Chapter 423: The Min Clan

Whirlwind Stronghold was gone.

It was said the bandit nest had existed in the Mengshan region for quite a few years.

Long ago, a group of boatmen and laborers had grown tired of oppression, killed the overseer above them, gathered together, and established a stronghold in the mountains.

Ordinarily, they committed murder and robbery when opportunities appeared.

At other times, merchant caravans would pay them to serve as escorts.

They worked both sides of the road.

Black and white.

And in their own way they followed rules.

After all, a stronghold that refused to follow any rules would never have survived this long.

Then one day the men of this stronghold suddenly saw a group of Yan soldiers entering the mountains.

Their blood heated.

Their heads went hot.

And they decided to assassinate the Yan commander.

Nobody had ordered them to do it.

No outside faction stood behind them.

And somehow the more spontaneous the act was the less profit or calculation lay behind it the harder it became to adapt to.

It felt as though they had violated some unspoken set of rules everyone else had quietly agreed to follow.

Chu had its own problems.

First of all, it was certainly not some perfect situation where civil officials despised wealth, military men did not fear death, nobles and commoners stood as one, and everyone worked together with a single heart.

If Chu truly possessed that kind of unity then Yan would not be dominating the north and staring south today.

Great Chu would have launched northern campaigns of its own, expanded its borders, and shaken the realm with its might.

As for the specific aftermath whether every old man, woman, and child inside Whirlwind Stronghold had truly been killed whether one lucky child had somehow survived, hidden for years, and would one day come searching for Zheng Fan to avenge the stronghold—

Count Zheng no longer cared about stories like that.

He had not even asked the bandit chief’s name.

Jin Shuke found wine for the man.

Fed it to him.

Then sent him on his way.

Zheng Fan never looked at him a second time.

Some people.

Some events.

Were destined to become scenery along the road of this life.

It had not actually been many years since Zheng Fan awakened in this world.

Yet he had already seen a great many different landscapes.

Sometimes—

Zheng Fan himself became confused.

Was this world truly real to him?

Or was he in the end nothing more than a hurried traveler passing through?

That kind of mood properly belonged to poets.

They would borrow the feeling to express themselves and turn emotion into verse.

Little Sixth had once said that so-called poets merely wrote down the sentimental, affected thoughts everyone possessed somewhere inside their hearts.

Why did only the poets write them?

Why did ordinary people not?

Because most people in this world were busy earning food and clothing.

They were trapped by mundane affairs.

They did not possess the same amount of idle time poets enjoyed.

Count Zheng rather liked this sort of self-indulgent mood.

See a person.

Encounter an event.

Then sit atop a horse, swaying along.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

Think about things.

Not for any practical purpose.

Just for the pleasure of thinking.

Perhaps that was part of the true meaning of life.

One needed labor to feel substantial.

And occasional sentimentality to cultivate the spirit.

The assassination at the horse ranch came to an end.

When it came to “silencing loose ends,” the Fan Clan and the people tied into its interest network acted even more decisively than Zheng Fan himself.

Zheng Fan needed only continue forward with his troops.

Behind him others would painstakingly sweep away every trace his force had left behind.

Once upon a time, Beifeng Commandery had also been filled with military strongmen and fortified estates.

But compared with the old Beifeng Commandery the Mengshan region was even more extreme.

After all, Chu operated under a system dominated by great aristocratic houses.

Rule by great clans still required at least some concern for appearances.

But a noble inside his own fief possessed the legal right to decide life and death.

A true local emperor.

As local authority strengthened imperial authority inevitably weakened.

The two powers rose and fell against one another.

There was no such thing as both permanently growing together in harmony.

That was why such a strange picture could exist.

At Zhennan Pass vast armies massed to prevent Yan from marching south.

Yet here in Mengshan—

Count Zheng led light cavalry into Chu and received enthusiastic hospitality everywhere he went.

Xiayong was a county city.

It marked roughly the final stretch of Mengshan territory.

