Chapter 110: Ruined in a Single Stroke

“Nonsense. Is this for you? This is the dowry money for Dongzhu. When the three of them marry in the future, they will have this. This was promised by my mother and me when they first came to our home.”

Cai Cong recalled that night of deep conversation by candlelight, drinking sweet soup in the shabby house. Back then, he had only just come into Li Shimin’s sight; everything was still so simple. Unlike now, where just thinking about court affairs made him weary. The idea of marrying the two actually stemmed from wanting some joy—to lighten the mood.

Xu Jie was gone. Cai Cong didn’t want to see his foolishly happy and bewildered smile. He hurried to set the date and marry the person off, so she wouldn’t wander the front yard idly, eyeing every servant as a rival.

Perhaps fearing someone would steal the bride midway, the next day a matchmaker came. After pretending to check the birthdates, slapping her thigh in delight and speaking a string of compliments, she pocketed a few taels of silver. The joy on the matchmaker’s wrinkled face never faded.

Next came the formal betrothal rituals: the three letters and six gifts. Even though Dongzhu had already been enslaved, her status still didn’t warrant a lord like Cai Cong going out. Sister Cai’s role as the host was already overstepping, but fortunately, no one cared about such minor matters then—otherwise, the ritual officers would have come to lecture them.

One cannot afford to be idle; idleness invites trouble. Seeing Cai Cong with nothing to do, Zhao Zhujie and the old fellows locked him in the academy. According to Zhao Zhujie, since the academy was opened, how could he not show off his skills?

Cai Cong wanted to retort, “Did the brothel owner have to perform personally?” But he dared not speak. These old men, though unimpressive now, had once roamed the world wielding swords. Given their martial prowess, Cai Cong knew he’d be crushed easily.

Besides teaching strange skills, Cai Cong spent his days helping compile the comprehensive history. After eight or nine months, they hadn’t even completed half of the Zhou dynasty’s chronicles.

These old fellows were too rigorous. Unlike Sima Qian, whose historical writings were highly readable but heavily subjective and arranged like serialized novels, these old men were strict. History was history—no guessing, no approximations. If uncertain, they insisted on consulting the records.

Cai Cong threw himself into the work, focused entirely on compiling the history. Every day, he banged tables, shouted hoarsely, his face flushed. Yet a loud voice didn’t mean he was right. These tireless scholars could easily outmatch him, and more often than not, he was the one defeated.

The saying that poetry, calligraphy, rites, and music cultivate one’s character was true. For half a month, Cai Cong forgot everything else, dedicating himself wholly to study. The mental knot inside him gradually unraveled; the anger brought back from the battlefield dissolved. He looked like an innocent, harmless boy.

Yet one day, excitedly clutching a paper he had barely found after an all-night search that proved his conclusion correct, Cai Cong was stopped outside the academy door.

Zhao Zhujie gave him a sidelong glance, exuding an air of ancient wisdom, and said, “The anger and heart’s knot have all dissipated. Why are you still here at the academy? Go do what you ought to. You’re unlearned but want to meddle in history? Be gone.”

Only then did Cai Cong realize that the resentment and murderous impulses in him had vanished. Facing these white-haired elders, he bowed sincerely. The elders could no longer endure such intense mental exertion but persisted for his sake.

Standing upright, he waved the paper proudly. “After a night of verification, I—”

Before he could finish, several elders quickly retreated into the courtyard, slamming the door shut with force. Muffled chuckles echoed inside.

Cai Cong stood stunned, then let out a heart-wrenching roar: “Have you no shame? You’ve bested me for half a month—would it kill you to let me win once? Open the door for me!”

“Master, what’s going on?” Cai Cong’s pitiful cries immediately drew the guards’ attention.

“Break down the door! Those old fellows inside are bullying me...”

“Ahem, oh, I forgot—I was just drying clothes outside. Need to go collect them.”

“I’ll help you.”

“Let’s go together.”

“Come back here! You all usually brag about being gods of war—why are you chicken now?”

