Chapter Fifty-Three: The Secret of the Qin Family

Zhen Qian's peculiar response was like a lifeline to Song Xu, who had been floundering helplessly. It made Song Xu realize anew that the matters around him were far from simple, and for the first time, he met someone who didn’t scold him for being slow-witted or say his mind was broken. Instead, Zhen Qian opened up to him, and this marked the beginning of their conversations.

As Song Xu fired off one odd question after another, Zhen Qian did not attempt to spoon-feed him answers, nor did he fill his mind with the knowledge of later generations. Instead, he brought Song Xu many books, encouraging him to quiet his mind, harbor his questions within, and seek answers slowly in the sea of texts.

Of course, Zhen Qian did not expect pre-Tang dynasty books to answer the riddles swirling in Song Xu’s mind. His aim was to broaden the boy’s knowledge, to teach him how to think, how to seek answers for himself.

So when he suddenly heard today that Song Yi wanted his grandson to acknowledge him as a godfather, Zhen Qian could not suppress a smile. The family hierarchy seemed in disarray—he called Song Yi “Uncle Song,” so if he took Song Xu as a foster son, wouldn’t Song Xu be on par with his father? Moreover, Song Xu was Song Yi’s only grandson—was this truly appropriate?

“Uncle Song, I’m afraid this isn’t suitable,” he said.

Song Yi’s expression was solemn, with no trace of hesitation—only sincerity and pleading, as though Zhen Qian’s refusal would bring great disappointment. “Master Zhen! I speak neither nonsense nor empty words. My grandson and granddaughter have both changed noticeably since following you, and our whole family has seen it. My granddaughter is now learning arithmetic, which delights me no end. As for my grandson, he was always dull and slow, but these past days with you, he has grown livelier. I don’t ask that my granddaughter remain at your side—just that you take in this unpromising grandson. I beg you!” As he spoke, he made to kneel.

Stunned, Zhen Qian reached out to help him up. Though Song Yi was his slave, and none would criticize a slave for kneeling to his master, Zhen Qian could not bear to see a man approaching sixty kneel before him. “No, you mustn’t! Please rise!”

“Does this mean you agree, Master Zhen?” Song Yi pressed.

“Very well, I agree,” Zhen Qian replied, his heart genuinely pleased at the prospect of taking Song Xu as a foster son. Still, he offered reassurance: “Rest assured, Uncle Song. With Song Xu by my side, I’ll teach him well. When he comes of age, I’ll return him to your family.”

In truth, Zhen Qian did not intend to gather a houseful of foster sons; what mattered was the sentiment, not the title. Though he might treat these foster sons as students or apprentices, the dual role of godfather and master would bind them to him even more.

Everyone harbors selfish motives. Zhen Qian was no sage, nor did he pretend to be one; naturally, he was not without his own designs.

“Henceforth, you shall be called Zhen Three,” Zhen Qian declared. He had grown too tired to give each foster son a unique name, and who could say how many of them would live up to his hopes? Better to be lazy from the start, assigning numbers instead of names—no need to trouble himself remembering them.

Besides, a boy like Song Xu was unlikely to stay by his side forever; when the time came, he would certainly send him back to his family. It was best to do a good deed all the way to the end.

He hadn’t expected to take Song Xu as a foster son in the end, and this pleased him greatly. Gathering everyone, he set off straightaway for the Qin family in Baima Village.

About four hours later, the party arrived once more at the gates of the Qin family’s fortified estate. Qin Meng had already sent word ahead, and Qin Hao came out to greet them from a distance.

“Uncle Qin!” Zhen Qian called out.

“Come in and have some water first!” Qin Hao said warmly, ushering the group inside. Along the way, he chatted about how many nuts they had gathered lately, how much fresh game they had prepared, and whether Zhen Qian wanted to take any of it back with him. At last, seeing Zhen Qian’s impatience, he added, “The house you wanted is ready. Let me take you to see it.”

“This old man is playing games with me,” Zhen Qian muttered inwardly, though he had to admit that Qin Hao was shrewd beyond measure.

He had never underestimated the intelligence of the ancients. When he saw the railing bridge spanning the Tuo River, he could not help but marvel, “The Qin family’s craftsmanship is impressive—the construction of this bridge must not have been easy!”

Stroking his beard with satisfaction, Qin Hao replied, “Indeed. It took ten days to build this thirty-meter bridge, and it barely sways when you walk across. If you hadn’t set your livestock pens inside this valley, we’d have considered moving in ourselves.”

