Chapter Thirteen: The Fourth Uncle's Concern

On the evening of May 13th, Zhao Zhen stood before the gate of the Qi King’s Mansion’s annex in the Western Capital, resting his chin on his hand as he gazed at the peeling paint on the door and the dim lanterns, lost in thought. It had been over a month since he last saw Yan Ru, and she seemed to have become even more frugal.

Butler Zhou smiled and greeted Zhao Zhen, “Your Highness, Prince Han.”

Zhao Zhen paced around the gate, shaking his head as he went. It was far too shabby—an utter disgrace to the royal family.

“Here.” He took out a silver note. “Have the gate repainted and the lanterns replaced. Use the rest of the money to fix or replace anything else that’s worn out. Make sure Yan Ru doesn’t see it.”

Butler Zhou hesitated for a moment before accepting the note. He wasn’t sure how to say this: their lady wasn’t poor, just tight with money.

“Is Yan Ru at home?”

“The lady usually returns by the Hour of the Dog; she should still be on her way now.”

“How long does it take to get from the Western Capital to the mine?”

“By horse, about an hour; by carriage, roughly an hour and a half.”

“That far?” Zhao Zhen winced at the thought. “Three hours spent on the road every day—what a hardship.”

Butler Zhou said nothing; Prince Han lived a life of luxury and could hardly imagine such human suffering.

“There’s food I brought for her in the carriage, especially those steamer baskets of eel buns. I chilled them carefully so they wouldn’t spoil. The kitchen will time it so she can steam them right after she gets home.”

Near the end of the Hour of the Dog, Shen Jifeng gently bit into the thin, translucent dough; amber broth immediately flowed out, and the eel meat melted on her tongue. The addition of crab roe and bamboo shoots added layers of flavor.

She squinted with delight. “No wonder Lord Guo insists on eating a basket every day. It’s delicious.”

Zhao Zhen had just returned to the capital and was unaware of the feud between Shen Jifeng and Guo Han.

Pouring some ginger vinegar for her, he said, “Yan Ru, traveling three hours daily is too exhausting. Listen to Fourth Uncle—give up the silver mine and return to the capital with me.”

“I’ve noticed the travel time is too long,” Shen Jifeng replied, still eating the buns hastily. “That’s why I asked Jin Feng to find me a house near the mine. It’s small but enough for us.”

“The mine is full of men. How can you live there?”

Swallowing a bite, she corrected him, “Not at the mine itself, nearby. It’s a two-compound residence—small, but sufficient.”

“I’m telling you, don’t bother finding a place. Just come back with me. Father said if you agree, he can find someone else to take over the mine.”

“No.” Shen Jifeng’s refusal was firm. “I’ve already gathered the artisans; we’re just waiting to start mining and smelting. Fourth Uncle, this is a highly profitable venture.”

“You’re a noble lady; the whole realm belongs to us. You won’t lack funds. Don’t worry about your dowry; Fourth Uncle will find a way.”

“Fourth Uncle.” Shen Jifeng stretched the word like Zhao Zhen often did. “It’s not about the dowry. I want to earn money. The more silver I have, the safer I feel.”

“Are you still afraid of what happened when you were a child?” Zhao Zhen’s eyes softened with concern. “That’s all behind you now. Fourth Uncle won’t let you or Xiao Pu suffer again.”

“No.” Shen Jifeng forced a light smile. “I’ve grown up and can protect myself now. Sometimes I think the hardships of that year were from a past life. Maybe my love for silver is just a lingering effect.”

“Must you take over the mine? No room for negotiation?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “Don’t worry, these artisans are skilled. The miners are a bit unruly, but I have ways to manage them.”

“Alright then. If, by any chance, you can’t complete the task on time, you must tell me in advance. I’ll beg Father to let me join in. If the mission fails, it’ll be both of us accountable. No one can easily punish us then, neither Father nor the court.”

Upon hearing this, Shen Jifeng paused mid-bite, her nose tingling. She placed a bun in Zhao Zhen’s bowl. “Fourth Uncle, you’re so kind.”

Zhao Zhen scratched his nose awkwardly. “Enough with the flattery. I worry about you two every day. Honestly, seeing you and Xiao Pu grow up has made me not want children of my own.”

While Zhao Zhen continued rambling, Shen Jifeng ate her bun, feeling even the air around her come alive with flavor.

At the mine, several new rooms had been built for Shen Jifeng’s office. Zhang Laohan followed behind Jin Chai and, amid the crowd’s chatter, approached Shen Jifeng’s desk.

A map of the Western Capital’s ore veins hung behind her. Zhang Laohan glanced over it, a flicker of doubt crossing his mind, but he held his tongue and lowered his head, waiting for Shen Jifeng to speak.

“Please sit.” Shen Jifeng poured a cup of tea and pushed it toward him.

“I promised the Emperor to produce silver within three months. Today is already the sixth day. Mr. Zhang, in your opinion, how should we mine to meet the goal?”

“My lady, I’ll be frank.” Zhang Laohan’s eyes involuntarily flicked to the ore map again.

“With the current progress, producing silver in three months means every step—mining, washing ore, smelting—must be flawless.”

“How difficult is it to achieve zero errors?”

Zhang Laohan frowned deeply. “My lady, mining is subject to fate. Sometimes a good vein just breaks off without warning, and we have to stop and look for a new one, which can take half a year. Even when ore is extracted, its purity and smeltability are uncertain.”

He paused. “Three months is too tight. Any slight disturbance could cause failure.”

“Here’s what I propose.” Shen Jifeng stood, holding her tea cup. “You and the artisans focus solely on mining and smelting. I’ll handle everything else. Whatever you need—manpower, materials, finances—I guarantee you’ll have it.”

“Everything depends on Master Zhang,” she said respectfully as she offered him tea.

Zhang Laohan accepted with both hands but dared not drink.

“By the way, there’s one more thing I’d like to ask you.”

Holding the tea stiffly like a wooden statue, Zhang Laohan asked, “Please, my lady?”

“I’ve heard mining accidents happen often, with miners dying routinely. Is there any way to avoid or at least reduce casualties?”

Zhang Laohan’s gaze suddenly changed. His family had been geomancers for three generations, and he had grown up steeped in the blood-soaked history of the mines. To them, miners’ lives were worthless; no one cared whether they lived or died.

“My lady, our miners are desperate men—convicts.”

“I know, but they don’t deserve death. Otherwise, they would have been beheaded long ago.”

Zhang Laohan looked at her devoutly. “There are ways, but they require more manpower and time. Can you accept that?”

Shen Jifeng smiled. “Master Zhang, don’t think of me as a saint. Accidents harm production; I understand that to work well, one must first sharpen the tools.”

Zhang Laohan drank his tea in one gulp. “I will do my utmost. I have a ready method, but it requires you to find two people.”