“Master, who dares mess with those elders? You don’t even dare.”

Cai Cong grumbled, “Nonsense. If anyone dares to lay hands on me, I’ll beat them with a stick. Enough talking. Any news from outside recently?”

“It’s chaos out there. Floodwaters have begun to rage, many places are submerged beyond the dikes. The county magistrate of Chaoying County called to heaven in sorrow, sacrificing himself to calm the waters. That day the wind died down and the rain stopped; the next day, great winds uprooted trees and torrential rain poured down. Villages and towns in Chaoying County became a watery marshland. The townsfolk say the heavens are angry, and even the water cannot be subdued.”

“I warned this would happen. What has the court done?”

“Nothing can be done. The emperor ordered multiple times for the people to be relocated, but the county magistrate insists this is divine punishment and that he alone must quell the wrath of heaven. The emperor was enraged and decreed that no flood area should delay the evacuation of the people. Those who refuse will be forcibly moved.”

“Fools! Superstitious! Trying to ‘subdue the waters’? Why not bring a golden ox to suppress it? What about the people of Chaoying County?” Cai Cong’s anger boiled. This era was steeped in superstition, but he hadn’t expected officials to be so blind.

“The flood swallowed them all; countless perished. When our men arrived, it was too late. Only a handful were rescued.”

“Beasts! Deserving of death. They only care about their own fame, willing to gamble their lives—and those of the people—on this madness. I’ll see their names cursed for eternity.” Cai Cong flew into a rage, tossing the paper aside. He grabbed Tang Yi’s umbrella and slammed it down. Having nothing else to smash, he tore off his coat and stomped on it, then stormed home in fury.

He was not a god. Like all, he had desires and anger. So much effort had been spent to dispel his negative emotions, only for a magistrate’s folly to negate a month’s worth of work.

“Master, Chief Yan Dong is waiting for you at the village entrance. Will you meet him?”

“Meet him? Of course! Even His Majesty must be anxious and angry. Emptying the treasury to ransom the people—that’s a heroic scene!”

Cai Cong sneered as he strode toward the village entrance. Yan Dong’s modest, dilapidated carriage sat quietly by the roadside, the wood swollen and decayed from the rain.

“Now you won’t even enter my manor, let alone the village?”

Cai Cong tilted his head. Yan Dong poked his head out of the carriage. Standing in the rain in his thin clothes, Cai Cong’s lips were blackened from the cold. Yan Dong instantly scolded, “You worthless lot! Where’s the master’s robe? His umbrella? If the lord catches a cold, I’ll snap your necks!”

“Stop the fuss. What do you want? Speak quickly, don’t waste time.” Cai Cong’s impatience was fake—others wore professional smiles; he wore professional anger.

“His Majesty commands: ‘You worthless fool, have you had enough of your tantrums? If so, come to see me at once. No one in this world owes you anything. If you want to be a hero, don’t sit around like a coward. Who are you putting on a show for? Waiting for me to personally comfort you, to visit you thrice like Zhuge Liang?’”

Yan Dong raised an eyebrow, pointed his sword at Cai Cong, perfectly mimicking Li Shimin’s expression. Cai Cong blushed; he indeed had entertained such thoughts, as if sulking with someone.

“I’ll change my clothes and go to the palace.”

“His Majesty also said, don’t live so far away if you have nothing to do. Isn’t the lord’s manor in Chang’an comfortable enough? Please, consider us runners. It takes me over an hour to get here. Is that easy for me?”

“No matter how much you beg, it won’t help. As a child, isn’t it reasonable for me to stay by my mother’s side?”

Yan Dong fell silent. Any more and old grudges would surface. After a while, Cai Cong’s carriage came out, rocking as it headed toward Chang’an. Yan Dong watched enviously. Other people’s carriages were real carriages; his own was shameful to look at.

As Cai Cong entered the palace and had not gone far, several elderly eunuchs blocked his way, gazing at him coldly.