Chapter Twenty-three: What Kind of Person?

After seeing off Prince Qi Li Jingsui and Princess Huairou with their retinue, Yang Lian held the golden token of the Prince Qi's residence in his hand, turning it over slowly. The token gleamed in the light, reflecting his resolute face, the scar upon it lending him a rather fearsome air.

He had only taken the first step in a journey of ten thousand miles; countless matters still awaited him. In front of Li Jingsui, he could not afford to be hasty. Li Jingsui was timid and weak-willed, prone to giving up when faced with setbacks. What Yang Lian needed to do was solidify Li Jingsui’s determination to contend for the throne, for, compared to the hard-edged Li Hongji, Li Jingsui was much easier to control. Only by maintaining a relationship that was neither too close nor too distant could Yang Lian gradually win his trust. This tofu, after all, must be eaten cold; there could be no rushing.

Though Li Jingsui had departed, the influence he left behind was immense. As Yang Lian still paced in thought within the room, Xiao Erhei came in, dropped to his knees with a thud, and said, “Master, from today onwards, you are my master.”

Simple but not foolish, Xiao Erhei knew well enough: his new master could chat with Prince Qi, which spoke of considerable status and the promise of future advancement—something the old Li Xiongxin could never compare to. People seek higher ground, water flows downward; Xiao Erhei was no fool and knew where his interests lay.

Before Yang Lian could speak, two burly ruffians entered the room and silently knelt as well. Especially Wang Hu, who had once punched Yang Lian, was now prostrate on the floor, trembling violently in terror.

Yang Lian could easily guess their intentions, but he did not rush. He continued pacing, and though his footsteps were light, to Wang Hu, Zhao Peng, and Xiao Erhei they sounded like thunder. Yang Lian was not a gentle soul, at least not to Li Xiongxin.

Li Xiongxin had kidnapped Yang Lian, hoping to extort money. He had even struck Yang Lian, so Yang Lian had shown no mercy in taking over his property. He was, clearly, a decisive and ruthless man.

And with just two coins, the entire inn had changed hands. Perhaps he was borrowing the tiger’s authority, but regardless, he knew Prince Qi and had drunk tea with him! Even if Yang Lian held no official post, that alone was enough. He was not to be trifled with.

Thus, Wang Hu, Zhao Peng, and even Xiao Erhei immediately abandoned Li Xiongxin and pledged their loyalty to Yang Lian.

How could Yang Lian not see through this? In this world, most people feared authority and revered those above them; even in later generations, this was hardly uncommon.

A hero needs three companions. Yang Lian needed people; though Wang Hu and Zhao Peng were mere ruffians, their stature made them promising for cultivation. Who knew if they might be of use one day? As for Xiao Erhei, he could drive a carriage and handle menial tasks.

Of Yang Lian’s thoughts, Wang Hu was unaware. He knocked his head hard against the floor, making a dull thud. “Master, it was a moment of foolishness. Please, be merciful.”

He wasn’t afraid of Yang Lian, but of Prince Qi.

Yang Lian enjoyed this feeling of power and listened to the sound of Wang Hu’s head against the floor, smiling involuntarily. He waited a while, and seeing Wang Hu on the verge of tears, he sighed deliberately and said, “Enough, stand up.”

“If Master does not forgive me, I will not rise,” Wang Hu replied.

“Truly won’t get up?” Yang Lian asked.

“A man’s word is his bond—I said I won’t get up, and I won’t!” Wang Hu was resolute.

Yang Lian was left speechless for a moment, then waved his hand. “Forgiving you is not impossible, but I have one condition.”

“What is it? We’ll agree to anything,” Xiao Erhei rushed to answer.

“This Laifu Inn is now my property, but I alone cannot manage it all. Would you three be willing to handle matters on my behalf?” Yang Lian asked.

Zhao Peng was the first to react. Orphaned young, he had survived on the charity of others, and his waywardness was not by choice. With a chance to work, he quickly said, “I am willing.”

“Don’t be too hasty,” Yang Lian cautioned. “There is a condition: you must sign a contract of servitude and enter my household as slaves. Of course, I am a merciful master and will pay you regular wages. How much depends on your performance.” He smiled.

Wang Hu bit his tongue, finding the pain real—this was no dream! Losing freedom was better than losing his life, and there would be wages besides. He hastily agreed, “Thank you, Master! Wang Hu is willing to sign the contract and serve in the Yang household. Should I ever regret it, may heaven strike me down!”

Yang Lian narrowed his eyes. This Wang Hu was truly a bold character—worth cultivating.

With Wang Hu and Zhao Peng agreeing, Xiao Erhei followed suit. He was alone in the world and had nothing to lose; work was work, and there was no fondness for stingy Li Xiongxin.

There was brush and ink in the room. Yang Lian took up the brush and found, to his delight, that his hand was steady and the characters he wrote elegant. He quickly drafted three contracts, stating that the three owed him over a hundred strings of cash, and being unable to repay, willingly entered the Yang household as slaves to work off the debt, and so on. After drying the ink, he admired his handiwork, thinking this body wasn’t so bad after all—the handwriting was beautiful. After a moment of self-admiration, he summoned Wang Hu, Zhao Peng, and Xiao Erhei to sign.

None of the three could read, so they each marked the contract as instructed and pressed their fingerprints on it. Yang Lian knew it was not yet legal, but it was reasonable. In a few days, he would register at the county office, and then all would be proper.

