Chapter 34: Jia Fu in Alarm

The Minister of Works, Yin Xiangxian, was a veteran of three reigns, now elderly; His Majesty, being lenient toward old ministers, allowed Minister Yin to spend nearly half the year at home in retirement.

In reality, the Ministry of Works is managed by Vice Minister Li Dekang; after Yin Xiangxian retires, this Vice Minister Li is certain to ascend to the top post.

Vice Minister Li Dekang is stern and taciturn; due to the rank gap between him and the Assistant Minister, there was naturally little to discuss.

Moreover, Jia Zheng was ignorant of worldly affairs, only capable of bowing and scraping, spending his days seated passively like a clay statue—the least distinguished among his colleagues, with almost no presence.

Vice Minister Li rarely noticed him, at most knowing he was a descendant of the Marquis of Rong, nothing more; they had worked in the same office for years without exchanging more than a few words.

Yet now he had specifically summoned him to speak—why else, if not because of his nephew, who had risen to fame at the Nanxi Literary Gathering?

In officialdom, besides one’s own career, the most important thing is whether one’s family has outstanding younger generations—this determines whether the lineage will endure.

The larger the family, the more they emphasize this, for ancestral glory eventually fades, and officials inevitably face setbacks in their careers.

Once demoted and stripped of office, losing their shield, if the family has no capable successors, a once-prosperous house can collapse overnight.

Thus, every wealthy and privileged noble household places great emphasis on cultivating reserve descendants, for this is the very foundation of a family’s lasting prosperity.

Jia She had merely inherited the hollow title of First-Class General; Jia Zheng had only obtained the rank of Fifth-Rank Assistant Minister through a posthumous memorial.

Jia Zheng spent a cup of tea’s time chatting in Vice Minister Li’s office, and their conversation inevitably turned toward Jia Cong.

Jia Zhen of Ningguo Prefecture was another such figure—hunting hawks and coursing horses, indulging in debauchery and luxury, even worse than Jia She by a third.

It was wise to warm a cold stove early, to cultivate goodwill for the future; a man of Vice Minister Li’s caliber naturally possessed such foresight.

This Jia Cong is said to be greatly favored by Prince Jia Shun, and his plum-blossom poem was judged by the literary master Liu Jing’an as worthy of enduring for a hundred generations.

Coupled with the Jia family’s deep heritage as a house holding two Dukes, to say the boy’s future is boundless is no exaggeration whatsoever.

Moreover, rumors have recently spread in the palace that the Retired Emperor has taken a liking to a newly emerged Buddhist scripture, said to have been personally copied by this Jia youth.

The previous generation’s setbacks in officialdom were merely temporary; if the clan has outstanding younger members, revival of the family’s prestige remains possible.

Now that the Jia family has produced a youth of exceptional literary and scholarly talent, attention has turned upon him at once.

As for the next generation—Jia Lian, Baoyu, Jia Rong—all are unfit to ride horses, wield spears, hold brushes, or compose writings; utterly useless.

The Wang family married two daughters into the Jia household, securing for themselves the high posts of Commander of the Capital Garrison and Commander of Nine Provinces.

At such a young age, he has already won the favor of noble houses; his future is assuredly bright—perhaps within a few years, the Jia family will restore its former glory.

This alone has long been a joke among the power elite of the capital: the Jia family’s descendants have sunk to such incompetence, shaming the reputations of the Marquises of Ning and Rong.

Perhaps there are other unspoken reasons, but ultimately, it is the Jia clan’s desperate lack of capable successors that lies at the root.

At Rongguo Prefecture, the two brothers Jia She and Jia Zheng—one a dissolute wastrel, the other mediocre and talentless.

Jia Zheng, merely a Fifth-Rank Assistant Minister, lacked both literary acumen and strategic depth, and had not yet grasped this deeper layer.

The Jia family’s two Dukes had left behind military connections, yet none of their own descendants were capable of inheriting them; instead, these advantages have benefited Wang Ziteng of Jin Ling.

This news was more alarming than the plum-blossom poem from the Nanxi Literary Gathering—it struck a deeper chord among seasoned officials.

The Jia family, holding two Dukedoms, was the most prestigious among the Eight Dukes, yet in recent years their influence in court and realm has steadily declined.

Vice Minister Li, usually stern, now wore a smile, unusually amiable; overall, the conversation flowed pleasantly.