Once they crossed Xiayong they would finally leave the rugged mountain region behind and could more or less say they had entered Chu’s true interior.

Xiayong did not belong to the Fan Clan.

The Fan Clan was a servant family of the Qu Clan.

It conducted commerce and generated wealth for the Qu household.

The Fan Clan did not possess the qualifications to own a fief.

But Xiayong also in a different sense did belong to the Fan Clan.

This merchant household had long since extended its feelers into nearly every corner of the county.

Its influence radiated throughout the greater Mengshan region.

The ease with which Zheng Fan had entered Chu could be regarded as an opportunity for the Fan Clan to display its own capabilities.

A way of showing Count Zheng exactly how much value the family possessed.

Little Sixth had maintained rather deep contact with the Fan Clan.

That relationship made Zheng Fan vaguely feel that the connection had already gone beyond an ordinary partnership between smugglers.

But Little Sixth had merely introduced the people.

The actual business—

Count Zheng would negotiate himself.

Little Sixth only served as intermediary.

For one thing, Little Sixth still had to remain in Yanjing.

He could not possibly leave the capital.

At the very least, he could not leave Tiancheng Commandery.

Rumors about the Emperor of Yan’s poor health had never stopped.

Second merchant affairs were often tangled beyond measure.

Once the issue became soldiers and blades, however things tended to become much simpler.

Zheng Fan’s force did not enter Xiayong proper.

Instead they stopped at a manor outside the city, built beside a mountain.

It was one of the Fan Clan’s detached residences.

A summer estate.

Quiet.

Secluded.

Xue San was already waiting there.

The moment he saw Zheng Fan, he dropped directly to his knees.

“Master, punish this subordinate!”

As Master’s “eyes” and “ears,” Xue San had spent these days running everywhere.

Yet he had still failed to help Master avoid that assassination attempt.

That was his failure.

Every Demon King possessed his own area of responsibility.

His own task.

His own duty.

That was why, the instant the giant bolt came down that night, Siniang’s first reaction had been to curse Xue San as useless.

As a Demon King you could choose not to work.

You could simply lie there and enjoy peaceful days.

But if you decided to take responsibility for something then you could not allow mistakes.

Zheng Fan did not make things difficult for Xue San.

He only said calmly:

“Get up.

“It’s fine.”

Nobody could calculate every possibility.

Xue San had been watching the movements of Chu troops in the area.

To put it bluntly even if the Fan Clan or soldiers from the forts along this route had decided to attack, so long as Zheng Fan’s entire force had not first been drugged unconscious, his men would still have been capable of protecting him.

At the very least they could have broken away and escaped.

Nobody had expected some bandit chief to suddenly stand up and fire the first arrow of Chu resistance against the invader.

Xue San did not act sentimental.

He stood.

Then reported:

“Master.

“This is one of the Fan Clan’s detached residences.

“The Fan Clan withdrew all of its own people beforehand.

“We control the entire place now.

“The Fan Clan understands the rules very well.

“They also told this subordinate in advance that later today, the head of the Fan Clan will personally bring members of his household to pay respects to Master.”

**They understand the rules very well.**

That was Xue San’s evaluation of the Fan Clan.

On the road of becoming Chu traitors the Fan Clan had demonstrated exactly what a highly professional traitor looked like.

They had given Zheng Fan, this great Yan dog serving beneath the Marquis of Jingnan, a genuine sense of being treated as though he had returned home.

Withdraw their own guards.

Have the clan head personally arrive with his family.

That courage damn.

Truthfully—

Zheng Fan himself could not have done it.

The troops entered the manor and began strengthening the defenses Xue San had already arranged.

Zheng Fan went inside as well.

Rice.

Flour.

Oil.

Salt.

Everything had been prepared.

Even the bedding was new.

Siniang opened a tea jar.

She leaned close and smelled it.

“Master.

“This is Great Marsh Fragrant Tongue.”

