Chapter 421: To Bianjing

The economy of the Northern Song was no joke.

As the capital of the Northern Song, Bianjing's prosperity was unmatched in the world; its splendor was beyond doubt. Its population exceeded a million, with thousands to nearly ten thousand merchant households, plus street vendors hawking their wares, entertainment halls and taverns, porters and laborers—all selling goods at the very limits of this era's logistics, nearly anything could be bought. Moreover, designated areas had no curfew, and even at night they remained bustling; though lacking modern bright streetlamps, the large lanterns each establishment hung to attract customers illuminated entire districts. Lanterns stretched into a continuous glow, illuminating throngs of people in dazzling prosperity.

Wang Yan was not yet qualified to ride a horse through the capital, so he followed behind the manager, hands behind his back, leisurely observing the scenery on both sides of the road.

After all, this was beneath the Son of Heaven's feet, the foremost land of virtue; though crowds surged, most people seen wore intact clothing, and those in patched rags were few. Many, seeing their group's country-bumpkin gawking, could not hide their contempt—their glances surely labeled Da Guanren and his men as "country hicks" and "backwoods fools." This was the pride of city dwellers, perfectly normal.

Moreover, Wang Yan and his party truly were country bumpkins entering the city—truly wide-eyed. The marketplace of Yanggu's Xicheng and the outlying commodities hub had been the most prosperous places many had ever seen, with constant carriages, horses, and crowds, loud and bustling. But now, in Bianjing, mere moments after entering, they were hit face-first with noise: murmurs of people, children crying, vendors shouting, utterly incomparable to Yanggu.

Of course, unlike them, Da Guanren merely experienced awe—he too was seeing it for the first time, having only read about it in documents before; now he witnessed firsthand the capital of a nation where politics, economy, culture, art, and commerce had all reached their peak.

The only ancient dynasty he had ever visited was the late Ming. Sadly, at that time he was the number-one rebel, unable to enter the capital. By the time he later established his own capital, it had already been looted and destroyed by Li Zicheng and other peasant armies, the people impoverished, with not a trace of imperial grandeur left.

Now is different: after Zhao Ji, the Song moved south and never again saw such splendor. Thus, this is the Song's peak—people still lived in peace and contentment, officials bickered among themselves while devising ways to exploit the populace, the emperor juggled balance tactics, cultivated Dao, pursued art, and still had to figure out how to build gardens and where to get more money. Looking at it this way, Zhao Ji was quite busy.

"Master, this is one of our inns, not far from the imperial palace; that over there is Donghua Gate."

Looking up at the inn before him, Wang Yan nodded and ordered: "Send a note to Grand Secretary Yang Jian. Ask when he's free, and reserve a banquet at Fan Lou—I'll treat him to wine."

"Yes, Master."

"I heard Bianjing's Yuxiang Lou is the finest place in the world—where exactly is it?"

"It's quite far from here, near Xihua Gate."

"Understood. Let's go in."

The Wang family steward, a young man of the clan, obeyed and led Da Guanren into the inn, introducing everything along the way—like a CEO inspecting a branch office with the local manager in tow.

Since they started from a single village, Wang Yan didn't know who was capable or not, and his expansion was rapid. Thus, in many non-critical industries, many positions were filled by native youths from Wang Family Village—like Wang Rongchun, who managed Liao affairs—anyone with ability and decent character, he employed. This man, handling Bianjing affairs and maintaining family ties, was one of the standout performers. People are like this: unless they're the village idiot from the east end, as long as their intelligence is normal and they're not mentally ill, they inevitably have some talent—only they've never been given the chance to develop it.

His businesses in Bianjing were naturally numerous: outside the city, large warehouses for cargo transport; inside, taverns, inns, oil and grain shops—businesses across the four capitals were much the same. Since no one dared cause trouble, he expanded whenever possible. After all, he had sent so much tribute to Zhao Ji—he couldn't give it away for free; he was now the most prominent merchant. Yet he didn't overreach—he didn't meddle in everything, for commerce in this era was never simple. Even the emperor's name had its limits.

It was noon when they arrived. After eating, drinking, and resting at the inn, Wang Yan took two sturdy men as attendants and went out to stroll, taking in the local scenery, experiencing the magnificent scroll of the Qingming Riverside Painting, which had endured nearly a thousand years.

Of course, that painting depicted the suburbs; he was now in the inner city. Within the inner city dwelled high officials and nobles—people of status—and thus its prosperity far surpassed the suburbs, given the superior purchasing power.

They wandered aimlessly for hours, broke the hands of three thieves, and gave the Kaifeng Prefect a new entry on his performance record—ending this half-day tour of Bianjing.

