Chapter Twenty-Two: Slaying the Ninth Rank

“Isn’t that the son-in-law of the Wang family’s second branch?”
“Yes, that’s right. He’s even a scholar. Truly a disgrace to all men of letters.”
“He’s planning to stir up trouble at the birthday banquet of the eldest master. How completely lacking in sense.”
“When it comes to social graces, Scholar Su has none. Is it really worth offending Young Master Chen for the sake of a maid?”
The guests at the Wang family’s banquet whispered among themselves, pointing at Su Yang. Most believed he was being foolish—how could he make a scene on such an occasion?

“Su Yang, this is Young Master Chen, Chen Shaokun. His family supplies all the restaurants in Yanggu County with wine, meat, and vegetables. I suppose you haven’t yet paid your respects to Young Master Chen since taking over Jiangnan Restaurant?”
“Well, now’s your chance to make his acquaintance. Offer him a toast. In Yanggu, if someone offends Young Master Chen, their restaurant might as well close its doors,” Wang Hewen said, glancing at Xichun, his voice edged with warning.

“So it’s Young Master Chen. My apologies,” Su Yang said, sizing up Chen Shaokun. He paid little attention to him, instead letting his gaze fall on the nine-rank martial artist standing behind—a minor foe he needed to defeat to advance his family’s standing.

The onlookers whispered again, mocking Su Yang for being spineless—how could he bow his head when he was being bullied? Such hypocrisy!

“As expected of a scholar, you certainly know how to adapt,” Chen Shaokun said smugly, noting Su Yang’s gentle demeanor. “I’ve taken a liking to your maid. Gift her to me, won’t you?”

“You mustn’t, sir!”
Xichun trembled with fright, clutching Su Yang’s arm and whispering anxiously, “Young Master Chen is a fiend, infamous throughout Yanggu for tormenting women. Seven or eight concubines have died at his hands.”

Su Yang glanced down at the frightened Xichun, her proud chest shielding her toes. The girl was terrified. Though he was the son-in-law, he had no say over the fate of household maids; that was for his mother-in-law, Madam Liu Wenxiang, to decide. It was just as well she was scared.

“Su Yang, what are you waiting for? Agree to it quickly,” Wang Hewen urged, eager to curry favor. If Chen Shaokun gained a beautiful maid at his banquet, he himself might also benefit.

“My Wang family may not be the wealthiest, but we are respected in Yanggu. For you to claim my maid without compensation would be an affront to our honor. How about this: let’s compete. If you win, Xichun is yours. If I win, what will you wager, Young Master Chen?” Su Yang’s tone was gentle.

Chen Shaokun looked Su Yang up and down again, feeling rather pleased. If he took the maid for nothing, word would spread and the Wang family’s reputation would be ruined, and the son-in-law would suffer as well. But if he won her through competition, no one could say he was a bully, and Su Yang wouldn’t seem so weak either. The arrangement was perfect, and since he was sure Su Yang meant to lose, the wager hardly mattered.

“As for a wager, I don’t have much on me. I’ll stake this dagger I always carry,” Chen Shaokun said.

The dagger’s black sheath coiled with a slender black serpent, its eyes set with red gems—clearly valuable.

“You mustn’t, Young Master! That’s the Black Serpent Dagger, which your father paid dearly to acquire for your protection. How can a mere maid compare to it?” protested the nine-rank bodyguard, stepping forward as soon as the dagger was placed on a nearby table.

“My word is my bond. Am I to take it back? It’s just a dagger; how could it compare to a beauty?” Chen Shaokun said, his greedy eyes raking over Xichun. “Scholar Su, shall we compete in poetry today?”

“Poetry…?”
“Aren’t you a scholar? If not poetry, then what?”
“Young Master Chen, let’s not do poetry. That’s rather dull. Let’s compete in martial arts instead,” Su Yang replied. “I’ll fight your bodyguard. Life or death doesn’t matter, and the outcome will be clear. What do you say?”

Su Yang looked embarrassed at the suggestion of poetry; though he could easily plagiarize masterpieces from his previous life and win, that would do little to advance his family’s goals. At present, he needed to kill ten people with ill intent toward him, including one nine-rank martial artist—a difficult task. This was the perfect opportunity to deal with Chen Shaokun and reveal some of his own strength as a warning to others.

