Chapter Six: Coercion and Temptation

When Kong Sheng awoke, his mind was clear and refreshed, sweeping away yesterday’s gloom and agitation. There’s a saying: “If you cannot resist, then quietly enjoy the process of surrender.” He decided to settle down in this era, to become a dignified, cultured, and spirited man of the Great Tang—a man with knowledge, character, civility, and soul.

As for the current problem of making a living—was that even a problem?

A faint, inscrutable smile appeared at the corner of his lips. He took up brush and paper, and with bold strokes, wrote out a “House for Sale” notice. After all, he was alone and had no intention of remaining in this backwater of Jiangnan for long. Keeping such a large, dilapidated mansion served no purpose; better to sell it, exchange it for money and grain, and support himself through these difficult early days.

Based on his education, and assuming the historical records were accurate, he had a general idea of prevailing prices. During the height of the Tang Dynasty, copper coins had astonishing purchasing power—a dou of rice cost only twenty or thirty coins, and a string of cash could buy many daily necessities. But after the An Lushan Rebellion, prices soared: in Guanzhong, a dou of rice cost seven or eight strings, and even in the relatively peaceful south, it had risen to about 1,500 coins.

In troubled times, grain was dearer than gold—this was easy enough to understand.

Kong Sheng estimated that his mansion was worth over 500 strings, but in the current climate, a high price would mean it would not sell for now. For the sake of survival, he could only sell cheaply, but even so, it should fetch two or three hundred strings.

Once it was sold, he would have enough to escape his predicament.

At this thought, he couldn’t help but feel a stroke of luck. His “predecessor” had fortunately not been too shrewd, or the mansion would have been squandered long ago—then he would truly have been left with nothing but tears.

With the house deed and the notice in hand, Kong Sheng set off without looking back toward the western market district.

The marketplace was the most bustling and lively part of the city. Two main streets, crossing at right angles, stitched the district together. Lining the streets were shops, taverns, and numerous hawkers with their ground stalls. Shouts of vendors, raucous laughter from drinkers, neighing horses and lowing cattle mingled in the air. Handsome men and beautiful women strolled along the avenue, while farmers and merchants bustled about unloading goods or pushing carts. The pungent smell of burning cow dung hung thick, painting a vast, realistic canvas of the prosperity of Tang Dynasty Jiangnan.

As he walked, Kong Sheng made casual inquiries about current prices, finding them much as he’d expected: raw silk, 470 coins a bolt; purple damask, 2,640 a bolt; cotton shoes, 27 a pair; a hoe, 50; an ordinary mare, 4,320; a strong ox, 4,200; a lesser ox, 3,200…

Thus, pricing the mansion at 260 strings was already exceedingly low. But what choice did he have? He needed food on the table.

Kong Sheng reached the busiest part of the market, found a vacant spot next to a sesame cake vendor, and held his “House for Sale” notice high. Instantly, he drew a flurry of astonished looks.

Yang Residence.

Yang Qi, not wearing his official robes but instead a blue round-collared garment and a butterfly-winged feather crown, sat with clear, composed features and a short beard at his chin. Even in repose, he exuded the authority of a third-rank court official and regional governor.

Madam Zheng sat by his side, beaming, while their daughter Yang Xueruo stood respectfully at attention.

Hongmian hurried in to report, “Master, Madam, Young Miss, I’ve found out—Kong Sheng is actually hawking the Kong family mansion in the marketplace, asking 260 strings!”

“Selling the ancestral home?” Yang Qi was taken aback, then sneered coldly, “Truly an unworthy, hopeless fool. I wondered where he got such courage for decisive action—it turns out he’s plotting to squander the estate! Pathetic, lamentable, and utterly contemptible!”

Madam Zheng laughed scornfully, “Husband, whether that boy turns out well or not is none of our concern anymore. But about the annulment…”

Before she could finish, Yang Qi nodded coolly, “I know what must be done, no need to say more. Hongmian, inform the steward to tell Kong Sheng: if he follows my arrangements, I'll buy his family home at a high price. Otherwise, I’d like to see who dares buy it!”

There was no emotion in Yang Qi’s voice, just a matter-of-fact tone. With his towering power in Jiangnan, if the Yang family so much as let slip a rumor, no one in the entire commandery would dare buy Kong Sheng’s house, not even at a fraction of the price.

Hongmian took her orders and left.

Sure enough, from morning till noon, not a single person showed interest in the house. In fact, most people went out of their way to avoid him, their expressions strange and wary. Kong Sheng understood immediately: under the shadow of Yang Qi’s authority, he wouldn’t sell the house today, or even in a year. Even if he gave it away, no one would dare accept.

It wasn’t just the house. Any means of livelihood he tried to pursue would be stifled under Yang Qi’s watchful gaze. Yang Qi didn’t even need to say a word; a mere glance from him was enough for his subordinates and servants to enforce his will to the letter.

His stomach growled with hunger. He hadn’t eaten a grain since last night, and if not for sheer force of will, he might have collapsed in the street already.

He endured the relentless waves of hunger, clenching his teeth, cursing inwardly: This old fox Yang Qi is determined to drive me to ruin!

Yang Residence’s chief steward, Yang Kuan, strode over from the end of the street, hands clasped behind his back, sleeves billowing. The passing crowds stepped aside for him. Even an ordinary servant of the Prime Minister’s mansion was equivalent to a seventh-rank official—what more the chief steward of the “King of Jiangnan”?

Yang Kuan felt his master and mistress were far too lenient. If it were up to him, he’d simply have the soft-boned Kong boy seized and flogged—see how long his defiance lasted then.

But Yang Qi had strictly forbidden any drastic measures, repeatedly emphasizing the importance of the family’s dignity and reputation. The Yang family must not give the townsfolk cause for gossip. After all, Lord Yang was famed as a benevolent, virtuous governor, a kindly elder who ruled his people with compassion—how could he stoop to bullying his own kin?

Yang Kuan approached Kong Sheng, who was squatting at the corner, pale-faced and parched. With a faint, mocking smile, he said, “Young Master Kong, have you come to your senses? If you have, come with me to the Yang Residence and take your payment. My master said, as long as you cooperate, everything can be worked out. You want 260 strings for your house? Our Yang family offers you 300. What do you say?”

“A wise man knows when to yield. Understand this: if my master doesn’t give his approval, no one in Jiangning would dare buy your house. And if you anger him… well, you’re as good as dead!”

The latter part of his words was uttered in a chilling undertone.

Kong Sheng rose slowly, his eyes burning ever brighter. He gazed at Yang Kuan, a resolute smile curving his lips. In a calm voice, he replied, “Steward Yang, please tell Lord Yang to bring the money. Tomorrow at the Poetry Gathering at Wangjiang Pavilion, I shall attend as promised and guarantee the entire Yang household will be satisfied!”

With that, Kong Sheng swept his sleeve and strode away, his heart ablaze: Since the Yang family wants to play, I’ll play to the end! At worst, I’ll lay down my life for the Kong family—returning whence I came. What is there to fear?