Chapter 81: Wealth Gone, Peace Remains

Chapter Eighty-One: Wealth Lost, Peace Gained

The Tower of Peril had already begun to be draped in festive red. Especially striking were the hundred or so enormous red lanterns suspended from its roof, glittering from afar like a constellation of stars. A massive plaque, veiled in red silk, hung over the entrance, though the bold and ancient characters spelling “Tower of Peril” could still be faintly discerned beneath. The brushwork was vigorous and steeped in tradition—its creator a mystery, but surely a master of renown.

The fame of this lofty edifice stemmed chiefly from the word “peril.” According to the gossips of the city, the tower began to lean from its second floor upward, and by the sixth, it listed westward by more than thirty feet. By rights, such a building should long since have collapsed, yet it miraculously stood fast. To prove the tower’s stability, the owner had placed eight massive silver balls, each weighing five hundred pounds, in the most precarious area, attracting scholars and gentlemen from all over the city in droves.

Two days before New Year’s Eve, the Tower of Peril would summon all the dignitaries and aristocrats of the capital. There would be maidens dancing, beauties singing, scholars composing poetry, elders inscribing calligraphy, Lady Zhang’s famed medicinal marionettes, and Liu Mingfu’s performing fish to add to the revelry. On that day, the tower would be so packed that a seat would be as precious as gold.

Desolate, Tie Xinyuan passed before the Tower of Peril, his solitary figure a green speck against its expanse of red, like an unsightly blemish on a rosy cloud.

Beside the tower, vast stretches of open land had appeared, all leveled smooth. Where the Tie family’s shop once stood, no trace of ruin remained; the debris had been meticulously cleared, a thin layer of yellow sand laid atop, and not a hint of smoke or cinder could be detected.

Though the tower had yet to open, the area was already thronged with carriages and horses. Tie Xinyuan could well imagine the spectacle that would unfold on opening day.

A wry smile crept onto his lips as he pictured the scene. He and his mother were to attend the grand opening; the invitation had arrived the day before. Refusal was not an option—the Prince’s household conducted affairs with an imperious air. Unable to deliver the invitation in person, they had bound it to a short spear and thrust it into the Tie family’s door with a resounding thud.

He and his mother had deliberated long into the night, concluding they had no choice but to attend. To refuse such face would be to invite unknown retribution; the Prince’s household was not to be trifled with, especially with those four or five tattooed brutes who loitered about the neighborhood even in the dead of winter—an added cause for Wang Rouhua’s anxiety.

The wharf at West Water Gate had fallen into disuse, purportedly bought up by the Prince’s household at a paltry sum. Since it was an auction, no one could protest the price. With the wharf gone, the poor laborers dispersed, and the power of the Butchers’ Guild dwindled accordingly.

But that was not all. Of late, the authorities had taken a keen interest in the fall of the Lion’s Paw gang, particularly in the Butchers’ Guild’s prior conflicts with them. For such lawless elements, Bao Zheng showed no mercy. When the county submitted its report, Bao, satisfied that no innocents were implicated, launched the largest anti-gang operation the city had ever seen.

Over a hundred gangs, large and small, were rounded up by the Imperial Guards and thrown into the dungeons of Kaifeng Prefecture. The greatest sufferers, ironically, were the Butchers’ Guild, who were just on the verge of turning honest.

And so, naturally, the Butchers’ Guild fell under suspicion of collusion with the dead Western Xia warrior…

After confiscation, family extermination, forced labor, and exile, Old Liang couldn’t even keep his prized herd of fat pigs. Under harsh new laws, he was required not only to feed them daily but to ensure none lost weight, or face the severest penalties.

The Tie family, by contrast, had fared relatively well. Their shop, destroyed by an accidental fire, prompted a hasty departure from West Water Gate. They neither agreed to sell their land to the Tower’s overseers nor openly refused. Such hedging was not unusual in the capital—just a standard tactic to drive up the price.

The Prince’s household and the Tower’s proprietors understood this well enough. But come opening day, they would not permit such fence-sitting. A decision would be forced: sell the land, or hold on and risk “unforeseen events.”

The new noodle shop had been renovated. Under Tie Xinyuan’s direction, the once gloomy premises were transformed: bright windows, a clear division between kitchen and dining hall, a spacious main room, and four elegantly appointed private chambers—ideal for dignitaries to enjoy succulent pork in secrecy.

When Tie Xinyuan arrived, Wang Rouhua was inspecting her new shop with satisfaction, flanked by three matrons, all beaming with delight.

Such a clean, imposing establishment was rare in the city.

