9. Settling in Zunhua

In Wei Bancheng’s study—though calling it a study was a stretch—there wasn’t a single book. The room contained only a grand master’s chair, a large rosewood desk, some antiques displayed on a multi-tiered cabinet behind, and a few calligraphy scrolls and paintings adorning the walls, serving merely as decoration.

It was all just a pretense of refinement.

Additionally, there were four chairs arranged in pairs facing each other, with two chairs placed side by side in the middle. Small tables sat between the chairs, forming a tea-drinking area for guests.

Wei Bancheng sat in the main seat, Yang Fan beside him, and a small, stooped man dressed in a scholar’s robe occupied the lower seat.

The man was slender, slightly hunched, and appeared to be around forty years old. His cheekbones were prominent, with scarcely any flesh on his cheeks. His small eyes gleamed with a cunning light beneath bushy brows, and a sparse goatee adorned his chin. His demeanor carried a subtle air of slyness.

Wei Bancheng introduced him as his secretary, Ruan Zhuqing, a scholar.

Yang Fan smirked inwardly. Such wandering types often had uncertain identities. If memory served, Zhuqing was also the name of a small but venomous green snake.

Yang Fan repeated his account of the plump man’s story without concealing anything, speaking honestly since the plump man already knew everything and could be asked later for confirmation.

“Actually, I was just a bit lucky, nothing impressive,” Yang Fan said modestly.

Upon hearing Yang Fan mention the father and daughter of Mount Tu, the secretary’s ears perked up noticeably, and his expression changed considerably.

Five horses, four severed heads, four sets of armor, weapons, and silver—this was no small sum. The Eastern Depot’s agents would be enough to keep this sly snake cautious; if he grew reckless, it would spell trouble for everyone.

“Brother, I’m a few years older than you. If you don’t mind, let’s just call each other brothers,” Wei Bancheng said. His demeanor was straightforward and genial, but his sharp gaze revealed a man both rough and meticulous.

“Then this junior will take the liberty. Brother Wei’s favor is most humbling,” Yang Fan replied.

“Hahaha, no need for formalities among brothers. I wonder what plans you have now that you’ve stepped into society. Whatever I, Wei, can do, I’ll do my best,” Wei said.

Yang Fan understood he was an unknown figure with ties to the Eastern Depot, hardly someone a local potentate like Wei Bancheng would fraternize with casually. Local powers harbored too many unsavory secrets.

Wei Bancheng intended to repay this favor and forge a genuine friendship. As long as Yang Fan’s requests weren’t excessive, Wei would likely comply.

“This junior is new to worldly affairs and needs an identity. Brother Wei, do you have any government connections to help me register a household in Zunhua?” Yang Fan asked.

“That’s no problem at all. A trivial matter,” Wei Bancheng replied.

Yang Fan pondered that this favor was minor; he would need something bigger to truly rely on Wei Bancheng and feel secure.

He had seized over sixty taels of silver from those bandits. In Zunhua, he would at least need to buy a house or set up a shop to secure a means of livelihood.

Coming from a farming background, Yang Fan knew how to work the land, but with so little money, it was impractical. He had asked the plump man: a mu of dry land rarely yielded five dou of grain annually, and recent years of drought had worsened yields. Such land cost three taels per mu, making dry farming a losing proposition.

Irrigated land with canals was more valuable, guaranteeing harvests through drought or flood and highly sought after, yet no one was willing to sell. Such plots cost at least ten taels.

Paddy fields fetched even higher prices thanks to their abundant rice yields—two to three dan per mu, or four to five dan with dual rice and wheat crops. Yet such land was never sold. In the late Ming’s oppressive society, even those with good land but no powerful backing couldn’t hold onto it without trouble.

Yang Fan realized the heavy burdens on farmers and decided to leave farming to others.

“I want to run a blacksmith shop in the city. I’m strong and can forge iron. I’ll also recruit a few apprentices to make daily necessities, settle down first, and then take it from there,” he said.

“We Zunhua are the steel city of northern Ming. Most people here work in iron-related trades. That’s a viable path. I have a blacksmith shop in the northeast corner of town, acquired as debt repayment. It’s barely alive, with no time to manage it properly. It comes with a small hill outside the city containing a minor iron mine, and forty-five servants who used to be craftsmen, all with contracts transferred along with the shop. I’ll gift it all to Brother Yang,” Wei Bancheng offered.

“How can I accept such generosity? Please let me buy it from you, Brother Wei,” Yang Fan declined.

“Hahaha, my family’s vast. A third of the shops in the city belong to me. I’m a straightforward man and don’t bother with small businesses. Many of these shops are mismanaged and barely survive, losing money yearly. Giving this to you is like sharing my burden. Besides, you saved my only son and brought him back safely. You’re a benefactor of the Wei family. What’s a blacksmith shop and a small mine compared to that?” Wei said.

“No, no, I absolutely can’t accept,” Yang Fan insisted.

“Do you despise me, Brother Wei? Or think this gift too trivial?” Wei feigned anger.

His tone was half-joking; Yang Fan knew Wei did not want to owe favors indefinitely, as that would breed resentment.

“Brother Wei is magnanimous. I have nothing to say. I’ll accept your kindness,” Yang Fan agreed readily.

“Good, brother, I, old Wei, consider us kin now,” Wei said.

That night, Wei Bancheng hosted a banquet for Yang Fan. The atmosphere was joyous, with Wei’s stewards and shopkeepers coming to toast him.

Yang Fan’s tolerance for alcohol was excellent; by the end, he could still walk back to his room unaided.

Wei Bancheng, however, was somewhat intoxicated, staggering as he returned.

Late into the night, Wei lay on his bed, exhausted. Beside him was his wife, Madame Lin, her face flushed, eyes radiant. Her peach blossom eyes seemed to glisten with moisture as she coquettishly clung to his arm.

Having regained their only son, the couple was in high spirits, their passion lasting until the third watch before subsiding.

“Master, I think that young man is steady, strong, and thoughtful—a rare talent. We have no one like him in our household. Don’t you want to recruit him?” his wife suggested.

“Hmph, woman, what do you know? This lad is mysterious, his character unknown, and ruthless. How could I dare bring him home? Though he saved our son and we’ve favored him, I want to be cautious. I can’t see through him yet,” Wei replied.

“Hmph, you always brag about your prowess—how you defeated this one and that one. Yet you’re intimidated by an unripe youngster. I think you’re just a cowardly turtle,” she teased.

“Madam, that young man is entangled with the Eastern Depot and the Embroidered Uniform Guard. Our family has too many secrets to hide; we can’t afford to cozy up to those agents,” Wei said.

“Madam, let’s not speak of him,” Wei pleaded.

“Bah, you stubborn ghost,” she retorted.

Clouds veiled the moon; the night was deep and silent.

Yet Yang Fan could not sleep.

On his second night in this world, his mind swirled with countless thoughts.

For now, he was settled. When he might return was unknown.

Ah, since I’m here, I might as well make the best of it.

He sighed deeply.