Chapter 65: True Revenge

Cai Cong spoke in a detached tone as Old Meng stepped forward and slapped the gambling house owner hard across the face. With one slap, several teeth threatened to fly out; after a few more, barely any were left in his mouth.

“This earl is here to collect a gambling debt—six thousand taels in total. Here’s the marker. Your men assaulted my subordinate, so add another five hundred as compensation. As for the incident last time, we’ll settle it all today. Old Meng, break his legs. Xinda, take six thousand five hundred taels from the casino—don’t take a coin more. We’re not bandits,” Cai Cong sneered, ordering Gan Xinda and his men inside. At first, the sum seemed short, but they soon discovered a hidden vault, putting the matter to rest. After collecting the money, they even smashed up the gambling den.

“Which one’s next nearby?”

“To answer you, sir, it’s the Fierce Tiger Gambling House, run by a notorious local thug. He’s not usually so flagrant, but he owes me twelve hundred taels in total.”

“Hmm. Old Meng, take two squads and collect the money. Tell him if he dares to default, he won’t live to see tomorrow’s sun. We’ll visit somewhere else,” Cai Cong declared with domineering authority. For a mere ruffian to dare default on a noble’s debt—if he were beaten to death, none would care. No matter the era, word of mouth spreads faster than the wind; wherever Cai Cong went, the gambling houses had already received orders from their shadowy patrons—obediently presenting their money and waving their handkerchiefs in relief as he departed.

Paying for peace of mind was never too much, especially since those who lost to Cai Cong were as numerous as fish swimming to the sea; for them, it was as if this entire round of gambling had been orchestrated for Cai Cong’s benefit.

But others were not so fortunate. The chief stewards of the Zhang and An households were beside themselves with worry. Three months ago, they’d been overjoyed—even though everyone who came to their gaming houses bet on Cai Cong’s victory, it seemed like easy money.

But when the New Left Guard army crushed the Black Armored Troops, their spirits plummeted. Upon inquiry, they found not only their own establishments, but those of several allied noble families, faced the same predicament. Together, the debts amounted to nearly three hundred thousand taels.

The heads of the families nearly fainted when they heard the news; this hole would likely drain the coffers of several houses. After some discussion, they slammed their fists on the table and decided: those who owed little could pay, but those who owed much—if they dared to demand payment, throw them out; if they caused trouble, find an excuse to have them arrested. The law is but two words, after all—such ancient wisdom was not written in vain.

The stewards had handled matters well so far; those coming to collect were owed only a few taels, and these they paid out courteously, hoping word of their fair dealings would spread and preserve the reputation of their houses.

But now, learning that the greatest schemer behind it all was Cai Cong, the stewards were terrified.

“Hurry, go tell the master! The young lord of the Cai family has a grudge against him—he will never let this go!” Zhang Liang’s steward kicked and shoved a servant out the door, shouting the order. And so it was with the other houses; they sent out men for news every so often. As Cai Cong drew closer, and with no word from their own masters, the stewards could only stamp their feet anxiously.

Finally, the servant returned, having run so hastily that he tripped on the threshold and tumbled inside. “Chief Steward, the master said to gather all the money and silver and evacuate immediately. As for Master Seventh… he said to let him take the blame alone. The gambling house must not drag down the whole Zhang family.”

“There’s no other way, no other way at all. Quickly, everyone, pack up the gold and silver, load the carts—I’ll go speak to Master Seventh,” the chief steward stammered, hurrying toward the back courtyard of the gaming house.

By this time, Cai Cong had already reached the end of the street, his carriage moving slowly. The glittering gold and silver did not accompany it—they’d already been sent off to the Eastern Palace.

In the back courtyard, the steward and a well-dressed, burly man sat facing each other.

“You understand—the family is vast, and if the clan has to come up with a hundred thousand taels, it would collapse. So, as the master said…” The steward spoke coolly. The casino could be lost, even Master Seventh could die, but the foundations of the family could not be shaken. Sacrificing the few to save the many was the natural order.

“I understand. I’ll bear this myself. I won’t give up my elder brother,” Master Seventh replied in a steady voice, though his trembling arms and unsteady legs betrayed him—he was simply suppressing his terror.

“Rest assured, your wife and children will be cared for by the clan. When the young master comes of age, he’ll attend the Imperial Academy—he’ll have a bright future.” The steward spoke as he pushed a cup of wine toward him. Master Seventh raised it with shaking hands, eyes squeezed shut, about to pour it down his throat.

Just then, a cold gleam flashed. With a cry of pain, Master Seventh dropped the cup, which shattered on the ground—a dart was buried in the back of his hand, blood streaming out.

“Who’s there?” The steward leapt to his feet, his gaze icy as he stared at the courtyard gate.

“What are you staring at? It’s your Grandpa Xu!” Xu Jie lounged nonchalantly in the doorway, weighing two darts in his hands.

“Out of the way! You’re blocking the road,” Cai Cong snapped irritably. Ever since Xu Jie had heard him tell stories of chivalrous heroes, he’d gotten more and more unruly, and now dared to upstage him—courting death.

“Heh, just scouting ahead for you! Only two feeble old men here, no threat at all. This way, please!” Xu Jie quickly stepped aside, bowing obsequiously.

“Don’t mind them, Master Seventh, drink up quickly!” Seeing Cai Cong closing in, the steward’s face twisted as he seized the wine flask, ready to force it down Master Seventh’s throat.

“Drink it! Your wife and children, and even your illegitimate son in Yonghe Lane, are all in our hands. If you die, they’ll suffer in your place.”

Xu Jie spoke coolly. Terror filled Master Seventh’s eyes—he pushed the steward away, then with a thud fell to his knees, begging, “Please, spare them! They’re innocent. I’ll kowtow to you!”

He struck his forehead against the flagstones with a dull thud, blood streaming down his face. Cai Cong watched in silence. As Zhang Liang’s cousin, this man had thrown his weight around no small amount—there was no way he’d let them off so easily.

“Search—turn the place upside down, not a single coin left behind. As for you, choose: let your whole family die and take Zhang Liang’s place, or keep your family alive and make Zhang Liang pay up,” Cai Cong said calmly. There was at most a little over ten thousand taels in the casino—the rest, nearly ninety thousand, only Zhang Liang himself could produce.

“Heh… If I’m going to die either way, of course I’d rather benefit my own kin. My whole family will be waiting for you on the road to the underworld. I curse you, may your descendants be thieves and harlots for all eternity!” At these words, Master Seventh sprang to his feet, blood streaming from his face, and with a final glare, dashed his head against a rock, ending his life.

“You—”

The steward trembled with rage, wanting to curse Cai Cong but not daring to speak, forced to stand by as the Left Guard men tore down walls and ripped up the floors in their search for silver.

“At least he was a loyal man. Go back and tell Zhang Liang: bring fifty thousand taels to ransom his sister-in-law and nephews, or I’ll spread word of today’s events and sell his sister-in-law to a brothel,” Cai Cong said with a note of admiration, turning to the steward with cold menace, as if he hadn’t just praised Master Seventh.

“You devil, your heart is beyond cruel…” The steward could no longer contain his fury, roaring with rage. Meng Baolai drew his sword, but Cai Cong stopped him.

“If he truly won’t pay, have him divorce the woman who insulted my mother—I’ll release them, and even return today’s money. Isn’t that fair? No one has to die,” Cai Cong said.

The steward dared not speak again, flinging his sleeves as he turned to leave. Cai Cong ordered his men to break the steward’s leg and throw him into the street. For a servant to insult a noble—if he were beaten to death, no one would blame Cai Cong.