Sudden Wealth

The first rays of dawn had barely broken, yet the underground Ruyi Casino in Qinghe County was already thick with smoke and noise, more raucous than the market square.

The stench of sweat, cheap tobacco, and desperate wails hit the nose like a punch.

"That bastard Jin Shijie! Why'd he have to die!"

"My coffin money! I bet it all on Young Master Jin taking first place—now it's all gone!"

Several gamblers, eyes bloodshot from losses, slumped to the ground, pounding their chests and stamping their feet. One even looked ready to ram his head into an iron-plated pillar.

Chen Ping pressed down the brim of his bamboo hat, pulled his patched short coat tighter, and slipped through the frenzied crowd without a sound.

No one noticed this nondescript, shabby kid. All eyes were fixed on the thick ledger in the dealer's hands.

Chen Ping walked straight to the counter, pulled a crumpled voucher from his chest, and slapped it lightly on the wooden surface.

"Cash it in."

His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a biting chill.

The casino manager, sweating from irritation, looked up with a glare. He was about to curse, but his eyes landed on the voucher.

Group D, Number Seven, Chen Ping. Bet placed on top ten.

The manager's hand trembled. The curse died in his throat.

If this had been yesterday, he'd have called the thugs to drag some pauper like this to the back alley and feed him to the dogs for trying to cash such a fortune.

But times had changed.

The man before him was yesterday's newly announced Imperial Military Examination Flower Examiner—a titled scholar with official backing.

The manager's fleshy face twitched twice as he forced out a smile uglier than tears.

"So it's Scholar Chen... Examiner Chen. This lowly one's eyes were blind. I'll cash it right away."

The surrounding noise died for a moment. Countless stares—jealous, awed, greedy—pricked at Chen Ping's back like needles.

He acted as if he didn't notice, simply tapping his fingers on the counter in a steady rhythm.

The manager didn't dare slack off, nor could he cheat on such a public account. Trembling, he pulled a thick stack of banknotes from the inner cabinet.

Five hundred fifty taels of principal, odds of one to ten.

After deducting the casino's ten percent cut, that came to exactly four thousand nine hundred fifty taels.

A thick stack of Great Tong Bank notes, exuding the intoxicating scent of fresh ink and oil.

Chen Ping reached out and took them, his fingertips brushing the rough paper for a moment.

This was the taste of power.

Without that Flower Examiner title, this money would have been a death warrant. With the title, it was simply well-earned fortune.

He didn't count it. He tucked it into his chest and turned to leave.

The casino still echoed with wails, but to Chen Ping, they sounded like heavenly music.

Stepping out of the dark underground den, the sunlight was blinding.

Chen Ping inhaled the cool morning air. The banknotes in his chest felt like a fire, warming him through and through.

Nearly five thousand taels of silver.

In a world where one tael could feed a family of three for a month, this sum could buy half a street of shops in Qinghe County.

But he didn't head straight home.

Chen Ping turned into the city's most impressive establishment, the Jinxiu Estate.

When he came out again, his faded, threadbare short coat had been tossed into the waste bin.

He now wore a cyan silk long robe, tied at the waist with a matching sash, and brand-new thousand-layer-soled official boots.

Clothes make the man, and the horse makes the rider.

At this moment, Chen Ping stood with his back straight as a ramrod, not a trace left of the cowering servant he'd once been.

He passed by Zhang's Butcher Shop on the corner.

The butcher, who used to roll his eyes whenever Chen Ping bought two ounces of meat, was now waving his cleaver to shoo away flies.

"Ten catties of pork head meat. Cut it into big chunks."

"And two jars of twenty-year Daughter's Red."

The butcher froze. He looked up to see a young man dressed like a noble, and was about to put on a fawning smile—but the features seemed familiar.

When he realized it was Chen Ping, the cleaver nearly dropped onto his foot. His jaw hung open in shock.