The Great Marsh, from what Zheng Fan understood, should be an enormous wetland filled with mystery.

It was said spirit creatures still lurked deep within it.

Chu also possessed an old legend.

When the first Marquis of Chu obeyed the Son of Heaven of Great Xia and opened new territory, a fiery phoenix had emerged from the depths of the Great Marsh and become the Marquis’s mount.

With its help he drove out the hundred Shanyue tribes.

Great Marsh Fragrant Tongue was a famous tea produced deep within the marsh.

It grew in remote areas wrapped in poisonous miasma.

Every year, countless tea pickers died or were injured gathering it.

That made the tea exceptionally expensive.

The furnishings inside the room could only be described as elegant.

Nothing was outrageously valuable.

But nothing felt shabby either.

Only this enormous jar of tea had been left here with almost provocative generosity.

It displayed the host’s true wealth and the seriousness with which the Fan Clan regarded its guest.

Details like that made Zheng Fan very comfortable.

More precisely, almost anyone receiving such hospitality would feel comfortable.

Unfortunately, Count Zheng had always been an expert at destroying refined atmospheres.

The first thing he asked Siniang shattered the entire mood of tea appreciation.

“Poisoned?”

Caution was not cowardice.

Dying for no reason, without even understanding how that would be truly humiliating.

Siniang examined the tea carefully.

Then confirmed:

“Master can rest assured.

“No poison.”

“Good.

“Then boil a whole pot.”

“A whole pot?”

“Didn’t you say this tea is expensive?”

“It is said that when the late Emperor of Chu was alive, even he allowed himself only one small cup each night before sleeping.”

“Perfect.

“The Fan Clan wants to show off its wealth.

“We’ll accept it.

“Boil it.”

“Yes, Master.”

“When it’s done, let it cool.

“We’ll drink it like iced tea.”

“Yes, Master.”

Siniang began boiling the tea.

Great Marsh Fragrant Tongue truly deserved its reputation.

The moment the leaves entered the water, fragrance filled the entire room.

Clean.

Refreshing.

In the past, Zheng Fan had always thought incense, sandalwood, and all those deliberate fragrances were unnecessary nonsense.

But this time he genuinely enjoyed it.

Without realizing it he leaned back in his chair.

And fell asleep.

Why had the late Emperor of Chu drunk one small cup before bed every night?

First the tea was outrageously expensive and extremely scarce.

Second it soothed the spirit and helped one sleep.

Siniang did not fall asleep.

She always kept one part of her attention guarded.

To put it plainly trying to drug a Demon King using some crude trick was extremely difficult.

The Demon Child did not possess a physical body.

Without a body, what exactly were you poisoning?

Liang Cheng was nearly immune to poison.

His own corpse body already contained terrifying corpse toxins.

A’Ming drank blood and practically nothing else.

Xue San himself was an expert in poisons.

Fan Li’s body was enormous.

Any drug capable of putting him down required far more than some tiny pinch slipped into food.

As for Siniang heh.

Any woman who had experience playing in clubs or dance halls understood one very basic rule: never drink something handed to you by a stranger.

Siniang continued boiling the tea.

Following Master’s instruction, she poured the finished brew into a large basin and left it there to cool.

Then, she brought over a blanket and gently covered the sleeping Zheng Fan.

A few years earlier, every time Master went on campaign, he had suffered greatly.

Now he paid increasing attention to preserving his health even while fighting.

In Master’s own words:

*I worked that desperately back then. If I still have to work just as desperately now, what was the point of all the desperate work I did before?*

Zheng Fan slept extremely well.

No dreams.

From his perspective, it felt almost as though he had simply closed his eyes then opened them again.

Oh.

Dark outside.

He sat upright and drew in a deep breath.

Immediately his mind felt clear and refreshed.

Most people had experienced sleep of this quality at least once.

But it was usually something that happened by chance and could not be deliberately pursued.

Then Zheng Fan looked at the enormous basin of cooled tea beside him.

Suddenly he felt a little regretful.

