this one was the patriarch of the Cheng family, who controlled half of Longcheng’s water transport fleet; this one was the patriarch of the Liu family of South City, whose relative held a fifth-rank post in the imperial court; this one was even more formidable—an elderly man who had once served as Governor of a northern province before retiring, and who owned vast fertile fields on the city’s outskirts…

Ouyang Rong immediately switched into social mode, showering Longcheng’s good citizens with the warmth and care of a benevolent magistrate. After this round of greetings, it was a picture of official benevolence and filial populace… until the County Assistant introduced another unfamiliar man to him.

“My Lord, this is the patriarch of the West City Liu family, Liu Ziwen.”

Ouyang Rong, with his back turned, raised an eyebrow, his smile deepening.

But when he turned to look, he was taken aback.

This Liu Ziwen—the famed young patriarch of the Liu family whose name had long bored Ouyang Rong’s ears—was nothing like the arrogant, domineering, or coldly imposing figure he’d imagined.

Instead, he was mild-mannered, even ordinary.