Jia Zheng left Vice Minister Li’s office in a daze, still immersed in the joy of having an outstanding son, unwilling to return to reality.

Suddenly, a servant reported that someone from Jia Fu had come seeking the Assistant Minister—it seemed urgent.

Jia Zheng hurried out and found a household boy delivering news: Guo Zhi, who had escorted Jia Cong the day before, had returned early this morning, saying Third Master Cong had been kidnapped.

Jia Zheng’s face turned ashen; he felt as if he had been hurled violently from the clouds to the ground.

…

In Rongqing Hall, the fifteenth had just passed; many of Jia’s elderly relatives and old friends had been visiting, and since the second day of the New Year, social calls had not ceased.

On that day, Jia Mu had not seen many noble ladies from the Four Kings and Eight Dukes, yet many young wives from the Wang, Shi, and Xue families had come to pay their respects.

Only after the Lantern Festival did things finally quiet down; these past few days, she had taken lunch with her grandchildren and then rested in Rongqing Hall, chatting idly, with Lady Wang and Li Wan accompanying her.

There was also Wang Xifeng, who knew how to amuse, occasionally dropping a punchline that sent the entire hall into laughter; Jia Mu would laugh heartily until exhausted, then rest.

But now Wang Xifeng was nowhere to be seen; outside, footsteps in the outer hall were hurried and chaotic. Jia Mu, reclining on her couch as Yuanyang pounded her legs with a jade mallet, said: “What’s going on outside? Go and see.”

Soon, Yuanyang returned, her face pale.

She said: “Grandmother, the maids outside say Guo Zhi, who escorted Third Master Cong to the literary gathering yesterday, returned alone this morning, wounded. He says Third Master Cong was kidnapped by bandits!”

Jia Mu’s face changed; she sat upright abruptly on her couch and cried out: “How could he be kidnapped by bandits? What exactly happened?”

Yuanyang replied: “Just now, Master Jia questioned them in Songxuan Hall. Guo Zhi was injured; it’s said one of the boys who went with him broke his arm, both wounded by the bandits.

Master Jia flew into a rage, saying they abandoned Third Master Cong and returned themselves—they deserve to die. He’s still raging now; all the maids and old women in the household have heard.”

Hearing this, everyone in the hall turned pale; Jia Cong had been kidnapped by bandits, and those who went with him were wounded—no one knew if he was even still alive.

Tan Chun was terrified, tears streaming down her face; Ying Chun trembled as if her soul had been stolen.

Daiyu was not close to Jia Cong, but she remembered the ancient, elegant poem from Tan Chun’s chamber, and the image of the young man’s calm, gentle presence in Rongning Hall that day—her eyes grew red.

Baoyu was also terrified, lamenting inwardly: he should never have attended that damned literary gathering; indeed, he had been dragged down by these corrupt officials and greedy bureaucrats—his instincts had always been right.

Jia Mu ordered Yuanyang: “Go fetch Master Jia. I must ask him what exactly happened.”

After a long while, Jia Zheng entered Rongqing Hall, his face ashen.

When Jia Mu inquired, Jia Zheng recounted the account given by Guo Zhi and the others.

That night, Guo Zhi had chased after two boys for a while; one of them, hearing the commotion, finally stopped and picked him up.

The three pursued the carriage past a mountain pass, nearly catching up—when suddenly, the bandits shot a small arrow, killing the horses of Guo Zhi and the boy; the boy fell and broke his arm.

This delay allowed the carriage to vanish; the three searched desperately but found no trace, and returned to report.

Jia Zheng said: “Just now I went to the Eastern Courtyard to find Elder Brother, but he had gone to a banquet. I intended to have him notify the Zhen’an Prefecture, so officials could search more effectively.

But Lady Xing insisted we wait for Elder Brother to return before deciding—yet saving a life is like putting out a fire; he is their own son, alas.

I met Xifeng on my way back and asked her and Lian to send some experienced men, along with several young boys, to search outside the city.”

Jia Mu slammed her embroidered stool with a thud: “All of them are useless! Waiting for that wretch to return and decide? Don’t they know he forgets his ancestors when he drinks? If we wait for him, the boy will be dead by then.”

The Jia ancestors were warriors who rode into battle with swords; now our descendants are snatched away by petty thieves, and we do nothing? If this becomes public, we’ll lose all dignity.”

(End of Chapter)