This study, devoid of many antique treasures, was once humorously dubbed by Prince Consort Wang Sui of Dongyue as “a gathering of half the world’s rarest and most precious editions.”
The heritage of Dongyue Sword Pool, setting aside the courtly politics, in terms of sheer opulence, truly rivals any of the current aristocratic families.
As for the true extent of Sword Pool’s wealth—such as how much silver in major banks bears the “Song” surname—even the two leaders, Song Zhengxin and Li Yibai, might not know. For the past sixty years, the true financial stewards of Sword Pool have been women, passed down from mother-in-law to daughter-in-law. In this generation, it is Jiang Xiuqing.
Two middle-aged men, bearing a striking resemblance, sat facing each other. One sipped tea while the other drank wine. The former appeared weary, his spirit flagging, relying on tea to stay alert, often unconsciously swirling the lid of his cup. The latter, with a crimson mole between his brows, gulped down strong liquor from Liaodong, its rich aroma overpowering the delicate fragrance of tea.
They were the half-brothers Song Zhengxin and Song Zhengyi. Their relationship had always been lukewarm, barely maintaining the facade of fraternal respect, far from the intimacy of confidants. Though similar in temperament, neither was inclined to stir trouble. Their lack of renown in the central plains’ political circles was largely due to their father, Song Nianqing, who twice ventured out with his sword. At the peak of his vigor, he first lost to the then-dominant Martial Emperor City’s Wang Xianzhi. Later, after painstakingly crafting fourteen new sword techniques and forging fourteen new swords, his final journey ended in tragedy. Had it not been for Chai Qingshan, who, despite being expelled from the sect, returned to the Song family to shoulder the burden, Dongyue Sword Pool might have faded into obscurity under Song Zhengxin and Zhengyi’s stewardship. By the time it passed to Song Tinglu, it might not even have ranked as a second-rate faction. Moreover, the brilliance of Song Tinglu and his junior sister Shan Eryi—especially Shan Eryi, who accompanied Chai Qingshan on travels across the land and gained fame at a young age—along with the ascension of the outsider Li Yibai to the powerful position of sect master, completely overshadowed the deeds of Song Zhengxin and Zhengyi. Perhaps even Jiang Xiuqing, the Song family’s financial goddess, outshone them in reputation.
According to Song Nianqing’s assessment, his eldest son, Song Zhengxin, was naturally inclined toward scholarly pursuits, with little competitive drive—a fatal flaw for the future pillar of the family. The illegitimate son, Song Zhengyi, fared no better—a man of immense talent but lazy disposition, well-versed in the arts and skilled in archery and horsemanship. Rumors said he spent five years wandering the land, even venturing alone into the heart of the Northern Wilderness, followed by three more years of aimless travel. Yet when asked of his great deeds, he had no answer, squandering a precious decade. Thus, the once-promising second son of Dongyue Sword Pool, who might have broken the stigma of illegitimacy, was now merely “Uncle Song the Second.”
Song Zhengxin slammed his teacup onto the table, splashing tea everywhere. “Countless sects and factions exist, yet this Shengqi Tower singles out our Song Sword Pool like rabid dogs! Zhengyi, what was the Ministry of Justice’s response in the capital?”
Song Zhengyi rubbed his brow wearily. “The court’s power is immense now. Forget the Minister of Justice, Liu Yiyou—even the Vice Minister in charge of the Copper Fish Emblem approvals is beyond our reach. I spent eighty thousand taels just to get a word with a minor official named Ma…”
Song Zhengxin frowned. “Didn’t your sister-in-law give you three hundred thousand taels?”
Zhengyi sighed. “Brother, you know the court is undergoing a covert reshuffle. At such a critical juncture for promotions, who dares take bribes openly? That eighty thousand taels to Ma was hard enough to deliver. Otherwise, we’d be circling the temple with a pig’s head, unable to even light incense.”
Song Zhengxin grunted. “And what did this Ma say?”
Zhengyi took a sip of liquor. “The Vice Minister ignored him. But the left Vice Minister, though no longer overseeing martial affairs, owed him a favor from years past. After some cryptic hints, Ma relayed a message: while Sword Pool’s two generations of leaders had good ties with the court, Sect Master Chai’s final actions burned through most of that goodwill. Our current ranking is solely due to the right Vice Minister’s personal endorsement and Minister Liu’s marginal ‘acceptable’ note—otherwise, we’d have fallen out of the top ten. This conflict with Li Hou is seen as an internal martial dispute. The court won’t intervene, lest it seem they’re trampling the martial world again…”
Song Zhengxin slammed the table again. “Ungrateful bastards! From ministers to petty officials, not a shred of decency left!”
Zhengyi lowered his voice. “Brother, watch your words!”
The usually composed Song Zhengxin nearly shouted, “Since when do we, the Song family of Dongyue Sword Pool, fear eavesdroppers in our own study?!”
Zhengyi was stunned, then sighed heavily, setting down his cup repeatedly.
Slumping into his chair, Zhengxin looked at his brother apologetically. “Zhengyi, I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. You’ve been working tirelessly.”
Zhengyi shook his head. “Truthfully, sister-in-law has borne the hardest burden.”
Zhengyi tactfully changed the subject. “Brother, during my wanderings, I met some martial figures—though few were true friends…”
Zhengyi chuckled, pointing. “Oh? Those drinking buddies of yours? Remember that ‘great hero’ who freeloaded for half a year before we realized he was a fraud? Father was livid.”
Zhengyi downed his wine, then clasped his hands in mock surrender. “Brother, that’s ancient history! Don’t let Tinglu or Shan hear, or we’ll never live it down.”
Zhengyi’s mood lightened slightly. He sipped his tea, straightening his posture as he gazed around the room. “Leading a family is no easy task. Only now do I understand Father… and Uncle Chai’s…”
A familiar knock interrupted. Zhengxin remained still while Zhengyi answered the door—it was Jiang Xiuqing, bringing midnight snacks.
Taking the lacquered food box, Zhengyi said, “Sister-in-law, you needn’t trouble yourself. The maids could do this.”
Jiang Xiuqing smiled gently but said nothing, turning away gracefully.
After closing the door, Zhengyi set the box on the table. Zhengxin masked his distaste. “I’m not hungry. Help yourself.”
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