Thieves were natural: even in Yanggu County, where arrests were frequent and bridge-building and road-paving abundant, there were still thieves—how much more so in the capital, with its highest population mobility, especially in the inner city, a hub of nobles and officials? It was the perfect place for pickpockets. There would always be people bold enough…

Fan Lou was a comprehensive hotel combining dining, lodging, leisure, and entertainment—the undisputed number one in contemporary Song, a true gold-sinking den. To entertain the powerful eunuch Yang Jian, who enjoyed Zhao Ji's deep trust, one must choose the finest place—and only Fan Lou qualified.

Originally, Li Shishi was said to meet Zhao Ji here, but due to plot reasons, Yuxiang Lou was now inserted into the narrative.

On the second day after arriving in Bianjing, Da Guanren rose early, practiced two sets of fists to stretch his body, washed, bathed, ate breakfast, then wandered to Daxiangguo Temple—since he'd come, he had to see it. He also visited the Bian River outside the city, comparing its view to the Qingming Riverside Painting, eating only simple meals from roadside stalls. He wandered all day, and by night stood before Fan Lou.

Fan Lou's location was excellent, on Yushi Street, not far from Xuande Gate, the southern gate of the imperial palace. The entire structure occupied a large area—a cluster of staggered buildings, not merely a single tall tower.

From the front, its full form was invisible; Wang Yan had no interest in studying its details—he'd only passed by its side upon arrival and estimated distances.

At the main entrance stood a single-story building fifteen feet high, its gate bearing the vertical characters "Fan Lou," written in bold, swirling strokes—undoubtedly the hand of a master calligrapher. The eaves and bracket sets were elegant and imposing; as long as it didn't violate regulations, every possible luxury was added. Behind it connected a five-story building, its window layout suggesting each floor was over ten feet high. Beneath the roof eaves hung an identical plaque, but twice the size of the one below. Altogether, it was magnificent.

Seeing Wang Yan, flanked by two attendants, standing at the entrance with hands behind his back, calm and composed—unlike others who kept glancing around—the staff smiled warmly and approached: "Sir, welcome! Why stand at the door instead of entering?"

The attendant's demeanor was dignified and graceful, neither groveling nor overbearing, his smile perfectly measured—he clearly had been trained. Inside, all staff were surely the same, professionally groomed.

"First time here, so I'm carefully observing Fan Lou's architecture," Da Guanren chuckled. "I'm Wang Yan. I made a reservation in advance—has anyone arrived yet?"

The attendant paused, then shook his head: "No one has arrived yet. You reserved the fifth floor of the front building—shall we go in now, or…?"

"Wait a bit longer."

He had arrived half an hour early; Yang Jian was his patron, a man of great prestige—he must wait at the entrance.

The attendant nodded, about to reply, when laughter rang out from beside them, followed by a strong, resonant voice: "Is this Ziyan waiting?"

Ziyan was Wang Yan's courtesy name, chosen by himself. He'd already taken it during the Ming era, but no one used it then—he was among soldiers, subordinates dared not call him by it, peers accepted bribes and used titles, superiors rarely used it either.

He chose it with no special intent—simply using "Zi" as a filler. A courtesy name typically explains or complements the given name, expresses a elder's blessing, or contrasts it. His given name "Yan" was chosen by his father simply because it was easy to write, pleasant to hear, and memorable—no complex meaning. According to "Yan"'s definitions, it roughly meant speech, writing, or promise.

If one must interpret it, then "Ziyan" is "Zi said"—a private joke, suited for living in the ancient world.

Hearing this, Wang Yan turned with a smile and bowed to the old eunuch stepping from the sedan chair: "Wang Yan greets my lord."

"No need for such formalities, no need," Yang Jian stepped forward, grasped Wang Yan's arm, and laughed heartily: "I knew you were a young hero, but seeing you now—I'm truly surprised. You're far too young."

"My present status is entirely due to your favor and promotion," Wang Yan said before Yang Jian could speak further empty words. "My lord, let's not stand at the door—let's go inside and talk."

Yang Jian chuckled and agreed, leading the way, guided by attendants, up to the fifth-floor private room facing the street. As the two departed, those standing nearby began murmuring. As Zhao Ji's favorite, they all knew Yang Jian—but none knew who this man was, the one Yang Jian greeted with such warmth and respect. This mattered greatly…

Watching the attendant leave, Yang Jian smiled: "Ziyan, I've already informed the Emperor of your arrival. He's delighted, and invites you to dine with him at the palace tomorrow at noon—he wishes to speak with you."

"My lord, what does the Emperor wish to discuss with me?"

He assumed Zhao Ji would pep-talk him, display imperial majesty to impress and pacify him, especially after increasing the number of inspectors and adding two thousand troops—but he didn't know Zhao Ji's true intentions.

