Chapter 93: One Against Many

Chapter 93: One Against Many

The Manor of the Weary Marquis had a Manor Clerk named Zeng and a Manor Marshal named Zheng, a pair who suffered from the same predicament. Although their meals were not lavish, they could at least share their grievances with each other.

“Brother, life is tough. We’ve toiled diligently for half our lives, and we’ve finally become seventh-rank[1] minor officials. But now we’ve been sent here, through no fault of our own. We live in constant fear, worried that we might lose our heads for no reason one day. If only I had some connections in the court or a few hundred taels of silver to grease the wheels, I wouldn’t be in such dire straits,” Zeng, the Manor Clerk, lamented.

“Brother, be content. At least you have a chance for advancement. I’m just a lowly Manor Marshal, one rank below you, and my salary is so meager that it’s a struggle to make ends meet. I toil day and night, and all I get are a few words of praise. Dream of promotion? That’s out of the question!” Zheng replied.

They clinked their cups and downed their drinks. Amid their frustration and anger, they also felt a bit more relieved.

Someone knocked on the door, and an old servant entered without formalities. He silently placed a food box on the table and began unpacking the dishes and wine, arranging them neatly.

Both Zeng and Zheng were puzzled, thinking it was the other’s doing. They exchanged glances and realized the mistake.

“Old Liu, who instructed you to bring these dishes and wine? Did you make a mistake?” asked Zheng, the Manor Marshal.

“From the kitchen,” Old Liu mumbled as he tidied up the empty food box and left.

“Is this from that person?” Zeng guessed. The kitchen usually only followed the commands of the lord and lady of the manor, and it couldn’t be from the lady. Privately, they referred to the Weary Marquis as ‘that person.’

Seeing the table full of delicious food, Zeng couldn’t help but salivate, yet he dared not touch the dishes. “What does that person mean? There has never been such a thing before... Could there be trouble again? Maybe he wants to silence us?”

Zheng, the Manor Marshal, was bolder. He ripped a whole chicken leg off and took a hearty bite. “Who cares? Even if that person stirs up trouble, we won’t be able to stop it. We might as well enjoy a good meal.”

Zeng, the Manor Clerk, felt uneasy but couldn’t resist the allure of the food. Without further delay, he grabbed most of a chicken and took a big bite.

With cups raised and replaced, the two of them only hoped for wine and intoxication today.

For Han Ruzi, this was not just something for this day. He sent food and wine, and it would continue daily. His purpose was not to curry favor, nor was it a bribe; it was to alleviate their grievances. Both the clerk and the marshal were low-ranking officials directly appointed by the Bureau of Imperial Clan Affairs. They had no power to help him, but they had the power to ruin him.

For Master Du and his grandson, a single table of food and wine was not enough.

Ten taels of gold, one hundred taels of silver—this was just the beginning. Zhang Youcai, with a big grin, presented the gifts to Du Motian.

The grandfather and grandson had spent two days and two nights outside before returning home. Du Chuanyun was genuinely drunk this time, swaying unsteadily. He picked up a piece of gold and, with a tongue-heavy speech, said, “What’s this? It looks pretty yellow, I wonder if it’s crispy.”

Du Chuanyun was about to put the gold in his mouth when his grandfather slapped it out of his hand. Du Motian remained sober and bowed to the Weary Marquis, saying, “What do you mean by this?”

“I have shown a lack virtue, disturbing your peaceful days. Hence, I present these meager gifts as a token of my apology. There’s also a portion meant for Brother Hu San. I hope you may pass it on to him.”

Du Motian appeared slightly suspicious, but Du Chuanyun didn’t think much of it. He recognized the gold and silver and accepted them eagerly. He exclaimed, “Since the Marquis has given it to us, let’s accept it. Grandfather, this isn’t really that much. We saved...”

Du Motian tapped his grandson’s head and sternly said, “Don’t get cocky. Do you think you can save someone with your abilities?”

“Did I not?” Du Chuanyun asked, unwilling to accept defeat.

Du Motian, being a seasoned figure in the pugilist world, knew well that it wasn’t Du Chuanyun or himself who had knocked out Houwu and his two subordinates. The Weary Marquis had a secret protector, but he didn’t reveal this fact. He smiled and said, “Since you are so generous, we won’t be overly polite.”

Du Motian understood the Weary Marquis’s intention not to owe favors.

Han Ruzi respectfully bowed and treated the Du family with even greater favor from that day onwards.