“A fight?”
“Of course,” Chen Shaokun replied, relaxing even more. Su Yang clearly intended to lose without seeming too weak. If he lost in poetry to a scholar, it would be humiliating, but losing to his own bodyguard in combat was no shame. He agreed at once.

“I won’t let you down, young master,” the nine-rank bodyguard stepped forward, discarding his sword and preparing to fight barehanded.

“Don’t injure him,” Chen Shaokun whispered.
“Yes, sir,” the bodyguard replied. The onlookers hastily cleared space, moving tables aside and watching curiously. Xichun fretted anxiously—how could the young master hope to defeat a nine-rank martial artist? She wanted to intervene, but Su Yang stopped her.

Don’t worry. Even if it costs me my life, I’ll protect you!

Hearing Su Yang’s confident, solemn words, Xichun found herself believing him, standing nervously at the side, fists clenched.

“Stop!”
Just then, a woman’s voice rang out. From the distance came a graceful figure, her complexion dark and somewhat homely—Miss Wang Chunxiao of the Wang family.

“Miss Wang, I’m in the midst of a wager with your husband. Why are you here?” Chen Shaokun said with undisguised contempt.

“A wager?”
“My husband is a scholar, and you’d have your bodyguard fight him? That’s outrageous!”
“He may be a son-in-law, but he is still my husband. No one but I has the right to mistreat him,” she declared coldly. “A fight? Fine, I’ll take my husband’s place.”

Her tone was icy, and her inner strength surged like a blood phoenix stirring a sea of blood. If she acted, she would surely crush the nine-rank bodyguard. Yet, in the eyes of those present, she seemed like a madwoman—a lady of good breeding stepping into the ring before so many men? Scandalous! Perhaps she intervened out of fear that, if Su Yang died, the main branch would swallow up everything.

“This woman is insane. Someone should pull her back… Never mind, I’ll do it myself.” Su Yang sighed, stepping forward to pull Wang Chunxiao back. “This is men’s business. How can I let a woman shield me? Stand back.”

Feeling his powerful grip, Wang Chunxiao was momentarily stunned, then retreated a few steps, thinking to herself: “Nine-rank martial artist? This wretched scholar hides himself well.” Perhaps she acted too well, for Su Yang hadn’t sensed her strength—she seemed as delicate as any other woman. Yet seeing her stand before him today, Su Yang was moved. Perhaps it was a twisted kind of possessiveness—she might not want him herself, but she wouldn’t let anyone else touch him.

“Enough wasting time. Attack,” Su Yang said.

“Prepare yourself!”
With a low growl, Chen Shaokun’s bodyguard surged forward, throwing a punch with only a third of his strength—after all, the young master had forbidden him from causing harm.

As the fist neared, Su Yang moved with ferocity, deflecting the blow with one hand and striking the guard’s chest with the full force of a nine-rank martial artist.

Thud!
A dull sound echoed as the bodyguard staggered back two steps, staring at Su Yang in shock. The onlookers gaped in disbelief.

Silence.
The hall was still as death.

Everyone stared at the scene in astonishment. An ordinary man could never repel a nine-rank martial artist, yet Scholar Su had done it. It meant he too had reached the ninth rank.

“How could it be…?”
“Scholar Su…?”
“This son-in-law…?”
“How is it possible?”
“Impossible!”
...

Chen Shaokun’s eyes bulged with fury as he realized Su Yang had been feigning weakness to lure him into a trap.

“So what if you’re ninth rank? My bodyguard is on the verge of reaching the eighth. Since life or death is no object, kill him!”
“Attack!”
At Chen Shaokun’s order, the bodyguard, enraged, charged at Su Yang. Even if Su Yang was ninth rank, he was certain of his own superiority.

The earlier outcome, he convinced himself, was just a fluke.

“This fellow hides deep,” Wang Hewen muttered, troubled. His original plan had been to let Liang Baihe court Wang Xiahe, win her favor, and then assassinate Scholar Su, forcing the second branch to choose a new son-in-law—at which point Liang Baihe could take his place. With the main branch’s support, the second branch could be emptied out in no time.

