Chapter Nine: The Jade-Faced Yama
In the twenty-first year of the Zhenguan era, thanks to the wealth and reputation she had accumulated through salt permits, rice, and other dealings, Liu Bao'er, though not yet officially in the public eye, had already quietly spread the name "that young lady of the Dou family" among certain astute circles in Chang'an's business community. Her wealth grew like a snowball, and the hope of redeeming her mother seemed within reach. However, the waters of Chang'an were too deep, and the waves she stirred up ultimately disturbed some of the giant crocodiles lurking in the depths.
That afternoon, Liu Bao'er had just come out of her grandmother's room when a middle-aged man, dressed impeccably in fine clothes but with the arrogance typical of servants of powerful families, blocked her way. He did not bow, but merely nodded slightly and handed her a gold-embroidered invitation card.
"Madam Dou, my Ninth Master invites you."
The post felt slightly heavy and carried a cool fragrance. The signature was just a single character, "Cui," written with strong, bold strokes that seemed to penetrate the paper.
Liu Bao'er's heart sank. What was bound to happen had finally arrived. Among the five surnames and seven clans, the Cui family of Boling. And this "Cui Jiulang" Cui Yan was the representative of the Cui family in Chang'an's commerce this generation, known as the "Jade-Faced Yama." All her previous actions, in the end, were still under the protection of the Dou family or by exploiting the rules of the marketplace. But this time, she was directly confronting one of the true rule-makers of this era.
She had no right to refuse.
The location was a private room on the top floor of the most prestigious "Drunken Immortal Pavilion" in the West Market. Pushing open the door, a delicate and refined sandalwood scent wafted out, completely isolating the room from the hustle and bustle of the outside world. On a soft couch by the window sat a young man in a moon-white robe, around twenty years old, with a handsome face, slightly upturned phoenix eyes, casually toying with a smooth, flawless jade ruyi in his hand. His posture was relaxed, yet he possessed an undeniable air of nobility and aloofness.
This is Cui Jiulang.
He didn't get up, or even look up, but casually pointed to the prayer mat opposite him with his Ruyi scepter.
"Sit." The voice was clear and melodious, like the striking of jade chimes, yet it carried an unquestionable tone of command.
Liu Bao'er knelt down on the prayer mat opposite him as instructed. Her eyes were lowered, her posture respectful, but her mind was already racing, calculating all sorts of possibilities and countermeasures, every brain cell on high alert.
Exquisite dishes and wines were served one after another, delicacies of every kind, appealing in both color and aroma, yet no one touched their chopsticks. Cui Jiulang slowly poured himself a cup of amber-colored wine, then set down the jade pot, raised his eyelids, and his gaze swept over Liu Bao'er with a cold, electric intensity.
"Madam Dou, you have quite the skills." He spoke, his tone unreadable, as if he were evaluating an object. "The splitting of salt permits and the manipulation of rice and millet—this ability to turn the tide is something even the old stewards in the West Market, who have been in business for decades, might not possess."
"You flatter me, Ninth Master." Liu Bao'er's voice was calm, deliberately carrying a hint of the timidity typical of her age. "It's just children playing around, a fluke, nothing serious."
"Playing around?" Cui Jiulang chuckled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes; instead, it was tinged with a cold mockery. Suddenly, he slammed a stack of hemp paper IOUs with red handprints onto the rosewood table with a crisp "smack."
It was a stack of genuine IOUs. The loan amount, the exorbitant interest rate, and the bright red fingerprints were clearly written on them.
Liu Bao'er's pupils contracted slightly, and she quickly and calmly replied, "What do you mean, Jiulang? Bao'er has never borrowed a single penny from the Cui family, or from any of the pawnshops or securities firms under the Cui family's name."
"You didn't lend it." Cui Jiulang leaned forward slightly, his beautiful phoenix eyes now sharp as knives, locking onto her as if trying to dissect her from the inside out. "But the wages your subordinates receive from Hu Liu are paid by my Cui family; the deed to the abandoned warehouse you rented to store salt certificates is in my Cui family's name; and... the paper you used to make those 'glutinous rice paper tickets' was produced in my Cui family's workshop in Zhongnan Mountain."
With each slow, deliberate word he uttered, Liu Bao'er's heart sank a little deeper, a chill running down her spine. She thought she was competing in a fair market, unaware that from the moment she used her first manpower and first piece of land, she had already fallen into a vast, omnipresent web woven by others. In the Tang Dynasty, there was no such thing as a purely free market economy! All transactions were dependent on an "ecological chain" woven by powerful clans and nobles.
He leaned back on the soft couch, resuming his previous relaxed posture, as if he had only casually exchanged a few words of conversation, and delivered his final verdict in a relaxed tone:
"According to the market rules, with compound interest, you owe the Cui family exactly three thousand strings of cash." He paused, his phoenix eyes slightly raised, and looked at Liu Bao'er. "Madam Dou, this price is already very fair. Out of respect for Old Madam Dou, we've overlooked your crime of impersonating the Cui family."
Liu Bao'er felt a chill run from her feet to the top of her head, instantly freezing her limbs and bones. All her wisdom and calculations seemed so pale and laughable in the face of such naked rules based on power and resource monopoly! This was not a business negotiation; this was a verdict! It was the crushing of the lowly by the powerful!
Inside the private room, the sandalwood incense still wafted gently, and the faint sounds of the bustling West Market outside the window only served to accentuate the deathly stillness of the place.
This is not the end, she knows. This is merely... the first cold raindrop before the storm arrives.
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