Chapter Twenty-Five: Conspiracy!

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It was midnight in the dormitory.

The four members of the Li De family gathered together, holding a secret family meeting. The agenda was singular: how to get rid of Li Zhao without leaving a trace.

This kind of family conference had already been convened several times.

Previously, they had sent the chief steward, Hou Si, who spent a hefty sum to hire the Four Tigers of Guanzhong, instructing them to ambush Li Zhao while he was in the mountains, murder him, and destroy the evidence.

Yet more than half a month had passed, and Li Zhao was still alive and well, while the Four Tigers of Guanzhong had vanished without a trace. No one could find them anywhere. This left Li De and Madam Zheng furious; they berated Hou Si for his incompetence.

The couple was convinced the Four Tigers had betrayed them, unwilling to bear the crime of killing a scion of the royal clan. After pocketing the gold, they must have slipped away quietly.

The thought that the four men might have been killed in turn never occurred to the couple. After all, how old was Li Zhao? For him to kill four strong and ruthless swordsmen at once—that was pure fantasy.

Moreover, judging by Li Zhao’s recent behavior, there was nothing out of the ordinary: he ate and slept as usual. This only confirmed their belief that he’d never encountered any danger; otherwise, he couldn’t possibly remain so calm.

“Father, there are plenty of swordsmen in Guanzhong. We can just hire a few more.”

“Hmph! Nowadays, no one holds to old loyalties. What if we run into the same kind of traitors as the Four Tigers again? Our gold doesn’t grow on trees—we can’t afford to squander it like this. We’d better think of another way!”

Li De shook his head. The Four Tigers of Guanzhong were already well-known in Wu’an County; if even they dared not kill a royal descendant, who else would have the courage?

How could they get rid of Li Zhao?

Poison?

A trap?

A club in the dark?

Hire a sorcerer to curse him?

...

The four of them discussed various methods, but none seemed reliable. Just as they were at their wits’ end, steward Hou Si came hurrying to the door.

“Master, Steward Sun from the distillery is here. He says it’s an urgent matter.”

“What? Bring him to me at once!”

“At once!”

Hou Si quickly returned, bringing with him a thin, anxious-looking middle-aged man carrying a wine jar. The seal on the jar had already been broken, and a pungent sour smell wafted out...

“Steward Sun, what’s happened at the distillery?”

“Master, it’s a disaster. When I opened and checked today, I found all the newly brewed wine has turned sour.”

“What... This is the end! We’re finished!”

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Li De took the wine jar and sniffed it; his face instantly turned livid, his voice trembling as he spoke. Madam Zheng was no better; she collapsed onto the ground.

The Li family’s distillery specialized in brewing a fine wine: Pear Blossom Spring.

It was made from the finest rice and fresh pear blossoms, using clear spring water and a unique method. The result was a sweet, mellow wine, rich in flavor. Sold in the local markets, it brought in three to four thousand strings of cash each year, making it one of the family’s most important sources of income.

But Li De and Madam Zheng were not content with this. After much effort, they struck a deal with Drunken Immortal Pavilion, the largest restaurant in Wu’an County, promising to deliver five thousand pecks of Pear Blossom Spring within forty days—a contract worth ten thousand strings of cash.

This decision met with unanimous opposition from the master brewers in the distillery. They argued that the time was too short and manpower insufficient; it would be nearly impossible to produce so much fine wine in the allotted time.

But blinded by greed, Li De and Madam Zheng refused to listen.

Recently, the couple had personally supervised the distillery, forcing the workers to brew day and night. To speed up production, they even cut out several crucial steps in the process, ignoring the master brewers’ repeated protests. The result: haste made waste. All the wine turned sour. Over a month’s hard work was utterly ruined.

...

“Steward Sun, immediately purchase another batch of fine rice and have the workers brew day and night. We must produce a batch of good wine. If there’s another mistake, you’ll all be out on the street!” Li De’s face was contorted as he tried to salvage the situation; otherwise, he’d be in serious trouble.

“Master, the workers at the distillery haven’t been paid in three months. Their families are waiting for rice to cook; they can barely fill their bellies. How can they work day and night? And even if we start a new batch now, it will take at least forty days to brew. There are only a few days left before the delivery deadline—there’s simply no way to make it in time.

At this point, Master, you’ll have to pay the penalty out of your savings, settle the workers’ wages, buy more grain, and start brewing anew. Only then can we hope to recover from the loss.” Steward Sun looked utterly dejected. The distillery’s troubles went far beyond unpaid wages.