Three days after Vice Minister Hua’s inquiry, another official was sent by the Bureau of Imperial Clan Affairs to deliver a reprimand. It criticized the Weary Marquis for his unjustified outings, using relatively mild language. Afterward, the Manor Clerk, enjoying daily feasts and fine wine, whispered to the Weary Marquis, “Congratulations, Weary Marquis. With this reprimand, you’re being treated just as any other person would be.”

For a deposed Emperor, being treated “just as any other person would be” was an improvement.

Two more days passed, and the Weary Marquis was finally allowed to attend the College of National Scions. Yang Feng had originally planned for him to go to the Imperial University but failed to do so.

On the night before he was to begin his studies, Han Ruzi used the excuse of needing to review his lessons and stayed in the study overnight. This day was April 23rd, the day he had agreed upon with Meng E, the mysterious palace maid.

What rules should he follow for this mysterious palace maid? The palace’s? The court’s? The pugilist world’s? Han Ruzi hesitated, unsure. While Yang Feng seemed to have some knowledge about Meng E, he refused to offer advice. Since his last visit, he had disappeared, and Han Ruzi hadn’t even had the opportunity to discuss the current political situation with him.

“How many people do you think are in the room?” Meng E changed the question.

“Two, you and me.”

“Are you sure?”

Han Ruzi felt something pass by behind him and quickly turned to check. He felt a hit on his back from something he couldn’t see, and as he turned around again, the attacks were coming from all directions. Books, paperweights, ink brushes, and other objects turned into hidden weapons, as if four or five people were simultaneously attacking him.

“I understand,” Han Ruzi exclaimed. The strikes were not heavy, but they were quite infuriating.

The attacks stopped.

“You are hidden, while I am in the open. If I didn’t know you, I would think there were several people in the room. This is your technique for dealing with multiple opponents: you create an illusion of overwhelming numbers in the darkness, making the enemy believe they are surrounded, and they panic and flee.”

“Yes.”

“If you were to engage in the open, could you defeat ten people?”

“I don’t have three heads and six arms. How could I possibly defeat ten people? Even three would be too many, unless they all had no martial skills or were willing to take me on one by one in single combat.”

Han Ruzi seemed to have an epiphany and slowly sat down. “The way you defeat your enemies aligns with military strategy: ‘If strong, appear weak; if weak, appear strong.’ It’s very effective.”

“I don’t understand military strategy. I just know that when I’m in the shadows, I shouldn’t reveal myself.”

Indeed, this had always been Meng E’s guiding principle. Han Ruzi chuckled, “You’re completely different from the people in the pugilist world. They all want to increase their fame, but you want none of it. Those swordsmen probably don’t even know who defeated them.”

“That’s why I have no influence in the pugilist world. If I want to achieve something significant, I can only seek the help of the Empress Dowager or the Emperor.”

Han Ruzi nodded. “Back in the palace, how did you make the palace maids fall asleep?”

“Just a bit of powdered medicine. You should avoid using such things, especially with people from the pugilist world. It’s a taboo for them.”

“But when you knocked out those two in Fresh Greens Lane, it must have been real martial skill, right?”

“Yes, if you want to learn, I can teach you this.”

“I want to learn. Do we have to speak in the dark? I can hardly remember what you look like anymore.”

“Appearances change, and remembering them isn’t necessary. Knowing it’s me is enough. Are we done talking? I can’t stay here all night.”

“We’re done. Wait, one last question. Have you been protecting me nearby all this time?”

Meng E didn’t answer immediately. After a moment, she said, “Of course not. I have my own matters to attend to. I don’t even come by once every five days.”

“Then how did you end up following me to Fresh Greens Lane?”

“Part of it was coincidence, and part of it was speculation. When you returned from Bao’en Temple, you seemed agitated, and I guessed you must be up to something. So, I’ve been observing more diligently for the past half month, roughly dropping by every two days.”

“That’s the advantage of lurking in the shadows. I thought you were hiding in the Manor all this time.”

“At least three people would be needed to give you fulltime protection. You said it was the last question, but why do your questions keep multiplying?”

“No more questions. Please teach me martial arts now.” Han Ruzi felt that he had gained valuable insights. He not only had a better understanding of martial arts but also came up with a way to approach Prince Donghai.

When the illusion of overwhelming numbers was taken to its extreme, it became a tangible and genuine power, which was exactly the “weapon” that Han Ruzi needed now.

[1] There are 9 ranks in imperial China’s bureaucracy, with 1 being the highest and 9 being the lowest. So rank 7 would be quite low in the hierarchy.

If you are reading this on an aggregator site, do consider visiting / to support this translation project by leaving a comment.

← CH 92