Chapter 16: Substantial Gains (Requesting Follows)

The crowd at the gate ignored him completely, not even glancing at Zhao Ji, still bustling with activity.

Zhao Ji, frantic, pounded his chest and stamped his feet, teeth clenched, yet dared not step forward.

At that moment, Zhao Ti stepped out of the study, one hand holding two sheep-fat jade lion paperweights, the other carrying a jade dragon brush rest, his expression distinctly satisfied.

Seeing this, Zhao Ji could no longer bear it; he ran over and shouted, “Zhao Ti, what are you doing?”

Zhao Ti glanced at him sidelong, handed the items to Zhou Dong, and said, “Prince Eleven injured my men—he must pay for their medical expenses. Since you ran off and vanished, I had no choice but to take them myself.”

Zhao Ji stared, dumbfounded, pointing at the box by the gate—its lid still open, revealing the corners of scrolls, screens, and inkstones—and gritted his teeth: “Medical expenses? What kind of medical expenses require this much?”

“Too much?” Zhao Ti shook his head. “I don’t know the value of these things, so I took them first—if it’s not enough, I’ll come back for more.”

“What?” Zhao Ji’s eyes widened, fury burning: “Come back for more? Do you know how much silver and gold these items are worth? Even one or two would be enough—you want to carry off everything, and still want more?”

Zhao Ti folded his sleeves before him, frowning: “My guards and servants were beaten so badly they each spat three sheng of blood—only rare medicines like thousand-year ginseng and hundred-year polygonum can keep them alive. How many rare herbs do you think this pile of trash can buy?”

Zhao Ji trembled with rage: “Nonsense! Nonsense! Anyone who spits three sheng of blood is already dead—no rare medicine can save them!”

Zhao Ti’s expression turned icy: “If they’re dead, then so much the better—I’ll claim funeral and compensation payments.”

“But—but that still doesn’t justify this much! No, no, if you want to take everything, you’ll have to walk over my corpse. If I lose all these things, I might as well die…” Zhao Ji threw himself onto a wooden chest and burst into loud sobs.

Zhao Ti found it amusing but kept a stern face: “Then what’s your plan, Prince Eleven? If you won’t pay, I’ll smash everything here myself—and pay my men’s compensation out of my own pocket.”

“I—I… I’ll pay, but not this much.”

“How much?” Zhao Ti asked.

“One… just one…” Zhao Ji felt as if his heart were bleeding—each item in this study was his treasure; losing any one would devastate him.

“Someone!” Zhao Ti’s face turned cold: “Smash it all!”

“No, no, don’t smash…” Zhao Ji cried out desperately: “Eighth Brother, how many? How many?”

Zhao Ti rubbed his chin: “Now you call me Brother? No longer addressing me by name, showing disrespect? This is a disgrace to culture!”

Zhao Ji, sprawled atop the chest, nearly fainted from rage—it was exactly the words he’d once used against Zhao Ti in Yan Prince’s mansion, now thrown back at him. To save the treasures inside, he had no choice but to swallow his pride: “Eighth Brother, how many? How many?”

Zhao Ti held up his palm and flipped it over: “Ten!”

“Three… three!” Zhao Ji gritted his teeth.

“Ten!”

“Five… five…”

“Ten!”

“Seven…”

“Someone! Smash it!” Zhao Ti cut him off and gave the order again.

“Fine, fine, ten! Ten it is!” Zhao Ji hurriedly agreed, then pointed at Zhou Dong’s arms: “But those two jade lion paperweights and the brush rest don’t count—those stay.”

Zhao Ti’s lips curled: “Count? Those three are bonuses.”

Zhao Ji gasped: “What bonuses?”

Zhao Ti said: “Do you think I don’t know? These three weren’t bought, nor were they crafted by skilled artisans for you—they were gifts from Wang Commandant.”

Zhao Ji blinked: “How do you know that?”

Zhao Ti snorted: “That’s none of your concern, Prince Eleven. Take ten items, then sign a written receipt stating they’re compensation—this matter is settled.”

“Why must I sign a receipt?” Zhao Ji frowned. “I’ve never signed anything like this before!”

“Without a receipt, I might change my mind later—or if any of my men aren’t dead, and need ginseng and lingzhi for years of treatment, and run out of money, they’ll come back to you for more…” Zhao Ti leaned forward slightly, smiling faintly.

“Ah?” Zhao Ji blinked. “Then I’ll sign—sign it. This matter is settled. You must never come to my door again.”

Zhao Ti said: “Naturally.”

“Then… I’ll get them for you…” Zhao Ji reluctantly rose from the chest, hesitating.

“No. I’ll choose myself. Someone—open the chests.”

Su Dayu and Er opened several lids; Zhao Ti walked slowly among them, examining each item, selecting carefully.

Zhao Ji watched with dread, thinking: This brute never read books or wrote characters—he never composed a single poem or lyric, never painted a single picture—how could he possibly know the value of my treasures?

All these items in his study were related to writing implements, or calligraphy and paintings—he couldn’t believe Zhao Ti could judge their worth.

Zhao Ti took his time, inspecting each item, then picking them up one by one. With each item he took, Zhao Ji’s face darkened further—they were all the most valuable pieces, rare treasures worth a fortune outside.

After selecting, Zhao Ti ordered ink and brush, then wrote the receipt directly on top of the chest.

“Prince Eleven, sign and seal it.”

Zhao Ji stood frozen. Zhao Ti frowned: “Aren’t you coming? I’m leaving.”

“Sign, sign!” Zhao Ji’s heart felt like it was being cut apart—he was utterly baffled: How did this brute know which items were best? These ten weren’t just the most valuable—they were nearly the absolute top tier. That shouldn’t be possible!

Then he thought: Ah, of course—he must have tortured the eunuchs. They betrayed me and pointed them out… but still, that didn’t make sense—even the lowly eunuchs who tidied the study didn’t know all these items.

Holding the fine brush, he trembled as he signed, then dipped his finger in cinnabar paste and pressed his seal—completed.

Zhao Ti picked it up, blew lightly on the ink, folded it, and tucked it into his robe, then ordered his men back to the mansion.

Watching them leave, Zhao Ji clenched his teeth, fists tight, and pounded the chest with all his strength.

At that moment, wailing cries came from afar—he looked up to see several guards limping toward him, supporting each other. Zhao Ji snapped irritably: “What are you all crying about?”

The lead guard stammered: “Your Highness, the Yan Prince’s men searched everywhere for those who accompanied you today—they found them all and beat them to the ground. When we tried to intervene, they beat us too—we’re all aching all over.”

“You bandits! Thieves!” Zhao Ji roared. Then he noticed the ink and brush on the chest—and froze. His own men were beaten too—why should he pay medical compensation to them?

On what grounds did they demand compensation from him?

What a cunning brute! He tricked me with words! Zhao Ji’s vision swam with stars; he kicked the chest in rage—his foot instantly screamed in pain; he staggered back and collapsed onto the ground.

I—I swear I’ll go to the palace and denounce this thief!

Zhao Ti returned to his mansion, placed the ten items in his study, set the jade lion paperweights and dragon brush rest on the desk, admired them for a while, then retired to his chambers.

The next day, after washing and breakfast, after practicing his martial forms, he ordered Bai Zhan to drive the carriage, took Zhou Dong and Yu Er along, and headed straight for the imperial palace.

He intended to seek out Grand Empress Dowager Gao Taotao and inquire about the Three Imperial Treasuries of Emperor Taizong.