Chapter 405: Banquet

Privately, Chen Guanlou had asked Master Du about the estimated market price of Ming calligraphy scrolls.

Master Du told him it would definitely sell for two or three hundred taels; the exact amount depended on the antique shop's skill. If they found a fellow enthusiast, two or three thousand taels wouldn't be a problem.

"Aren't Xie Changling's inscriptions worth anything?"

"It depends on timing. He's currently imprisoned; though he holds the title of top scholar and has his own style, few truly recognize him. But when he rises to fame in the future, this scroll will become priceless. If someone wants to curry favor by gifting him something, plenty will pay a fortune for this scroll. Think about it—today he writes these characters in the Heavenly Prison; tomorrow, you deliver them to him as a gift. How precious that sentiment becomes. That's what gifting means—that's the supreme way to cultivate connections."

"Then I need to get him to write more. When he rises, I'll sell his calligraphy exclusively to those who bribe and curry favor—I'll make a fortune."

Master Du chuckled, "Rarity makes something valuable. Too many, and they're just cabbages by the roadside."

Chen Guanlou clicked his tongue. "Scholars are so fussy. I can split profits two-eight with him—or even three-seven."

"You really believe in his future? Are you certain he'll turn things around?" Master Du was curious.

Chen Guanlou grinned lightly. "I'm not boasting—my eyes have never misjudged a person. Who'll be reinstated, who'll rise—I can't predict with perfect accuracy, but eight or nine out of ten? That's within my grasp."

"You're amazing!" Master Du smiled. "With this talent, being stuck in the Heavenly Prison isn't useless—though only barely. If you applied it in officialdom, climbing to the top would be child's play."

"Don't flatter me, Master. I'm still wondering—this gift is quite valuable. With my status, would it be inappropriate to give it to the Hou Fu?"

"No issue at all. Everyone knows you're a jailer of the Heavenly Prison. Taking advantage of corrupt officials is expected. They'll just think you're shrewd, know how to read people's tastes."

Master Du's words eased Chen Guanlou's mind.

The scroll's market value far exceeded his budget, yet he'd bought it for only two hundred taels—and even that was just shifting money from left hand to right, staying within budget.

On the day of the banquet, he arrived at the Hou Fu precisely on time—not early, not late. This time, he didn't use the back gate; he entered through the side gate. It was still Chen Guanxiang, Brother Xiang, who personally greeted him.

Chen Guanlou didn't offer a tip. He waved casually. "Between brothers, no need for formalities. We'll drink together later."

Chen Guanxiang spat. "Drinking with you? I'd bring seven generations of bad luck. Get lost. Don't infect me with your misfortune."

"Nonsense! My fortune—everyone envies it. You're just jealous."

"Jealous of you?" Chen Guanxiang sneered, nose in the air. "Your job in the Heavenly Prison? Compared to mine, you couldn't even carry my shoes. My position—just a gatekeeper—yet even a seventh-rank official wouldn't trade places with me."

"Yes, yes, yes. Even a prime minister's gatekeeper is seventh-rank—how much more so a Marquis's gatekeeper? You're amazing, I can't match you—I give up." Chen Guanlou swiftly ended the childish quarrel; too many guests were around, and he almost became the center of attention.

Chen Guanxiang casually assigned a servant to lead Chen Guanlou to the front courtyard's flower hall for tea. So many guests had come today that they were spread across several courtyards.

Chen Guanlou was seated among the Chen clan's group. As soon as he entered the flower hall, he saw—holy hell—it was all Chens. Some were extended relatives, but their status was too low to sit with other noble families, so they were grouped together with their own clan.

Chen Guanlou was well-mannered: upon entering, he bowed respectfully to all the elders, greeted his clan brothers, and accepted bows from the younger generation.

Luckily, it wasn't New Year's—no red envelopes to hand out.

Time flew. Before he knew it, a whole string of juniors had appeared. Just a few years ago, he was still the young lad, "Lou-ge." Now, a pack of brats ran up to him calling him "Uncle."

The brats were like three thousand quacking ducks.

The Chen clan had risen through military service; they didn't strictly discipline their children—on the contrary, they encouraged them to unleash their nature, compete, and fight. They believed: if you want to be a general, you must learn to fight, to seize advantage. Combat instinct must be trained from childhood. Their family ethos differed vastly from scholarly or bureaucratic clans.

No wonder intermarriage between the two was rare. The gap in values and customs was too wide—constant friction was inevitable.

Of course, the adults kept limits: children were confined to the courtyards, forbidden to step beyond the gate, lest they disturb the honored guests.

Chen Guanxin shuffled up to Chen Guanlou, politely greeting him: "Brother Guanlou!"

"How's your business?"

Chen Guanxin shook his head. "So-so." Even with family backing, his general merchandise shop barely covered expenses—no chance of great wealth. It was a slow, steady grind, accumulating small gains. Nothing compared to the easy, high income he'd had as a jailer in the Heavenly Prison.

He was never meant to sit still. Staring at a shop all day drove him mad.

With this contrast, he now realized: though the Heavenly Prison job seemed lowly and filthy, it had many hidden benefits. Back then, when Chen Guanlou was only a squad leader, his protection alone ensured Chen Guanxin ate well and never lacked cash. Now that Chen Guanlou was a jailer—if he were still there, his income and status would be climbing steadily.

Regret.

"Brother Guanlou, can I go back to the Heavenly Prison as a guard?"

Chen Guanlou glanced at him. "Focus on your business. You're a boss now—why on earth are you pining for a jailer's bowl of rice?"

"Brother Guanlou, are you still mad at me? Back then, I really didn't mean to slip up."

"It's over. Don't bring it up." Chen Guanlou lifted his teacup—clearly signaling the end of the conversation.

Chen Guanxin opened his mouth, helpless. He just loved to brag, show off his knowledge—every jailer had that habit. But he'd bragged too far—he'd revealed the ledger entries of the Jia-graded cells.

He felt a little regret.

He felt a little resentment. Brother Lou was too cold-hearted. They were clan brothers—why punish him so harshly over one mistake?

Today, he'd come to test Chen Guanlou's attitude. He hadn't expected him to remain utterly unmoved—no second chance offered.

Frustrated, angry, bitter—he saw the brats making noise and roared. The noise drew the elders' attention. His father dragged him by the ear and scolded him soundly. His mood worsened. He joined a few others in a card game instead—spending money to dispel bad luck.

At some point, Chen Guanxiang slipped up to Chen Guanlou. "Why won't you give Chen Guanxin another chance? I can tell—he wants to return to the Heavenly Prison."

"Then why don't you recommend him to the Hou Fu? Like working behind you as a gatekeeper—easy, well-paid, everyone gives him a little respect."

"Pah! I'm a gatekeeper—I need someone sharp, observant, loyal. Chen Guanxin? A gambling fool? I wouldn't touch him."

"If you won't take him, why should I?"

"Isn't the Heavenly Prison full of ruffians and scoundrels? Chen Guanxin's perfect for it."

Chen Guanlou gave him the middle finger.