Chapter 257

Rumors from the outside world were little more than a source of amusement—given Wang Xiujin’s status, he could hardly ever be the “child others envied.” Although the title of Imperial Merchant was impressive, it still paled in comparison to the glory of academic achievement. Wang Xiujin paid no mind to becoming the subject of idle talk; he was far too busy to waste a thought on such things. Recently, as he gathered and sorted through his assets, he discovered that he had made a considerable fortune over the past few years. Coupled with the profits he had received from the Fourth Prince, he began contemplating how best to spend his wealth.

After the Fourth Prince had mapped out several districts in the capital, a sizable tract of land was left unused. Wang Xiujin considered this and inquired whether he might purchase it. It was not for building a workshop or a residence; rather, he intended to create a venue dedicated to hosting various competitions. For instance, the annual citywide academy games could be held there—instead of the military barracks, which were neither safe nor ideal. Should a spy from a foreign land ever infiltrate a school, what was meant to be a joyful event could turn into a disaster.

The Fourth Prince wholeheartedly supported Wang Xiujin’s idea, though he insisted that Wang should not shoulder all the costs; the deed remained with the prince, and Wang was only responsible for the construction expenses. As for future management, they agreed to entrust it to the court. When the Emperor heard of this, he did not assign the task to an official but instead left the management to the Fifth Prince, who harbored no ambitions for the throne. The Emperor did not let Wang Xiujin go unrewarded: though he initially wished to name the stadium after the Xinlou Academy, Wang refused. The academy’s name had been chosen on a whim, and to place it—potentially the world’s very first stadium—seemed somehow unfitting. Instead, Wang requested another favor from the Emperor as compensation. Ultimately, the completed venue bore a simple and unadorned name in Wang Xiujin’s eyes: the Royal Activity Grounds.

The grounds would not be limited to athletic events; other competitions—such as those of music, chess, calligraphy, and painting—could also be hosted, allowing the best of the realm to be determined in each discipline. This was Wang Xiujin’s proposal, which the Emperor found agreeable. The Fifth Prince, now in charge of the grounds, was particularly delighted. He cared little for power and much for the arts, and these gatherings would allow him to mingle with fellow enthusiasts.

Of course, where there are competitions, there are rankings and rewards. Wang Xiujin suggested to the Fifth Prince the idea of sponsorship: titles could be sold for a set price, and the proceeds used to fund prizes for the winners. The Fifth Prince was amazed; he had assumed all such expenditures came from the imperial treasury, never imagining that others’ money could be used to host these events. He praised the plan effusively, and when he returned home, he told both his father and the Fourth Prince about it, his eyes full of admiration as he sang Wang Xiujin’s praises.

“When it comes to making money, no one can match Wang the Imperial Merchant.” The Emperor nodded in agreement. Indeed, Wang Xiujin had a rare talent for profit. Each year, the sums sent to the palace grew, and the Emperor was grateful; without Wang’s help, how could he have acted so decisively against corrupt officials? How could he have funded the construction of a lengthy coastal defense, or built vast shipyards and great ships, or supported so many craftsmen in developing cannons and ammunition? It was precisely these achievements that made the army invincible. In days past, merchants were scorned, yet few realized that only through commerce could the treasury be filled, the people enriched, and the nation spared from the ravages of war.

“Father, you are right. All my ventures for profit were inspired by Wang the Imperial Merchant’s ideas.” The Fourth Prince wanted to add that Wang Xiujin’s talents extended far beyond making money. The academy he established was remarkable; even royal children who once were idle and wayward had changed after attending—now they pursued real purpose and clear goals. The only downside, perhaps, was the disappointment this caused among others, as the royal family’s unity unsettled certain factions.

What the imperial family truly thought, outsiders could not know—Wang Xiujin least of all. He had no inkling of how highly he was regarded by the ruling family. Even after funding the activity grounds, he still had a sizable fortune left, and he considered establishing a fund to support poor students. When he mentioned this to his father, Lord Wang, the latter shook his head and refused. In Lord Wang’s view, while his son’s intentions were good, such charity would be perceived as an insult by scholars. Hearing this, Wang Xiujin sighed; he could not comprehend the ancient scholars’ proud spirit.

Returning home, he confided in Li Linshan, “What is it they’re so stubborn about? Is pride so precious that they’d rather suffer in poverty than accept help? And even drag their families down with them—how much must a family sacrifice to support a single scholar? Sometimes, they even have to sell their possessions, or worse, their children. After being raised in such hardship, won’t these scholars turn out warped? Can they truly become good officials?”

