17 Perhaps becoming a government official would actually be easier?

“What exactly happened? Speak clearly.”

The household servant replied, “Earlier this evening, someone was riding a horse recklessly down the street. Accountant Song saw the horse was about to trample people. His shouts were ignored, so in desperation, he grabbed a wine jar from the shop’s entrance and hurled it at the horse, hoping to scare it away. Unexpectedly, the horse got startled and twisted its hoof.”

“Go on,” Song Sanlang said sternly.

“The rider is the young master of the General’s residence. The horse is said to be a priceless steed, worth a fortune. At that moment, the young master whipped Accountant Song so badly he couldn’t stand. Now, they’ve forcibly taken him to the General’s mansion.”

“What? A mere twisted hoof, yet they treat my son like this? This is outrageous! Under the clear heavens and the emperor’s own feet, is there no justice left?” Song Dalang was anxious, angry, and heartbroken all at once, veins bulging on his forehead.

But Song Sanlang felt a sinking weight in his heart. His elder brother was a scholar and didn’t understand that horses are not like people. A broken bone in a horse’s leg essentially means it’s crippled for life, incurable.

As for complaining about injustice—what else could they do? They only dared to act because they knew they were untouchable. Even if they killed Jingmao out of spite, what could Song Dalang do?

Thinking this, Song Sanlang asked the servant, “Which General’s mansion was it?”

“The residence of the National Guardian General,” the servant answered.

Upon learning his son had offended the National Guardian General’s household, Song Dalang collapsed, sliding down from his brother’s shoulder to the floor.

At that moment, the family matriarch and several women, dressed and worried, came out to inquire. Upon hearing the details, Mrs. Wang fainted immediately. Song Jingzhu clung to her mother, crying, while Xiuniang and Mrs. Jiang hurried to pinch Mrs. Wang’s philtrum, frantically tending to her.

The matriarch’s expression was grim.

The National Guardian General was a figure even the emperor showed deference to. There was no one to petition on their behalf, and filing a complaint was a mere fantasy—who would dare accept such a lawsuit?

After a long pause, the matriarch said, “All of you stay home and don’t go anywhere! I’m an old woman with a cheap life. If it comes to it, I’ll just go reunite with your father sooner. I want to see if the General’s mansion would even take my life along with this.”

“Mother, how can you say that?” Song Erlang quickly embraced her.

Song Sanlang said, “Mother, don’t be agitated. You probably wouldn’t even get through the gates of the General’s mansion. Let me go.”

Just then, Xiuniang panicked, grabbing his leg and crying, “You’re not allowed to go. If you go, what will become of your wife and me? And little Chen is so young—he can’t be without a father.”

Song Sanlang smiled wryly but felt warmed inside. “Xiuniang, don’t think like that. I’m not going to die.”

He then said to the matriarch, “Mother, I’ll seek out Master Li. He has some connections with the National Guardian General’s residence and might be able to help.”

At this point, there was no other choice—try everything, even if it’s a desperate gamble. To put it bluntly, the Song family was like an ant easily crushed by the General’s household.

Song Dalang wanted to accompany him, but Song Sanlang gently refused. “Elder brother, you’re too emotional—it would only make things worse. Time is urgent, and they’re still angry. The longer Jingmao stays there, the more he suffers. I’m leaving immediately.”

Song Erlang said, “I’ll go with Third Brother.”

Song Sanlang waved them off. “More people won’t help. We need Master Li’s influence. Too many people might only irritate the General’s household.”

Seeing the reasonableness in his words, Song Erlang gave up.

Song Sanlang retreated to his room under the pretense of changing clothes, quickly grinding ink, spreading paper, and writing a few lines. He folded the paper and tucked it close to his chest.

Xiuniang, who couldn’t read, didn’t know what he had written. She clung tightly to his waist from behind, crying, “What are you writing? Is it some kind of farewell?”

“You don’t have to prepare for anything. If something happens to you, your mother and I won’t survive either. Jingmao is not your son; his father can worry about him!”

“I won’t let you go. If you dare step out of this room today, I’ll die before your eyes.”

---

Song Sanlang turned around helplessly, wiping the tears from his wife’s face. “Darling, what are you saying? I’m only asking Master Li to help. It’s not dangerous.”

“Calm down, I know what I’m doing. I won’t act recklessly.”

Xiuniang refused to let go, “Sanlang, please don’t go. I’m scared.”

Silently, Song Sanlang embraced her, gently tapping her back. Xiuniang relaxed and he laid her down on the bed. He stroked her head and said, “Wait for me, I’ll be back soon.”

---

Stepping outside, Song Sanlang did not head toward the Li residence. His words to the matriarch had been a mere ruse.

He was going to the Prince Jing residence. Prince Jing Zhao Qi was the third prince of the current emperor, nephew to the National Guardian General Liu Meng, and son of the emperor’s favored consort, Liu Guifei. He was much beloved by the emperor.

Near the prince’s mansion, Song Sanlang lowered his hat brim and stopped a young street vendor selling sweet fruits. He pulled out a small silver piece and said, “Young man, would you help deliver a message for me?”

The silver was worth about three to five qian—roughly three to five hundred coins—about what a fruit seller might earn in a month. The tempting offer sparked the boy’s interest but he was wary. “Is it dangerous?”

Song Sanlang whispered a few words, and after considering, the boy nodded in agreement.

The boy ran swiftly to the Prince’s gate, telling the guards he had an urgent letter for the prince, concerning the safety of the General’s household.

Hearing the mention of the General’s mansion, the guards took the letter seriously and reported it inside.