Seeing Zhen Qian’s surprise, Qin Hao smiled, “We in the Qin family like to prepare for a rainy day. After living in seclusion so long, we prefer not to deal with outsiders. Going forward, we’ll cut ourselves off from the world, relying on you for everything we need.”

Zhen Qian had not expected such decisiveness from the Qin family, though he himself did not wish them to become too entangled with the outside world. Still, their resolve to remain hidden was surprising. In truth, this suited him well: in the future, the Qin family would deal only with him, for reasons both their own and, perhaps, for reasons they had discerned in him.

Crossing the bridge, they entered the opposite valley. From the adjacent mountain top, it had seemed small, but within, the valley was vast—large enough for a dozen football fields. If the Qin family ever wished to move, it would suit them perfectly.

As they entered, several golden pheasants startled from the grass and took to the air with a flutter. Behind him, Qin Meng instinctively reached for his bow, then remembered these birds were being raised in the valley and looked about sheepishly.

“Just ahead are the bamboo houses. Rest assured, the valley has been cleared several times, so there should be few poisonous insects or snakes. We’ve also spread a great deal of sulfur and realgar around the houses—everyone will be safe here.”

Zhen Qian nodded. Even if these precautions were as much for the pheasants as for him, he was grateful. “Thank you for being so thoughtful, Uncle Qin. That puts my mind at ease.”

After inspecting the bamboo houses and finding the environment satisfactory, Zhen Qian settled the children inside. The two members of the Wang family who had stayed behind had already set up the distilling equipment, and after checking, Zhen Qian found no issues. He was very satisfied. “Thank you, Uncle Qin. In future, my people will live here in the valley. I hope your family will not enter unless necessary—there are secrets here I’d like to keep. I hope you understand.”

Qin Hao had no objection to this occupation of his valley—they had agreed from the start that it would belong to Zhen Qian, and whatever he chose to do there was his own affair. It was best for the Qin family not to pry, lest it harm the harmony between them.

When Qin Hao first realized Zhen Qian intended to set up a distillery on his land, he suspected Zhen Qian was evading government taxes. But once he saw the spirits being distilled, he understood: this was about protecting a valuable secret. Zhen Qian’s request for exclusive use of the valley made perfect sense.

“The Qin family and Master Zhen are now in the same boat, so let us speak plainly. Who among us is without secrets? Since you’ve brought it up, you can rest assured I have no intention of prying,” Qin Hao said.

The two men exchanged a knowing smile—some things need not be spoken. Qin Hao was making it clear in turn: do not probe into the Qin family’s own secrets; both sides would keep their peace.

Qin Hao continued, “The Zhen family has long been our biggest customer, and I hope you won’t refuse our trade in the future. The profit-sharing you promised—converting our share to food and daily necessities—here’s a list. Please take a look and let me know if anything is amiss.”

Zhen Qian took the list and glanced over the supplies the Qin family required: mostly grain, oil, and salt, but also porcelain, ironware, cloth, and more. As he read, a storm raged in his heart, though his face betrayed nothing. “This is what we agreed to. I have no intention of reneging—rest assured, every month you’ll receive all you need. Too frequent deliveries, though, might draw unwanted attention.”

“Naturally,” Qin Hao replied, pleased by Zhen Qian’s lack of hesitation. “I’ll leave you to settle in. Come to my place this evening for a visit.”

When Qin Hao and his people had gone, Zhen Qian handed the list to Wang Qun. “Take a look, Uncle Wang.”

One glance left Wang Qun visibly shaken; his hand trembled as he held the list. “This… this can’t be possible!”

Zhen Qian said slowly, “The Qin family is not as simple as they seem. This may be a test, or perhaps it’s just a smokescreen. In any case, it’s not our concern—why should we trouble ourselves over it?”

Wang Qun frowned. “Aren’t you worried Qin Hao might set us up one day?”

Zhen Qian smiled. “Do you really think I’d keep my secrets here?”

Wang Qun started, then gave a wry smile. “Since you’ve thought of everything, I’ll set my worries aside. You’re right—whatever the Qin family is up to, it’s not really our business. As long as we don’t interfere with each other, there’s no trouble. Still, the Qin family has left you with a challenge—these furs won’t be easy to sell.”

“You worry too much, Uncle Wang. I doubt there will be a problem. Once we’re back in the city, we’ll make inquiries. If someone can take them all off our hands, so much the better. If not, we can sell them outright or even open a fur shop. I don’t think we’ll be unable to find buyers.”

Wang Qun felt a headache coming on. He had always known the Qin family was not simple, but now another complication had arisen. It now seemed the Qin family truly intended to fade from public view, pushing Zhen Qian out to the fore. Whether this was good or bad, he could not say.