Chapter 169

Master Du couldn't hold his liquor; after three or five cups of premium yellow wine, he was already a third drunk. He sang a street tune, and if a woman had been present, the mood would've been even livelier.

Chen Guanlou clapped along to the rhythm, regardless of how off-key it was—on a day like this, it was all about the atmosphere.

"You, you—do you regret it now?"

"Regret what?" Chen Guanlou ate and drank, looking utterly unconcerned.

Master Du snorted. "The Lord won the battle, and every Chen clan member who followed him to the front got a bright future—some promoted, some rich. Only you, still stuck at Tianlaomiao as a lowly jailer with no prospects. Back then, if you'd listened to me, you'd likely be a Company Commander by now, a proper imperial military officer, far better than a jailer."

Chen Guanlou laughed heartily, completely unfazed. "Master, you always worry over nothing. Everyone has their own fate. Since the day I chose to be a jailer, I've never regretted it."

I've got secrets hidden deep—if I'd joined the army, they'd have shown up in an instant, and by now the grass over my grave might already be taller than a man. Dreaming of promotion and wealth? Just a dream.

A man without a martial vein, yet possessing martial arts rivaling a fourth-rank martialist—who among the martialists could sit still? The Jixia Academy couldn't, nor could the powerful clans.

The old emperor seeks immortality; if he caught wind of me, the darkest, deepest cell in the Imperial Prison would be waiting for me—no exceptions.

Master Du didn't believe Chen Guanlou. Anyone would regret missing such a golden opportunity. In his eyes, Chen Guanlou was just stubbornly refusing to admit he'd made a wrong choice.

In the end, it's about face.

He's already humiliated enough—he must cling to pride, even if he's lost the battle. The facade must be maintained; he won't let others look down on him.

Master Du was also relieved that Chen Guanlou wasn't his nephew or cousin; otherwise, he'd have grabbed a stick and broken his legs.

The Hou Fu was setting off fireworks—boom, boom, spectacular to behold!

The two sat by the window, watching the fireworks. Master Du said, "The Lord's victory has lifted the main branch's spirits. The Lady has grown quieter lately. Two days ago, when I went to pay respects at the Hou Fu, I met the two young mistresses. The eldest young mistress made the second young mistress lose face right before the Lady's eyes."

The Lady said not a single word of reproach; instead, she urged the second young mistress to be more open-minded, more generous. She said the eldest young mistress was a scion of a noble family, with extraordinary insight, and the Hou Fu's true eldest granddaughter-in-law. After the New Year, she'd be entrusted with managing the household.

Chen Guanlou raised an eyebrow and smiled. "Does the second branch really intend to give up control of the household?"

The wealth already in their hands—given the Hou Fu's scale—meant the second branch pocketed at least ten thousand taels a year, not counting the deficits of the second master and his son.

"Of course they don't want to give it up. But circumstances force their hand—if the Lady doesn't act now, when the Lord returns, it'll be refusing his goodwill."

Master Du took a sip of wine.

"Look, the Hou Fu has so few people—it's either east wind overpowering west wind, or west wind overpowering east wind. The court is no different. Now that the Lord is at his peak, the aristocratic generals have risen again, and the civil officials must tone down their arrogance."

"The civil officials haven't toned down at all. They promised to make up back pay, yet today is the thirtieth, and not a single copper coin has been seen. Our salaries? Not even a grain of rice. The Great Qian Dynasty, a glorious golden age, reduced to owing its capital officials a full year's salary—can you believe it?"

Master Du was speechless. "A year's unpaid salary? I never imagined. Logically, state revenues rise every year, at worst staying level—how could the court grow poorer and poorer? I can't understand it!"

"Because too many people are spending. Especially that one…"

"Shh! Don't speak recklessly!" Master Du quickly silenced Chen Guanlou, though no one else was nearby. "That one is a sage ruler—how dare you speak so carelessly?"

Chen Guanlou laughed. "The Embroidered Uniform Guard only spies on you if they're bored out of their minds. Master Du, they're stretched thin monitoring court officials—they don't have time to care about a lowly private tutor like you or a jailer like me."

Master Du snorted, disagreeing. "Better safe than sorry. This is the Hou Fu's territory—there could be Embroidered Uniform Guard agents lurking. Enough. Say less nonsense. Whether the court has money or not, we common folk live the same way."

Chen Guanlou raised his cup and clinked it with Master Du's.

He gazed out the window, a faint smile on his lips.

Master Du was right—the Hou Fu's grounds, especially now that the Lord had won, were a prime target for Embroidered Uniform Guard surveillance. Those spies, instead of drinking indoors on New Year's Eve, were darting across rooftops—annoying. With so few people in the Hou Fu, and the two most important figures away, even if they stared until their eyes bled, they'd find nothing useful.

It was all trivial, petty gossip—nothing worthy of reporting to the old emperor.

Chen Guanlou knew that throughout history, victorious generals always drew suspicion from above. He just hadn't expected it to come this fast—not even granting a holiday on New Year's Eve.

What could a crippled Lord do? Since ancient times, no disabled minister has ever rebelled, nor has any disabled rebel ever sat upon the dragon throne.

The drinking lasted until midnight. Chen Guanlou braved the cold wind and insisted on returning to his small courtyard.

He'd barely lain down when someone pounded on the gate.

He got up and opened the door to find Chen Guanxin standing there, half his face bruised.

"Brother Lou, can I stay here for the night?"

Chen Guanlou ushered him in. "What happened to your face? It's the New Year—why aren't you home? Why come here?"

"Don't mention it. My face? My fourth brother hit me. My old man approved. What's the point of staying home? No one cares about me—they say I'm useless. Fine. I won't go back."

"Why did your fourth brother hit you? It's the New Year—couldn't you have talked it out instead of fighting?"

Chen Guanlou poured him a cup of hot tea. If not for the gossip, he'd never have let Chen Guanxin stay. Compared to that, gossip mattered more. The guest room had been empty for so long it was practically a storage shed. If he didn't mind the dirt and dust, he could sleep there.

"It's because the Lord won the battle."

"How does the Lord winning have anything to do with you getting beaten?"

Chen Guanxin complained, "All the clan members who followed the Lord to the army have prospered. Their letters home spoke of promotions and riches. My father grew envious, remembered how the Lord passed me over, and after a few extra cups at the New Year's feast, brought it up—implying I was useless, that I'd missed my chance. I muttered a couple of words, and my fourth brother took it as a command—he punched me right in the face. Look at my face—black and blue, eyes swollen."

"Didn't your father stop him?"

"Stop him? He thought my fourth brother did well. I got beaten too little—that's why the Lord passed me over."