Putting away the contracts, Yang Lian sighed contentedly. In the blink of an eye, he had gained an inn and three servants, giving him the sudden feeling of newfound wealth, and he was thoroughly pleased.

Just then, the main door was suddenly kicked open. A man burst in, menacing, with a kitchen knife raised high.

Who would dare such boldness? Before Yang Lian could speak, Xiao Erhei stammered, “Y-young master, what are you doing?”

“Thief! You stole my family’s property—I’ll fight you to the death!” The man’s voice shook as much as his body—clearly terrified. It was none other than Li Shu, the gambling-addicted son of Li Xiongxin.

“Wretch, your father was blind to cross my master—how is that my fault?” Yang Lian glared, making Li Shu retreat two steps.

“I’ll kill you!” Li Shu shouted, but didn’t move, trembling all over.

“Pathetic,” Yang Lian scoffed.

Li Shu’s face flushed red, his eyes brimming with tears at the humiliation, powerless to resist.

“Son!” A voice came from outside—it was Li Xiongxin. He sounded much older and weaker than before, causing Wang Hu, Zhao Peng, and Xiao Erhei to pause in surprise.

Li Shu glanced back at his father, then, filled with desperation, shouted, “Scoundrel, prepare to die!”

He lunged, but Yang Lian simply stepped back, ready to counter. With a crash, Li Shu tripped and fell, the knife flying from his hand and slicing off a lock of Xiao Erhei’s hair, startling him into a cold sweat.

Before Yang Lian could speak, Xiao Erhei pounced, raining down punches and kicks, cursing, “You bastard, you nearly scared me to death! How dare you brandish a knife before the master—you really have a death wish!”

Li Shu rolled on the ground, frail and unable to take a beating. Soon he was groaning in pain.

“Son, are you alright?” Li Xiongxin rushed over.

Seeing Li Xiongxin, Xiao Erhei felt a twinge of fear, withdrew his fists, and stepped aside.

Li Shu’s face was bloodied and swollen, beaten to a pulp. Li Xiongxin was distraught. Seeing Yang Lian standing with hands behind his back, coldly observing, Li Xiongxin felt a chill deep in his heart.

“Young Master Yang, all of this was my own blindness and wrongdoing. I beg you to forgive my offense and let my son go, as if it were all a passing fart,” Li Xiongxin pleaded. Seeing Yang Lian unmoved, he added, “If you are not satisfied, then take my life instead.”

As he spoke, Li Xiongxin glanced aside, intending to pick up the kitchen knife.

“Enough. Just now, Li Shu fell on his own—I didn’t hurt him, did I?” Yang Lian waved his hand dismissively.

Though he held little sympathy for Li Xiongxin, he had already taken his livelihood. To drive him to ruin would be excessive.

“Have a doctor see to Li Shu’s injuries. Once you are both well, you may leave.” Yang Lian sighed softly—he could not be completely ruthless.

“Thank you, Young Master Yang, thank you!” Li Xiongxin said gratefully. When he looked up again, Yang Lian had already disappeared into the inner rooms.

Yang Lian still had much to do. After lunch, he strolled along the banks of the Qinhuai River, deep in thought.

On Prince Qi’s side, thanks to Princess Huairou, a connection had been made. At first, Yang Lian worried Li Jingsui might recognize him, but it was clear from his demeanor that he had not.

Yang Lian would not pledge allegiance to Li Jingsui too easily. What comes too easily is not valued, and if his motives were too obvious, it could backfire and arouse suspicion. After wandering for a while, he returned to the Laifu Inn to rest.

Meanwhile, in Prince Qi’s residence, Li Jingsui was lost in his own thoughts. The conversation earlier had left him with a deep impression of Yang Lian—he had to admit, Yang Lian’s words made sense. He knew all too well the temperament of Duke Dongping; a man who would defy even his father would not hesitate to kill him. Out of self-preservation, and for the sake of his daughter, Princess Huairou, Li Jingsui had to act.

As he pondered, Princess Huairou approached, carrying a tray with several delicate pastries.

“Father, you’ve been distracted since we returned and haven’t eaten lunch. You must be hungry,” she said with a smile, her eyes curved like crescent moons, clear and luminous—a beauty beyond words.

“You truly resemble your mother,” Li Jingsui sighed. But after giving birth to Princess Huairou, her mother had passed from this world, leaving him inconsolable. Though he had other women over the years, he had never named a new consort. His wife’s place in his heart remained irreplaceable.

“Father,” Princess Huairou set the tray down, her face tinged with gentle sorrow. “Why bring up Mother all of a sudden?”

“It’s my fault for making you sad,” Li Jingsui smiled, taking a pastry and eating slowly.

“Is it good, Father?” asked Princess Huairou.

“Yes, very good.” He offered her a piece. “You should have some, too.”

“Father, why are you troubled?” she asked. Though young, she was not ignorant; she knew well that her father and Duke Dongping were at odds.

Li Jingsui fell silent. Matters at court were not for his daughter’s ears, though he knew he could not hide them forever.

“It’s nothing,” he said at last. “I was just thinking about that Yang Lian we met today—what kind of man he really is.” Li Jingsui changed the subject, which happened to be just what Princess Huairou wanted.

A faint blush colored her cheeks as she asked, “Father, what kind of man do you think he is?”