Li Linshan listened to his complaints and gently patted his shoulder. As Wang Xiujin said, those raised in such an environment might indeed have their values twisted. Still, it was not fair to generalize; not everyone would turn out that way. “I know you mean well, but this isn’t something you should worry about.”

“I don’t feel comforted at all,” Wang Xiujin muttered. “How could I forget there’s another way?” Suddenly, he sprang up. “I’ll go back to the Wang estate for a bit—I’ll return soon.” With that, he dashed off, leaving Li Linshan momentarily stunned. Little Yachang, who was playing with blocks on the floor, stared at his father and then at his fleeing “little dad,” marveling at the speed—fast enough for a hundred-meter dash.

Wang Xiujin hurried back to the Wang estate and rushed straight to the study, forgetting all decorum. “Father, if we can’t give money directly to poor students, we could channel it through the academies—set up a scholarship system, awarding the top performers in exams, and giving prizes for outstanding conduct. Naturally, there must be penalties as well—not monetary, but perhaps copying books.”

Lord Wang was startled by his son’s abrupt entrance, then listened as he breathlessly rattled off his idea. He quickly understood. “Even if this were allowed, it could never be done in your name. It would have to be under the court’s authority. Just take care of your own academy.”

Wang Xiujin felt defeated. “Even doing a bit of good with my money is so hard.” He slumped into a chair, showing little regard for appearances.

Lord Wang frowned at his son’s posture. “Sit properly. Is this how you behave before Yachang? If he follows your example, won’t he end up crooked?” At this, Wang Xiujin immediately straightened up, chastened. He had just been too tired from running, and he would never act this way in front of his son—he understood the importance of leading by example. Still, he wondered: if not for his memories from a previous life, would he have ended up as his eldest brother had?

“Father, I can’t just donate to the treasury every few years—how much would be lost to corruption?” Wang Xiujin had no desire for his money to line the wrong pockets. “What if I funded road construction instead?”

“Can’t you just do things quietly?” Lord Wang sighed. He knew his son meant well, only wishing to do some genuine good, but every suggestion seemed to touch a nerve somewhere. For now, the Wang and Li families could protect him, and the Emperor trusted him, but what about the future? If the censors kept submitting accusations, would the Emperor’s trust last forever? “You’re clever, but your ideas always give others ammunition—yet you’re wise enough not to seek fame from the royal court.”

“Father, I understand.” Wang Xiujin was no fool; he heard the concern in his father’s words and knew his worries were valid. Even just focusing on making money had already drawn ire from some. If he earned a reputation for doing good as well, certain people would surely want him gone—never mind his lack of ulterior motives or the future of the court; all that mattered to them was their own interest.

“So you’ve thought it through? Then go back, and stop getting yourself involved in all sorts of things. If you have too much money, just send it straight to the palace.” Lord Wang pointed out a path for his son. The Emperor was a wise ruler; once the money reached the palace, it would surely be put to proper use.

Wang Xiujin rose, thanked his father, and returned home.

“You rushed off in such a hurry—was something urgent?” Li Linshan asked, seeing that Wang Xiujin was still downcast. “Did your father say something?”

“I was reprimanded. Ideals are beautiful, but reality is harsh—it’s hard to do even a little genuine good.” Wang Xiujin sighed, then turned to Li Linshan. “There are academies for scholars—why not for military officers?”

“There are martial halls for learning martial arts,” Li Linshan replied. It was not strange that Wang Xiujin didn’t know; such halls were few and obscure. After all, who would choose a life of danger as a general if they could be a scholar instead?

“No, I mean a proper academy for military officers—not just martial training, but a place to cultivate leaders, combining scholarly and martial studies.” Wang Xiujin rested his chin in his hand, recalling the military academies he’d heard of in his previous life. “Don’t take it too seriously—it’s just an idle thought.”

But Li Linshan considered it seriously. If there were such dedicated schools, would generals be willing to share their experience? Probably not. Still, the idea was intriguing.

Yachang, abandoning his blocks, crawled over to his “little dad,” using his leg to stand before reaching up for a hug. Wang Xiujin, surprised by his son’s sudden insistence, nevertheless picked him up. “Were you good today, Yachang?”

“I was good—very good,” the boy replied, nodding emphatically to prove his point.

“You’ll get a meat treat tonight,” Wang Xiujin said, pinching his son’s little nose. “I’ll ask the kitchen to make some meat floss; you love that, don’t you?”

“Aunt Li already had it prepared at noon,” came the reply.