Soon, Prince Jing hurried out with a small escort, asking where the messenger was. The guards explained it was a fruit vendor who left immediately after delivering the letter.

Frowning, the prince understood the sender wished to remain anonymous. But now, he had no time for such concerns. He had to rush to the General’s mansion to intercept his foolish cousin.

The uncle held great military power and was feared by the emperor, who had been seeking a pretext to curb his influence. The cousin’s reckless riding was bad enough; bringing someone back in broad daylight was worse. Previously, even if a complaint reached the emperor, he would turn a blind eye. But times had changed.

Many eyes watched the General’s household. If a death occurred, the emperor would seize the opportunity to act against the uncle. Political enemies would pounce, and if the uncle fell, the prince’s own prospects as heir would vanish. His fate was uncertain.

---

Late at night, Song Sanlang returned home and told the family that Master Li had done his best and, barring unexpected events, Jingmao should be released by tomorrow.

Song Dalang couldn’t hold back his tears, embracing his brother and thanking him over and over. Mrs. Wang wept with gratitude as well.

Song Sanlang said simply, “We’re family. It’s only right.”

Back in their room, the acupressure points that had been pressed on Xiuniang had already loosened on their own. Hearing him return, she ignored him, only turning her back in anger.

Song Sanlang climbed onto the bed and hugged her from behind. Xiuniang struggled fiercely to break free, but he held her firmly.

In frustration, she bit his arm. Song Sanlang sighed and whispered, “Xiuniang, you’re grown up—why are you acting like little Chen?”

Tears silently rolled down her cheeks. Song Sanlang gently stroked her back. “It’s alright, don’t cry. With Master Li involved, the General’s household won’t dare act rashly.”

Though Song Sanlang spoke lightly, Xiuniang’s fear of officials ran deep. When she sold tofu at her parents’ home, local officers often ate without paying, looking at her with intimidating eyes. Whenever she saw officers approaching, she would hide, leaving it to her parents to deal with them.

Song Sanlang’s broad chest and steady breathing comforted her. Clinging to his arm, she soon fell into a deep sleep.

Where Xiuniang could not see, a faint trace of ridicule flashed across Song Sanlang’s eyes. Liu Meng was still as foolish as ever, and the son he raised even more so…

---

Before dawn, Song Jingchen was woken by discomfort. The room was dark, and he was too afraid to leave the bed to relieve himself. He covered his head with a sheet and tried to hold it in, but the darkness persisted and his legs twisted restlessly. Eventually, he called out:

“Father, Mother—light the lamp quickly, I can’t hold it anymore!”

Hearing the noise, Xiuniang tried to get up but Song Sanlang stopped her. “I’ll go.” He lit the candle and carried it to the next room.

Seeing his father approach, Jingchen hurried out of bed and used the chamber pot, purposely spraying the sides evenly.

Song Sanlang shook his head. Despite his predicament, the boy still found time to play tricks. Jingchen said, “Father, listen—doesn’t it sound like rain?”

“Yes, a heavy rain. Next time, don’t hold it in; it’s bad for you.”

“I know, I don’t want to wake you both.”

After Jingchen finished, Song Sanlang took the pot outside to empty it. When he returned, the boy had crawled into his bed.

Song Sanlang teased, “You’re five years old and still climbing into daddy’s bed. Aren’t you ashamed?”

Jingchen clung to the blanket, “I’m only three and a half, not five yet. If you think it’s shameful, go sleep in my bed. I’ll stay with mommy.”

Xiuniang laughed, “Your little bed isn’t even as long as your father’s legs. If your father goes in, he’ll crush it.”

Jingchen thought for a moment, “That’s good! Why should you two sleep together while I’m all alone in a tiny bed? Poor little me.”

The morning was chilly. Worrying about the cold, Song Sanlang pulled Jingchen close and covered him with a blanket.

“When your father was your age, he was already sleeping on his own, not sneaking into the adults’ bed like you.”

Jingchen’s eyes reddened. “Father, do you dislike your own son so much? I never disliked you. Maybe I should just leave then.”

He tried to climb out of bed.

Seeing Jingchen truly upset, Song Sanlang hugged him and kissed his forehead. “When have I ever said I disliked you?”

Jingchen blinked, hurt but hopeful. “Then do you like me?”

Song Sanlang smiled warmly. “You’re my son. If I didn’t like you, who would I like?”

Jingchen looked up, “How will you prove it?”

Song Sanlang laughed. “How do you want me to prove it?”

Jingchen nestled into his arms. “Father, why are Uncle Li’s grapes so delicious? I can’t forget them. Are they very expensive? What if we buy fewer—would they still sell to us?”

Song Sanlang stroked his head. “You want grapes?”

Jingchen hugged his father’s neck tightly. “Let’s ask if we can have some. If they’re too expensive, we won’t buy. If not, you’ll get some for me.”

Jingchen understood well. When he went out with his mother, they only looked and didn’t buy. But with his father, whatever he wanted, he got.

Xiuniang pinched their son’s cheek, scolding, “You little rascal, so you think your father only loves you when he spends money on you? Didn’t you see him empty the chamber pot just now?”

Embarrassed, Jingchen buried his head in Song Sanlang’s neck and whispered, “When you’re old, I’ll empty your chamber pot too.”

Song Sanlang couldn’t resist his son’s pitiful craving and said, “You just want grapes? I’ll buy them for you.”

Xiuniang shot a sharp look at her spendthrift husband. “Sanlang, if our son wants the moon from the sky, you better have the skill to get it for him. No buying those grapes!”

Song Sanlang felt stifled without money in hand. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to earn; he simply had no clue how to go about it. After much thought...

Maybe becoming an official would be simpler?