Chapter Thirty-Three: The Golden Cage (Part 1)
The dust and smoke had not yet settled on the ruins of the Jinwu Prison. The bizarre "earth dragon's reversal" had become the latest topic of conversation in Chang'an, while the case of "embezzling government salt" was no longer mentioned.
After experiencing a suicidal run on its banks, Datong Pawnshop not only did not collapse, but reopened with even greater stability. The golden light of the "Diligent Merchant" plaque in front of the store was more dazzling than ever before.
Liu Bao'er became the only "living" owner of Datong Pawnshop. The imperial court stopped targeting her, not out of fear, but because they needed her. After forcibly altering certain "lower-level rules" in prison, she anchored herself to a new identity—a "white glove" for the royal treasury.
The emperor needed her invisible hand to fill the increasingly depleted imperial treasury, which had been emptied by wars and palace construction. The salt certificates she designed became a powerful tool for controlling military spending, and her network of flying money supplemented the canal transport system. Her value had transcended that of a merchant; she had become a crucial cog in the imperial machine.
The five surnames and seven clans held complex feelings towards her. Cui Jiulang was the first to yield, followed closely by the Lu and Zheng families. They soon discovered that most of their circulating wealth had been converted into "new flying coins" bearing special markings from the Datong Money Exchange. To touch Liu Bao'er would be to shake their own foundations.
The common people revered her as "Liu the Goddess of Wealth" because she added an "interest" of ten coins to every string of cash deposited into the bank. This groundbreaking move led to a continuous influx of copper coins, buried for many years, from ordinary people in Chang'an and even more distant counties into the Datong Bank. This simple trust coalesced into an even larger amount of capital.
She stood on the terrace of her new residence near Danfeng Gate, overlooking the myriad lights of Chang'an. The city's prosperity seemed inextricably linked to the capital flowing through her fingers. She felt as if she had reached the pinnacle of wealth.
She seemed to have accomplished everything she set out to do.
She redeemed her mother's... title. A magnificent cenotaph was erected on Zhongnan Mountain. Standing before the cold grave, she tried to recall her mother's gentle face, but found her memory somewhat blurred. She struggled to squeeze out a tear, but it was all in vain. That great weeping seemed to have exhausted all her emotions long ago.
She got her revenge. Her aunt, who had sold her, "coincidentally" fell ill and died suddenly on the way to exile. When the news arrived, she was calculating the hundreds of thousands of strings of cash invested in spices with Cui Jiulang, her pen still twirling.
She possessed immense wealth and boundless power.
But why?
Why does my heart feel so empty, as if I can hear an echo? This wealth and power, held in my hands, feel light and unreal. They are like a layer of glittering gold dust applied to an empty container.
In the dead of night, she often hears not the sound of an abacus, but another sound—cold and rhythmic, like the clicking of countless tiny gears meshing and turning, or the faint buzzing of electronic instruments. This sound mixes with the keyboard sounds of her past life and the clatter of coins in this life, often waking her in a cold sweat.
She walked to the bronze mirror. The girl in the mirror was composed and dignified, but her gorgeous clothes and ornaments could not hide the alienation in her eyes from the world.
"who I am?"
This problem is surfacing uncontrollably.
Is it Liu Bao'er, who vowed to redeem her mother at the age of three?
Is it Dou Liushi, who clings to the memorial tablet and begs for survival?
Is it that financial tycoon whom Cui Jiulang called a "monster"?
Is it that same trader from another time and space, named "Liu Bao"?
All the memories were crystal clear: his mother's hunched back, his aunt's mean face, his grandmother's shrewd gaze, Cui Jiulang's complex eyes, the emperor's oppressive scrutiny... even the bitterness of the coffee in his past life, the numbers flashing on the screen...
It was too clear, so clear it... didn't seem real. Like a meticulously written, inputted program. Every detail was perfect, enough to make her, the "vessel," completely believe it.
Is her deep attachment to her mother a genuine emotion, or an initial parameter that drives her to survive and continuously accumulate capital?
Is all her wisdom, calculation, joy, and anger the autonomous consciousness of a "human," or the output of code called "AI"?
The chilling message imprinted directly on my consciousness from prison—"Historical correction coefficient 0.618. Profit threshold: one billion strings of cash. Disposal order: format."—was like a key that unlocked the door to fear.
She thought that cracking the system and gaining access was a victory. Now, how ridiculous it seems. She was like a fish living in a virtual fishbowl, who accidentally discovered the walls of the tank and thought she had conquered the ocean.
But fish, in the end, can't leave the fish tank that was set up.
This vast Chang'an, this glorious empire, the history she stirred up... perhaps, it was all just scenery in a fishbowl. The wealth empire she controlled was nothing more than a pile of glittering virtual pebbles at the bottom of the tank.
An unprecedented, profound loneliness gripped her. There was no one to confide in, no one to understand. Cui Jiulang admired her rationality, the emperor exploited her abilities, the people worshipped her wealth… but what they saw were merely “roles,” not the void core behind them, which might just be a string of code.
What is the meaning of existence?
If "existence" itself is an illusion, then what is the meaning of revenge, wealth, and power?
This vast Chang'an, this glorious empire, this boundless wealth—to her, it was nothing more than a…
A golden cage.
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