At that moment, Siniang entered.

“Master.

“You’re awake.”

“Mm.”

“Fan Zhengwen, head of the Fan Clan, has arrived with his wife, Madam Wen.

“Master was resting, so they have already waited about half an hour.”

“Bring them in.”

“Yes, Master.”

Before long a middle-aged man’s voice sounded from the courtyard.

“This commoner Fan Zhengwen, together with my wife, pays respects to Count Pingye.

“May Count Pingye enjoy health and fortune.”

“Come inside.”

“Many thanks, Count.”

Fan Zhengwen entered.

And the instant Zheng Fan saw him his eyes brightened.

Not because Fan Zhengwen’s wife, Madam Wen, was some astonishing beauty.

Siniang stayed beside Zheng Fan every day.

His resistance toward attractive women remained perfectly good.

Most of the rumors circulating outside were nonsense.

No.

The important thing was Fan Zhengwen himself.

The man was genuinely handsome.

Not frivolously handsome.

Steady.

Cultured.

Composed.

When one straight man could look at another straight man and sincerely think *that fellow is handsome* that was true handsomeness.

As for Madam Wen she looked pleasant enough.

Her gaze remained lowered.

Her demeanor was gentle.

But she was not astonishingly beautiful.

“Count.”

“Sit.

“Drink some tea.”

“Yes.

“Many thanks, Count.”

Siniang poured the tea.

Simple.

Direct.

Crude.

She took clean teacups and simply dipped them straight into the basin, scooping up the cooled tea.

One cup each.

Three cups.

Fan Zhengwen held his cup and smiled.

“Great Marsh Fragrant Tongue.

“Drunk this way—it truly has another flavor.”

Zheng Fan looked at him.

“Brother Fan, are you mocking this Count for being a country bumpkin and wasting a good thing?”

“Count Pingye has seen a different world from this Fan.

“The sights Count Pingye has seen—

“I have not.

“The sights I have seen—

“Count Pingye would never bother looking at.”

“You know how to talk.”

Zheng Fan nodded.

He drank a mouthful of cooled tea.

Strange.

You really did get what you paid for.

Nothing else had been added to the brew.

No mint.

No rock sugar.

No flavoring.

Yet after sitting for so long the tea still carried a cool, faint sweetness.

Damn.

He really was a country bumpkin.

He had genuinely wasted the stuff.

“This Count entered Chu and received Brother Fan’s hospitality all along the way.

“I’ll remember the favor.”

“Count Pingye’s favor is too heavy.

“This Fan would not dare claim it.

“I merely admire the splendor of Great Yan and willingly wish to serve as Yan’s vanguard, to show my sincerity.”

Zheng Fan set down his cup.

He smiled.

Then said:

“Brother Fan.

“This Count has always preferred speaking directly.

“I dislike walking in circles.

“If Brother Fan has something to say, let us speak plainly.

“Business first.

“Pleasantries afterward.”

“How could this Fan dare disobey?”

“And stop calling yourself ‘this Fan’ like some humble petitioner.

“I ate your food.

“I drank your tea.

“This Count is the guest.

“You are the host.”

“Then Fan Zhengwen will speak openly.”

“Go ahead.”

Zheng Fan crossed one leg over the other and leaned back.

Out of habit his hand slipped inside his clothes.

He pulled out his large metal cigarette case.

Took out one cigarette.

Did not light it.

He merely held it beneath his nose and smelled it lightly.

Siniang had once suggested Zheng Fan use a snuff bottle instead.

She thought it better matched the aesthetic of a Bureau Chief.

But Count Zheng had never managed to get used to the thing.

Fan Zhengwen stood.

His expression became solemn.

“Count.

“My Fan Clan has been a servant household of the Qu Clan for one hundred and fifty years.”

**The lord of my lord is not my lord.**

**The retainer of my retainer is not my retainer.**

That was Chu.

Chu’s territory was enormous.

But structurally, it resembled a feudal state far more than a centralized empire.