To produce this batch of wine, Li De had borrowed over two thousand strings of cash worth of ingredients from several merchants in Wu’an, promising to repay them as soon as the wine was sold.

Now that the brewing had failed, how could he repay the debts?

Worse still, the contract with Drunken Immortal Pavilion included a clause: if the wine was not delivered on time within forty days, the distillery would owe triple compensation—thirty thousand strings of cash. That was no small sum!

“A bunch of useless fools! You’ve ruined everything and still have the nerve to demand wages? Not a single coin! Out of my sight...!” Li De, imagining the vast sum he’d have to pay, flew into a rage, cursing and slapping Steward Sun so hard that his cheeks swelled and a tooth was knocked loose.

Steward Sun was filled with grievance. He’d warned them repeatedly not to rush the brewing process or skimp on the steps, or disaster would follow. But Li De and Madam Zheng had refused to listen. Now that trouble had come, they blamed him instead.

He wanted to argue, but knowing the couple’s character, it would do no good. So, clutching his aching face, he withdrew in silence.

Meanwhile, Li De paced like a donkey around a millstone, hands clasped behind his back, searching for a solution.

In truth, Steward Sun was absolutely right: the disaster had already occurred, and getting angry was pointless. The only proper course was to pay up and get the distillery running again.

The problem was, thirty thousand strings of cash was a colossal amount; paying it would bankrupt him.

He considered defaulting, but Drunken Immortal Pavilion was backed by the Duke of Qi’s household in Chang’an—one of the most powerful families in the imperial court. As a local upstart, how could he afford to offend them?

He couldn’t refuse to pay, yet he couldn’t afford to pay either. He was truly caught between a rock and a hard place.

“Wife, could we ask your father for help?”

“Unlikely. You know my father’s character—getting money out of him would require the sun to rise in the west.”

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“Sigh!”

Madam Zheng’s father had served as assistant magistrate in Wu’an for over a decade, amassing a sizable fortune through bribery and extortion. For him, thirty thousand strings of cash was nothing.

The problem was, the assistant magistrate was a notorious miser. Not even his own parents could borrow a coin from him, let alone his daughter and son-in-law.

“Husband, do not worry. I have a plan—a way for us to avoid paying a single coin and rid ourselves of a lingering threat.”

“Oh? What clever idea do you have, my dear?”

“It’s simple. Just return Qianlong Ridge and the distillery to that brat in the back courtyard.”

“Return them... Wife, that’s brilliant! You’re truly the female Zhuge Liang! Ha ha!”

Li De, quick-witted as he was, immediately grasped her meaning.

Legally, Li Zhao was the true owner of the distillery; Li De was only its interim manager. Now that disaster had struck, responsibility should fall on Li Zhao.

Moreover, the contract with Drunken Immortal Pavilion bore not Li De’s signature, but merely a seal.

For the poor, a seal meant a fingerprint; for the rich, a signet ring. (In ancient times, when literacy was rare, contracts were seldom signed by name—seals sufficed.)

In other words, by simply drafting a document to return the distillery to Li Zhao, and handing over the family seal, they could shift all the blame to him. This plan killed three birds with one stone:

First, the rumors about Li Zhao’s near-drowning incident had villagers whispering that the family was usurping his inheritance and plotting to murder him. Returning the distillery would silence the gossip.

Second, the distillery was deeply in debt and a heavy burden. Giving it back to Li Zhao would free them from it. With no funds, Li Zhao could never pay back such a vast sum; creditors would surely tear him apart. It was, in effect, killing with a borrowed knife.

In the business world, one unspoken rule was: if someone was beaten but not fined, the matter ended; if fined but not beaten, likewise. As long as Li Zhao was driven to his death, the debts would simply disappear.

Third, once Li Zhao was dead, the bloodline of Prince Wu would be extinguished, and the Li family could openly and permanently seize the property. Later, they might even impersonate a royal descendant and completely turn the tables.

Such a plan was flawless!

Inspired, Li De immediately drafted a document stating that his nephew Li Zhao was now of age, and in accordance with previous agreements, he would gradually return the family estate, starting with the distillery. Then he summoned Hou Si.

“Hou Si, this matter is yours to handle. Wait a few days, then give the document to the boy—catch him off guard, understand?”

“Rest assured, Master. I’ll see to it perfectly.”

“Good. There will be a handsome reward when it’s done!”

After making these arrangements, Li De and Madam Zheng ordered their servants to secretly pack up valuables, ready to leave as soon as Li Zhao signed the document and took the blame. The family planned to hide away for a month or two and, when they returned, it would be just in time to arrange Li Zhao’s funeral.