“Madam Tie, should we not hire a couple of foreign girls for the shop?” joked Madam Gu, wiping her hands with a cloth. “The three of us matrons are hardly fit to serve gentlemen in the private rooms.”

Wang Rouhua shook her head. “Clean food is what we offer. If we brought in those foreign girls, we’d only add an air of seduction. We are not in the business of cheap tricks.”

Madam Gu sighed. “A proper maiden in the private rooms would be fine, but a trained courtesan—well, that’s a price we can’t afford. Besides, they’re only allowed to work for eight years, and we’d still have to pay them monthly. It’s just not worth it. Our own young boys are too young for such duties. If we bring in maidens and send them out again, aren’t we just giving them a free ride?”

Wang Rouhua shot her a look. “Who says we must hire courtesans? We’re not a brothel—we run a proper restaurant. Your second son and Madam Hu’s fourth son—once cleaned up and taught a bit of decorum, those handsome lads will serve as well as any girl, perhaps better.”

Madam Gu and Madam Hu grinned from ear to ear. They knew exactly how good the business would be. Even during renovations, countless patrons had inquired about the opening date. Once business started, trade would be brisk. Their own children would learn the trade here, and after seven or eight years, equipped with every skill, they could open their own establishments and start families with ease.

Watching the three loyal matrons chatter behind his mother, Tie Xinyuan felt genuine happiness for her—at least she had found new purpose.

Mother and son sat in an upstairs private room, gazing out at the bustling crowds below.

“Let the land at West Water Gate go,” Wang Rouhua said with a smile. “We’ll have peace, and that’s enough.”

Tie Xinyuan laughed. “We can’t resist the Prince’s household. We might as well retreat. Didn’t you already ask Liu Yaren to sell the land? Why, then, did we still get an invitation to the Tower—once again delivered with a spear?”

Wang Rouhua gave a wry smile. “Liu Yaren replied that even if we decide to sell, we must do so at the Tower—publicly, before everyone—so no one can later accuse the Prince’s household of bullying a widow and orphan.”

“So we’re just props for appearances?”

“Exactly. Bao Zheng has already warned the Prince’s household that if they force a sale, he’ll drag the Prince before the Emperor and declare the transaction invalid. That’s why they insist we sign the contract at the Tower, in public, so it can’t be called coercion.”

Tie Xinyuan gave a bitter smile. “Mother, they’re offering us only twenty strings of cash for the land—isn’t that still forced sale? Under their power, even in public, could we possibly bargain?”

“Didn’t I say, wealth gone, peace remains? Stop worrying. Tomorrow, you’re coming with me to the Tower—let’s get it over with. I always feel that place will collapse. Why call it the Tower of Peril of all things? Our own Seventh Brother’s Noodle Shop is so much better. Every time someone remembers the name, it means they’re remembering your father…”

His mother’s peculiar logic was not something Tie Xinyuan dared to challenge. As long as she was happy and healthy, he had no complaints. “Wealth lost, peace gained” was a comforting phrase, but the relief was only on the surface; inside, it felt like a heavy stone pressing down.

Since his mother was only pretending to be cheerful, Tie Xinyuan felt it his duty to lift her spirits.

He had long noticed his mother’s particularity about food. Though she claimed to eat anything, she always took extra helpings of dishes she enjoyed and pushed such plates toward him, but never once had she offered him anything unappetizing.

Seeing her son busying himself with a small apron, Wang Rouhua teased, “Have you found another delicacy in your books, and plan to make it yourself?”

Tie Xinyuan grinned. “Confucius once listened to the Shao music for three months without tasting the flavor of meat; only after this dish appeared did he break free from the music’s spell. How could we not try it?”

Wang Rouhua burst out laughing. “Nonsense! You’re a scholar—don’t drag the Sage into your schemes.”

Chuckling, Tie Xinyuan led his mother to the kitchen. He took the leftover rice from lunch, some scallions, carrots, and eggs, and set to work.

Wang Rouhua sniffed, “So the Sage found himself again by eating leftovers?”

With practiced hands, Tie Xinyuan diced the carrots and gave them a quick fry, then chopped the scallions and mixed them into beaten eggs with a pinch of salt, pouring the mixture into an oiled pan. Once set, he added the rice and carrots, tossed them together, sprinkled on more salt, and soon produced a golden, fragrant plate of egg-fried rice.

Smiling, he set the dish before his mother. “The Tower of Peril is like this plate of fried rice—soon, it too will be gone.”

PS: Another round of troubles; please support with your recommendations. With respect, Jieyu.