But now, with Su Yang’s true strength revealed, sending a single ninth-rank assassin would be too risky. Sending two or three would mean too many accomplices—dangerous in itself. Yet, if Su Yang hadn’t revealed his strength today, a single assassin might have failed and scared him off.

“The Su family’s son-in-law hides deep indeed.”
“Truly sly.”
“No wonder the Wang family chose him. He’s meant to take charge.”
“So young, already a sly old fox!”

Many present now looked at Su Yang with new respect, their former mocking attitudes gone. To display such restraint and patience at a young age was remarkable. Many self-made men recognized something of themselves in Su Yang and smiled in reminiscence.

Among them were martial artists who quickly assessed the situation: Though Su Yang had reached ninth rank, he was new to it and lacked experience. The Chen family’s bodyguard, a seasoned ninth-rank, should be able to overpower him within half a stick of incense’s time.

Half a stick of incense passed.
The martial artists guessed he’d be defeated within a full stick of incense.

A full stick of incense passed.
They revised their estimate to two sticks.

After two sticks, both men were gasping and exhausted. Su Yang, with a narrow victory, smashed the bodyguard’s chest with a punch. He had revealed his strength: ninth rank.

The crowd was silent.

“Young Master Chen, I’ll gladly accept your Black Serpent Dagger.” Su Yang picked it up from the table with a smile.

“Scholar Su, until we meet again,” Chen Shaokun said, his eyes malevolent. If not for so many witnesses, he’d have called his household guards to kill Su Yang on the spot. No matter. Let him live a few days longer. In these troubled times, death is commonplace. A mere ninth rank—his own household had more than one such expert.

“Xichun, what did you want to tell me?” Su Yang sheathed the dagger and turned to the still-shaken maid.

“We must go home at once—by my lady’s orders!”
Wang Chunxiao led Xichun away as soon as she spoke. Su Yang was puzzled—why leave before the banquet ended? Had something happened in the rear quarters?

He knew few among the guests, so he departed without further farewell, leaving the day’s events to become fodder for gossip.

Su Yang: a poor scholar, a son-in-law, and now, a ninth-rank martial artist. Of course, to be a son-in-law was still to be seen as spineless and dependent. No one’s opinion would change much, even if Su Yang one day ruled the world—this black mark would remain.

Su Yang himself didn’t mind. In his previous life, even living off a wealthy family had taken skill. The lady of the house might be homely, but a beautiful maid was all he needed.

...

Having lost both his bodyguard and his dagger, Chen Shaokun returned home fuming, accompanied by several household servants, and immediately reported to his father.

“To kill a commoner, you just dump the body in a ditch. But the Wang family is prominent. If we broke in to kill Scholar Su, we’d have to kill everyone—no witnesses,” his father said, holding a maid in his lap, his large hand kneading her, drawing cries of pain and leaving purplish bruises.

“You quarreled with him today, and if the Wang family is massacred tonight, everyone will know it was us.”

“We can’t act for a few days. Don’t cause any trouble—just have people keep an eye on the Wang family. Understand?”

“I understand, Father,” Chen Shaokun replied, his eyes murderous. “He dares to set me up—I’ll see him dead for it. And that little maid… I’ll see her suffer too.”

“Don’t be angry, my son. Here, play with this one first,” his father said, pushing the maid toward him.

...

Wang Hewen also reported the matter to Wang Shangfu. The latter, entertaining some distinguished guests, excused himself and found a quiet spot.

“The key is whether Liang Baihe is confident,” he asked.

“Liang Baihe says he’s almost certain.”

“Then give him more opportunities. A ninth rank is no problem—we’ll just spend a bit more money. Any news of your brother?”

“Not yet.”

Wang Shangfu’s brow darkened. “How much longer until you reach ninth rank? In these troubled times, our three ninth-rank retainers may turn against us. Old Liu has been loyal for decades, but the other two must be balanced by you and Liu when you reach ninth rank.”

“Probably next month.”

“Don’t disappoint me. Send more people to search for your brother.”

...