Seeing Wang Yan's cautious, nervous expression, Yang Jian shook his head and smiled: "You've earned the Emperor tens of thousands of strings this year—every palace expense comes from your profits. This year, the Emperor rewarded many eunuchs, and everyone in the palace is delighted—he's even happier. So don't fear. Though he hasn't said it, after serving His Majesty for so long, I know he's extremely pleased with you—he intends to reward you. Not only is the Emperor pleased, but I, too, must thank you, Ziyan."

"It's my duty, my lord—why thank me? Without your promotion, how could I have reached today? Even now, with your and the Emperor's protection, people still covet my formulas—if not for you, wouldn't I be torn apart? I should be thanking you."

Yang Jian certainly owed thanks—he received a tenth share. Zhao Ji distributed tens of thousands of strings, and Yang Jian received several tens of thousands himself. Add the many gifts he'd received earlier when asking for directions, and the total reached nearly one hundred thousand strings. Moreover, he gained credit with Zhao Ji for recommending Wang Da Guanren, and over the past year, Yang Jian assigned him many partners—hidden profits piled up. Yang Jian's current status far surpassed his historical counterpart.

Yang Jian didn't take credit; he knew Wang Yan spoke truthfully, but also knew he wasn't irreplaceable: "Have you uncovered who's behind those trying to steal your formulas? Trying to compete with the Emperor? They're asking for death!"

"They came with death in mind—so far, no one's been found."

"Be extra vigilant—don't slack off. Otherwise, both of us lose our heads. Shall I send Ducheng Bureau agents to assist? They're skilled in such matters."

Wang Yan smiled: "Thank you, my lord. I leave it entirely to the Emperor and your discretion."

In truth, Wang Family Village's spies were already numerous—he didn't need Ducheng Bureau agents. But if they were to be openly placed in his household, he didn't mind.

Yang Jian's face drooped as he stared at Da Guanren for two seconds, then broke into a grin like a chrysanthemum: "It's been a year now, not just once or twice—I assume your defenses are very tight. Just stay cautious, don't become careless."

"Yes, my lord."

At that moment, dishes began arriving—row after row of fresh-faced girls, smiling sweetly, speaking sweetly, utterly professional. Ancient people weren't inferior to moderns; whatever we could conceive, they conceived too—discounting the vast technological gap. Take Fan Lou: from a service industry perspective, it rivaled, even surpassed, modern hotels.

"Fan Lou's stir-fries are unmatched, the finest in the world. And Meishou wine is an irreplaceable delicacy," Yang Jian said, placing a dish in Wang Yan's bowl, then patted himself. "Look at me—I've grown old and forgot your family's cooks make stir-fries too. I've heard they're delicious?"

"Still inferior to Fan Lou's dishes."

"Then eat more."

The two ate and chatted merrily, discussing court politics, Cai Jing and Tong Guan, and some of Yang Jian's loyalists. To others, these were vital insights—but to Da Guanren, they were empty words. He'd already aligned with Zhao Ji; such matters were useless to him. He had no ambition for officialdom—he was merely a merchant. This grand tide meant nothing to him. As long as he didn't provoke trouble, no one would target him.

If someone targeted him without cause, even upright officials would protect him—not because they liked him, but because he made money, satisfied Zhao Ji's extravagance, directed state expenditures toward proper uses, and reduced exploitation of the poor. After all, this nation has never lacked those who strive for the people's welfare.

Of course, the main reason was that he constantly introduced new products that others could not replicate, securing his monopoly and thus preserving his life. If it were merely a novel way to make money, what difference would it make if he were killed? But to continuously produce new things—that was vital. It was the difference between a small gold mine and a great Jin Shan.

Yang Jian's good attitude stemmed not only from receiving money, but from the promise of receiving even more in the future, and even more so from the petty scheming and corrupt dealings involved—those were power.

He endured a meal until nightfall, received instructions to wait at the inn the next day for someone to come and fetch him, and ignored Yang Jian's jesting as a eunuch about a man not staying overnight in Fan Lou's tender embrace. Da Guanren chuckled as he saw Yang Jian off, then strolled back to his lodging with his two attendants, their mouths still greasy from the meal.

Since he now knew he would meet Zhao Ji tomorrow, he could not wander aimlessly; he returned to the inn to wait patiently, showing Zhao Ji, the Emperor, proper respect—his demeanor must reflect it…

【A novel app that has operated stably for years, rivaling the old version; readers who used to switch sources for bugs now use HuanyuanApp.】

——————Extra Notes——————

Thank you to the ten brothers: (jyj5918), (Tianshang Pojun), (Yufang), (Wo Jiao Jinli), (Kao La Zhu), (404 Pa Bu Pa), (No1 Wuliang Tianzun), (brokensword), (Wei Ge Ge), (Tianshan Xiongying), for your continued support.

Daily thanks to the good brothers who cast monthly votes.

Thank you to all the brothers who cast recommendations.

Thank you to the brothers who silently read.