Chapter Thirteen: We Have a House

Tonight’s meal was truly a proper feast.

Though there were no grand fish or meat dishes—only a few plates of vegetables, with the sole meat dish being a plate of scrambled eggs—Chen Kan proudly devoured three large bowls of rice.

As the saying goes, joyous occasions uplift the spirit. With no threat to his life and the acquisition of a grand mansion, Chen Kan’s appetite was unusually robust.

In Fang Xiaoru’s household, there were no strict rules about silence during meals or sleep.

After finishing the meal, Chen Kan regaled the family with exaggerated tales of their time in prison together.

He spoke of narrowly escaping death at the hands of Zhu Gaozhu, of his teacher feigning madness and eating dirt and wood, enduring inhuman torture and suffering by the jailers, and of several near-death experiences.

His vivid storytelling left Mrs. Zheng and the Fang brothers trembling with fear.

Fang Xiaoru did not contradict him but let Chen Kan spin his yarns freely. At particularly thrilling moments, Fang Xiaoru would nod with a smile.

The simple, homely meal stretched on until the moon hung high in the sky.

Only then did Chen Kan reluctantly end his tale.

After Mrs. Zheng cleared away the leftovers, Fang Xiaoru instructed his sons, “Tomorrow, both of you go and report to Fang Jiao and Fang E, and bring your wives back home. We can finally spend some peaceful days.”

Fang Jiao and Fang E were Fang Xiaoru’s two daughters, both married now.

The Fang brothers had long since established their own families.

But after Fang Xiaoru’s arrest, the brothers, convinced their father would not surrender to Prince Yan, had sent their wives back to their maternal homes.

They themselves had returned to their own houses, waiting for Zhu Di’s executioner’s blade.

Yet now that Fang Xiaoru had chosen to side with Zhu Di, his children naturally had no objections.

They bowed deeply and said, “We will follow Father’s orders.”

Fang Xiaoru nodded. “Go. Your father is tired. Yuansheng, you should rest as well.”

After bidding farewell to Fang Xiaoru and his two senior brothers, Chen Kan stretched and returned to his room.

Fang Xiaoru lived simply, but he had never let Chen Kan lack for food, clothing, or necessities.

Thus, Chen Kan’s room was slightly larger than those of his two senior brothers.

Of course, the furnishings were the same: a wooden window, a writing desk, a few books, and several sets of worn, faded clothes.

Chen Kan was utterly exhausted.

He collapsed onto the bed and soon drifted into a deep sleep.

...

By mid-morning, Chen Kan yawned and stepped out of his room.

The small courtyard was so quiet that a pin drop would have been heard.

Chen Kan wandered around but found no one at home.

He came to the woodshed, where there was porridge already prepared.

No doubt, it had been set aside for him.

After drinking some porridge to fill his stomach, Chen Kan stepped outside and, following the directions in his memory, headed towards the western city, along the Qinhuai River to the long-sealed Prince Puding’s mansion.

The key and property deed had been left with Chen Kan by the guards who had escorted him and Fang Xiaoru back yesterday.

Though living at Fang Xiaoru’s felt comfortable—no labor, no need to earn money, no worries of survival—Chen Kan was no longer the same man.

Life as a dependent was never as comfortable as living alone.

He now had his first own home.

Thinking of this, he felt a flicker of excitement.

Zhu Di had entered Yingtian over half a month ago; all that needed to be arrested had been caught, and most of those to be executed had met their fate.

Though soldiers still patrolled the streets, they mostly maintained order in the city.

Thus, Jinling City was relatively peaceful.

Most citizens had returned to their daily lives.

The Jianwen reign lasted four years, with four years of warfare against Zhu Di, but the truly chaotic regions were all north of the Yellow River.

The Jiangnan region had remained largely untouched.

In this regard, Chen Kan admired Zhu Di somewhat, for his intentions had been clear from the start: to disrupt the court but not the realm.

He sought not only the throne but a unified Ming dynasty.

Therefore, although there had been continuous battles for four years, the number of common civilians truly affected by the war was not many.

At least, compared to the coups of past dynasties, this upheaval caused relatively little harm to the people.

As Chen Kan reflected on the Jingnan Campaign, he strolled slowly forward.

Unconsciously, he reached the bank of a shimmering river.

“By the Vermilion Bird Bridge, wild grasses and flowers grow; at the entrance of Wuyi Lane, the sunset slants. Swallows that once nested before the stately halls of the Wang and Xie families now fly into ordinary homes.”

Chen Kan casually recited Liu Yuxi’s poem “Wuyi Lane.”

No particular meaning—just fitting for the moment.

The Prince Puding’s mansion stood in Wuyi Lane by the Qinhuai River, and Chen Kan was now an ordinary citizen.

The grand mansion before him was both familiar and strange.

The plaque above the main gate had been removed; the bronze doors were covered with dark green patina.

The seals on the doors had weathered wind and rain for years, leaving only a few faded cloth strips.

Only the two stone lions at the gate’s steps remained majestic, as if telling the tale of the mansion’s glorious past.

Chen Kan took the key from his waist and inserted it into the bronze lock.

“Click.”

The lock opened.

He pushed open the heavy bronze doors, and the weight of time washed over him.

Every building in sight was dilapidated.

The courtyard was thick with waist-high weeds; fallen leaves piled over Chen Kan’s feet.

Closing his eyes, Chen Kan strained to recall memories tied to this mansion.

More than ten years ago, this once-grand residence had been a flourishing marquis’s estate, bustling with people—visitors were all wealthy or noble.

And Chen Kan had once been a pivotal young marquis within these walls.

Now, after so many years, everything had changed.

Opening his eyes, Chen Kan felt a complex surge of emotions.

Though he was not truly that Chen Kan, at this moment, he seemed to become him again.

He did not rush to clear the weeds but, guided by his fading memories, skirted the front yard and slowly made his way to the back garden.

The Prince Puding’s mansion covered more than thirty acres.

It boasted gardens, rockeries, and lakes—the unique charm of Jiangnan’s blue tiles and white walls imbued with special elegance.

In the land of Qinhuai River, where every inch was precious, it was no exaggeration to say that if Chen Kan wished to sell this estate, he could instantly rise to the ranks of the wealthiest magnates.

Chen Kan gazed blankly at the mirror-like small lake in the backyard.

Mountains, water, flowers, grass, countless pavilions, towers, and houses stretched before him.

This was no mere mansion—it was a miniature city!

How much would it cost to restore this estate?

Chen Kan felt a pang of melancholy. Damn it, had life in the Ming dynasty come down to being strangled by money?

As Chen Kan brooded, thirty miles west of Jinling City, a procession of several hundred riders slowly approached.

On either side, cavalry bore large yellow fluttering banners embroidered with a bold golden “Jin” character.

The twin flags waved proudly in the wind, proclaiming the prestigious status of the party they accompanied.