Chapter Twenty-Two: Slamming the Table

Since Hutu knew that the force behind was the Marquis of Wuning, he had a strategy ready.

Not all nobles are the same. In Beijing, there were plenty of wealthy, affluent nobles, but the Marquis of Wuning’s household was not among them. At best, the Marquis’s family was second-rate. Hutu felt confident in his own backing and believed the Marquis dared not offend him.

He, too, had powerful backing.

However, it was best to keep business and politics separate for now. If things went awry, he could bring out the big guns later.

“Send someone to deliver a summons to He Chong’an. I want to meet him.”

The summons from Hutu, the owner of Fengyu Trading Company, reached He Chong’an’s hands, inviting him to meet at Guangde Tower.

He Chong’an was not very familiar with Beijing, so he asked, “Seventh Uncle, do you know whose family Fengyu Trading Company belongs to?”

“That, I’m not sure about,” came the reply.

He Ziqi pondered for a while and said, “The household rarely involved itself in business before, so it’s unclear who is behind Fengyu. I’ll make some inquiries—there should be some traces.”

“But I have heard of Fengyu’s name. It seems to be the leading player in Beijing’s coal industry. This time, the visitor probably comes with ill intent.”

He Chong’an smiled, “No matter who comes, friend or foe, I must meet them.”

In other places, making money is simply making money.

But in Beijing, earning money is never just about profit.

Here, the heavens feel close.

He Chong’an had already seized a chunk of the coal business, but had yet to fully digest it.

What does it mean to fully digest it? It means defeating the countless watchful eyes lurking around.

This was no longer an economic issue but a political one.

Politics is the art of compromise.

Though He Chong’an was unwilling to share with anyone, he could not afford to appear inflexible.

If talks failed, who knew what moves they might make in the shadows?

“Seventh Uncle, do you know Guangde Tower?”

“One of Beijing’s four great theaters.”

“Good, let’s go watch a show together.”

Indeed, Guangde Tower was not just a building but a complex, housing several theaters.

He Chong’an, accompanied by He Ziqi and a few others including Xiong Dali, arrived outside Guangde Tower, first noticing the sea of sedan chairs and carriages.

Only officials could ride in the sedan chairs, and the carriages bore secret insignias.

He Ziqi, well-informed, initially pointed out which belonged to the Duke of Zhenguo’s family, which to the Duke of Anguo’s.

But as their numbers grew overwhelming, he stopped explaining.

---

Inside Guangde Tower, the noise was immense—learned men conversed and laughed, and the crowd was all aristocrats; no commoners in sight. The distant sounds of silk and bamboo instruments blended chaotically, while beautiful women glanced around nearby.

Every era has its own trends.

This was the place where the elite of this era gathered—the pinnacle of luxury clubs in the Great Xia.

He Chong’an presented the summons, and immediately someone from Guangde Tower led them through a long corridor into one of the theaters.

The theater had a stage in the center, with a dozen tables arranged below it. The upper floor also had many tables; roughly estimating, it could seat one or two hundred.

Yet, it was completely empty.

Only one man sat directly beneath the stage, watching intently as several performers sang back and forth. He seemed utterly absorbed, rhythmically slapping his thigh.

He Chong’an, unfamiliar with Beijing opera, guessed it was a martial performance.

He sneered coldly, then turned to leave.

Noticing He Chong’an’s departure, the lone spectator suddenly spoke up, “Since you have come, why leave so soon?”

“The host lacks hospitality; why should I pretend to be a guest?” He Chong’an stopped but did not look back.

“Hahaha—” Hutu laughed heartily, bitter in his heart. He had intended to give He Chong’an a warning, but never expected He Chong’an to outright reject it.

“Well said, Master He is a man of spirit.”

“My apologies for the rudeness. Please, sit. I, Hutu, will punish myself with three cups of wine.”

Before He Chong’an could respond, Hutu poured three cups in quick succession and drank them all, then overturned the cup to show no wine was hidden.

He Chong’an snorted coldly.

He took this self-punishment not as an apology, but as a show of force.

Still, He Chong’an did not argue further.

He was here to probe the other side’s intentions.

Turning around, He Chong’an sat across from Hutu and asked, “Master Hutu, you summoned me. What is the purpose?”

The music from the stage continued without pause as the performers sang earnestly.

Hutu smiled and said, “Master He, you are straightforward. I won’t beat around the bush. Master He’s business is large. Last month alone, Fengyu lost at least ten thousand taels.”

“Master He, you are formidable. I toast to you.”

“Drink if you must, but let’s discuss business first,” He Chong’an said, slamming his cup onto the table upside down. “Talk first, then drink.”

He was no stranger to etiquette but sensed Hutu’s insincerity—his domineering attitude and warnings were a facade.

He Chong’an wouldn’t fall for it.

Hutu’s expression darkened slightly; it had been a long time since anyone dared to disrespect him so openly.

---

Hutu’s voice turned cold, dropping the act entirely.

“Master He, I admit you are clever. But in the capital, it’s not just about cleverness. The entire city is the domain of founding nobles. The Marquis of Wuning’s household cannot support your business.”

“What do you mean?”

“Fengyu’s foothold in Beijing means there is backing behind it. Here is ten thousand taels. The coal briquette business—completely bought out. From now on, it belongs to Fengyu.”

“Only ten thousand taels for this coal business?” He Chong’an laughed in disbelief.

“That ten thousand is for you. As long as you agree to sell, I’ll handle the He family,” Hutu said. “Master He, think carefully. You are a secondary son and have no claim to the Marquis title. This ten thousand is yours to keep.”

He Chong’an understood Hutu’s meaning now.

Hutu wanted him to betray the He family.

Perhaps He Chong’an’s involvement in business made Hutu misunderstand him—that he was neglected within his family, or that the other noble households in Beijing were embroiled in chaos. Hutu saw an opportunity.

But He Chong’an found it laughable.

He had risked everything to hold the title of Marquis’s son. How could he give up for a mere ten thousand taels?

He ignored the offer and said, “Master Hutu, if I had known you were the only one here today, I wouldn’t have come.”

Hutu frowned. “What do you mean, Master He?”

“I mean our status is unequal,” He Chong’an replied. “My surname is He. My father is the Marquis of Wuning. I come here to meet people, not dogs.”

Furious, Hutu shouted, “Are you calling me a dog?”

“Aren’t you?” He Chong’an sneered. “I represent the He family; I alone decide this coal business. Who do you represent? Say it, and I might think better of you—as a dog with a master. Say nothing, and you’re just a stray.”

Hutu slammed the table and stood up, pointing a finger at He Chong’an.

“You—”

“Dali,” He Chong’an called out.

“Yes, Third Young Master,” Xiong Dali responded immediately.

“That slap on the table is weak. Show him how it’s done,” He Chong’an said.

“Yes!” Xiong Dali rose and struck the table with a palm like a hammer, flipping it over.

In an instant, dishes, wine pots, and utensils scattered across the floor in chaos.

The opera performers on stage all knelt down, motionless, fearing any sudden movement.