Inside its own fief the Qu Clan existed almost as a feudal prince in all but name.

“For one hundred and fifty years, the ancestors of my Fan Clan toiled for the Qu Clan.

“We supplied money and grain.

“We supported their extravagance.

“In my view—no matter how one calculates the favor they showed our ancestors when first raising us up—one hundred and fifty years should be enough to repay it.

“But in Great Chu—a slave remains a slave generation after generation.

“A noble remains a noble generation after generation.

“Every year when I attend the Qu Clan’s household banquet—

“I still sit at the same table as the lowest servants.”

Zheng Fan supplied the obvious conclusion.

“Impossible to endure.”

Fan Zhengwen laughed.

Then nodded.

“I cannot endure it.”

Chu possessed an extraordinarily rigid class system.

Truthfully old Yan had not been so different.

The great clans monopolized the channels through which commoners could rise.

Jin had also been much the same.

Ironically—

Qian handled this aspect very well.

Perhaps too well.

The Fan Clan was a servant family of the Qu Clan.

That meant generation after generation they remained Qu servants.

No matter how vast the Fan Clan’s commercial empire became it could never escape.

Even if one day the Fan Clan grew stronger than the Qu Clan itself the Qu Clan could still destroy it with a single decision.

Because even if the Qu Clan declined the entire State of Chu remained behind it.

Every great noble house in Chu would stand together against the precedent of a servant family rising against its master.

Fan Zhengwen refused to accept that fate.

Once a man had eaten his fill, drunk his fill, and no longer feared freezing or starving naturally he began wanting dignity too.

If this was why the Fan Clan intended to defect to Yan then the reasoning made sense.

As for how thoroughly and carefully they had prepared everything that only demonstrated how deep the Fan Clan’s power truly ran.

And how much courage Fan Zhengwen possessed as clan head.

Zheng Fan said:

“I cannot promise you land and a Marquis title.”

“Fan Zhengwen would never dare imagine such a thing.”

“Anything short of that—can be discussed.

“Look at me.”

Zheng Fan pointed at himself.

“A few years ago—

“I was still running an inn in Tiger Head City, Beifeng Commandery.”

When making an example, saying *a friend of mine did this* sounded distant.

Saying *my neighbor did this* sounded more interesting.

Saying *I did this myself* made the point vivid.

Count Zheng himself was the perfect example of a commoner rising through struggle.

“The more Brother Fan is willing to give—the more Great Yan will repay in the future.”

“I believe that.

“I believe Count Pingye.

“I believe the Marquis of Jingnan.

“And I believe His Majesty, the Emperor of Great Yan.”

Zheng Fan coughed lightly.

Then asked:

“Any other reasons?”

Fan Zhengwen looked at him.

“Count does not think that is enough?”

“If there are more—even better.”

Fan Zhengwen smiled.

“I have always believed business is best conducted without mixing in personal favors.”

“But the finest business in the world—is precisely the business of favors.”

“Count is absolutely correct.”

Fan Zhengwen raised one hand and pointed toward his wife seated nearby.

“This is my wife.”

Zheng Fan nodded and smiled.

“Greetings, Sister-in-law.”

Fan Zhengwen smiled.

Strangely he did not correct the form of address.

Nor did he avoid it.

Madam Wen merely rose and gave Zheng Fan a quiet curtsy.

Zheng Fan sensed something subtle.

He immediately asked:

“May I ask Sister-in-law’s family background?”

Madam Wen answered:

“Reporting to the Count—this concubine’s original surname was Min.”

Zheng Fan’s gaze sharpened instantly.

The Fan Clan had been connected to him through Little Sixth.

He immediately pursued the thought.

“The Sixth Prince of Great Yan, Ji Chengjue, is your...?”

“This concubine is Chengjue’s... younger maternal aunt.”

Min.

The Min Clan.

Because the family’s “gate” had been destroyed only the “wen” remained.

[End of Chapter 423]