Chen Ping casually tossed a piece of silver. He didn't haggle over two coppers like he used to.

"Keep the change."

With the meat and wine in hand, Chen Ping turned and walked away, leaving the butcher clutching the silver, stunned in the breeze.

This feeling of being flush with cash—it was truly intoxicating.

But the clarity in Chen Ping's eyes hadn't faded.

He turned two street corners and slipped into an unremarkable little money shop.

Half an hour later, the thick stack of banknotes in his arms had thinned by half.

In the lining of his underclothes, there were now dozens of gold leaves as thin as cicada wings.

Banknotes were paper—in chaotic times, just wastepaper; only gold was hard currency.

Chen Ping found a dead-end alley, deftly pulled out needle and thread, and sewed the gold leaves carefully into the inner lining of his clothes.

The stitches were fine and tight, smooth and traceless.

Only after finishing all this did he let out a long breath, the ingrained sense of unease finally somewhat soothed.

As he stepped out of the alley, he ran straight into an old man waving a horsewhip and cursing under his breath.

It was his distant uncle from the Weiyuan Escort Agency, Liu Sanjin.

Liu Sanjin was fuming over losing money gambling. He looked up to see a well-dressed young gentleman blocking his way and was about to hurl abuse, but froze.

"Ping... Brother Ping?"

Liu Sanjin rubbed his bleary old eyes, unable to believe the imposing youth before him.

Yesterday, the news of the Imperial Military Examination results had rocked the city; he'd heard that a certain Chen Ping had placed as Tanhua. But he couldn't connect that to the poor relative who had once groveled before him begging for a Cultivation Technique.

Only now, seeing Chen Ping's familiar face, did Liu Sanjin feel like he'd been struck by lightning.

"Aiyo! My dear nephew!"

Liu Sanjin's wrinkled face instantly bloomed into a chrysanthemum smile, his back bending lower than a shrimp.

"I always said our old Liu family's ancestral graves were smoking with good fortune, producing a literary star like you—oh no, a martial star!"

"Uncle saw long ago that you were no ordinary fish in a pond. That copy of Longevity of Pine and Crane back then—Uncle gave you his most treasured possession!"

Watching Liu Sanjin's fawning, sycophantic expression, Chen Ping found it both amusing and tiresome.

That was human nature.

Poor in a bustling market, no one asks; rich in a deep mountain, distant relatives come calling.

Chen Ping couldn't be bothered to listen to his chatter. He casually pulled out a piece of silver weighing about an ounce and tossed it over.

"Go buy yourself a jug of wine."

Liu Sanjin fumbled to catch the silver, about to say more, but Chen Ping had already hailed a carriage.

"To Lin Manor."

Chen Ping climbed into the carriage and let the curtain fall, shutting out Liu Sanjin's stunned face.

The wheels rolled, rumbling over the blue stone road with a dull clatter.

Chen Ping closed his eyes, his fingers lightly tracing the edge of the wine jar in his arms.

Right now, he just wanted to see Yun Niang.

That foolish woman who had been willing to give him her coffin savings when he was at his lowest.

Now he had money, he had status.

The boasts he'd made, the promises he'd given—today was the day to fulfill them.

"Whoa—"

The carriage came to a steady stop.

The driver's respectful voice came from outside: "Master Juren, Lin Manor has arrived."

Chen Ping lifted the curtain and jumped down from the carriage.

Before him were the two familiar stone lions and that vermilion gate that had once seemed insurmountably high.

In the old days, he could only use the side door, not even daring to look directly at this main gate.

But now, he stood here, his posture straight as a pine.

The gatekeeper was about to shout, but when he saw the young man's silk robes and the juren waist token, his whistle-stick clattered to the ground in fright.

Chen Ping paid no attention to the gatekeeper's panic.

He raised his head, looking at the gilded plaque inscribed with the words "Lin Manor," his expression calm.

This threshold—he had finally trampled it underfoot.