Chapter Forty-Two: Partners in Business

“You honor this old servant too much, Young Master Zhao!” Steward Song’s smile grew broader. “My lord’s country estate lies right here in Dangyang County, so anything we need to do can be handled quite easily with the authorities. If you have any instructions, please feel free to give them.”

This Steward Song was no ordinary person, but rather Song Ying’an’s most trusted confidant.

During an idle conversation, Zhao Hengyi and Steward Song circled around matters, and the steward, clearly eager to cooperate, laid bare his entire background.

Song San was born into the Song family, retainers of the Marquis of Martial Valor, and raised within the household from childhood. Eighteen years ago, he was specifically assigned by the marquis to serve the second son, Song Ying’an.

He started by tending to the daily needs of the young master, and then followed Song Ying’an as he won his baronial title through military merit and acquired the estate in Dangyang. Song San stayed by his side throughout, eventually becoming steward of this very residence.

Aside from a profound bond of master and servant, Song San had essentially raised Song Ying’an with his own hands. In the deep, sprawling halls of the Marquis’s household, it would hardly be an exaggeration to say that this steward was even closer to Song Ying’an than his own mother.

This little country estate in Dangyang might have appeared insignificant, lacking in businesses or assets, but in truth, it was Song Ying’an’s true stronghold, his retreat should all else fail.

Song Ying’an was neither the legitimate son nor the eldest, making his position in the Marquis’s household a precarious one. If he’d been a mere wastrel, it wouldn’t have mattered much—at worst, he would be the butt of his half-brothers’ jokes.

But Song Ying’an was a rare prodigy, who, at a young age, had earned his barony through feats in the border armies.

How could his elder brother, who sat awaiting the inheritance of the marquisate, possibly sleep soundly with such a sibling beneath the same roof?

Even if Song Ying’an had neither the qualification nor the intention to vie for the marquisate with his legitimate elder brother, what of the vast family estate?

A baron at such a young age—who could say, a decade hence, that he wouldn’t rise to marquis? Or become a pillar of the Great Yan’s military elite?

Zhao Hengyi, even without firsthand experience, had watched plenty of television dramas and read many novels about the covert strife in noble houses. From the hints Steward Song dropped, he could easily imagine the bitter conflict within.

No wonder, after being squeezed out of the Xuanzi Battalion by that scoundrel Zhao Yongzhong, Song Ying’an had not stayed at the marquisate but had instead come here to Dangyang with his personal guards for respite.

Steward Song’s openness today was nothing less than a declaration of his identity and allegiance: not just here in Dangyang, but even within the Marquis’s household itself, this affable steward recognized only Song Ying’an as his master!

As much trust as Zhao Hengyi placed in Song Ying’an, he could extend the same to Song San.

It was the first time Zhao Hengyi realized that his seemingly illustrious elder brother’s life in the marquisate was far from carefree.

But that Song Ying’an would let Steward Song reveal all this to him was proof enough that he truly regarded Zhao Hengyi as a brother-in-arms.

“So, it seems, Steward Song is truly one of our own,” Zhao Hengyi mused. “In that case, I would ask you to join me in business.”

A glimmer passed through Song San’s eyes, and though he demurred repeatedly, his expression was full of intrigue.

The baron had praised his younger brother as both supremely intelligent and astute in worldly affairs, quick to grasp the ways of powerful families. Now, Song San could see the reputation was well deserved.

Zhao Hengyi wasn’t really inviting a mere steward into business; he was clearly inviting the baron himself, through Song San!

By doing this, Young Master Zhao was trying to bolster the foundation and strength of Song Ying’an’s little retreat in Dangyang.

Song San, not yet knowing what kind of business Zhao Hengyi spoke of, only assumed the young master intended to help the baron earn a little silver on the side.

Years later, looking back, Song San could only sigh at how blind he’d been—unable to recognize a living dragon, underestimating a true hero.

With Song San’s participation, Zhao Hengyi’s plans became even more thorough and streamlined.

Though Dangyang was a small county, the title of Baron of Dangyang still carried enormous weight, even if Song Ying’an kept his distance from the local officials.

Zhao Hengyi, in a tone of levity, agreed with Song San that in all future ventures, the steward would receive half the shares.

It looked as if Zhao Hengyi was taking a great loss, but in truth, who could say who would gain or lose in the end?

After a long afternoon’s confidential discussion, Zhao Hengyi personally escorted the amiable steward out of the village.

Returning home, he summoned Zhang Daniu.

Having recently visited Yonggu City, Zhang Daniu was now quite the raconteur: one moment describing mountains of corpses on the battlefield, the next extolling his master’s military genius, leading a troop of drunken border soldiers to hack through tribesmen with peerless skill.

His tongue was sharper than any street storyteller’s, and people would forgo their wages just to listen to his tales.

His transformation left the village’s habitual braggarts sighing: one trip away, and the formerly stolid, reticent blacksmith was now more popular than any of them!

Zhao Hengyi had no time to ponder his apprentice’s psychological transformation. He called Zhang Daniu over simply to instruct him to recruit a few honest, hardworking young men from the village as apprentices—the smithy was about to be busy.

A minor matter, or so Zhao Hengyi thought, but Zhang Daniu reacted as if facing a great trial.

To the blacksmith, this was a sign that his master intended to pass down his legacy and expand their lineage.

Instantly, Zhang Daniu was filled with boundless energy and enthusiasm.

Zhao Hengyi left him to it, and instead fetched paper and a special charcoal stick, sketching and writing.

The looms currently used in the textile workshop, due to previous constraints, could not be built to match the original spinning jenny, and only had four vertical spindles. Now, Zhao Hengyi resolved to create a jenny with eight spindles.

He would make the key components of iron, making duplication more difficult and increasing their durability.

This time, he planned to manufacture a large batch of looms to boost production in the workshop as much as possible.

If the bandits’ demand for higher tolls was just a fluke, Zhao Hengyi would proceed as planned, selling goods in Jiangling through the caravan organized by Song San.

But if some schemer stood behind these seemingly random incidents, then Zhao Hengyi was more than ready to strike first.

After all, even in Jiangling, the titles of Baron of Dangyang and the Marquis of Martial Valor’s household were names that commanded respect.

He didn’t have long to wait. Three days later, the village head led a team to sell fabric in the county town, only to be waylaid by bandits demanding a hundred taels of silver as passage toll.

Such an outrageous sum made even the slowest-witted realize this was a targeted move.

The old village head restrained his guards from using their crossbows, and returned to Yushu Bay with the fabric and the men. That very night, a letter arrived for them.