Chapter 047: The Thirty-Year Pact

Song Ye was well aware that the news Zhao Zhigao shared was true. Three months prior, he had already learned from Princess Yi'an, Li Xiuling, that a new city was to be built here. Li Xiuling held a position in court second only to one, above all others—even the emperor himself heeded his elder sister’s words. Her pronouncements in court carried the weight of imperial edicts; whatever she intended to do, no one dared oppose.

Song Ye surmised that the “construction teams” for the city were already on their way. To raise a city from nothing was an immense undertaking, taking, at best, three to five years and, at worst, more than a decade. Yet, this was the land of cultivation, where such grand projects would not rely solely on ordinary labor and tools; cultivators’ powers would inevitably be involved.

Sure enough, Zhao Zhigao soon confirmed Song Ye’s suspicions. “I heard from Magistrate Wang that the court has reached an agreement with the Murong Clan. The Murong Clan will assist in building the new city,” Zhao said. “But once the city is finished, the ownership of three streets within it will belong to the Murong Clan!”

The Murong Clan was one of the four great cultivation families of the Li Kingdom. The court’s chosen cultivator allies for this project were none other than the Murong Clan, a prestigious family with thousands of years of history, entrenched in the kingdom for generations, their disciples numbering in the tens of thousands and their business ventures spread nationwide. With their help, a vast new city could be completed in as little as two years.

Of course, for the Murong Clan, this partnership with the court was all profit, no loss. Once the city was built, they would own three entire streets within, and the steady stream of revenue those streets would provide was incalculable. More importantly, the new city would become a stronghold for their influence; any other family wishing to do business there would first need the Murong Clan’s permission.

At the very mention of the “Murong Clan,” Song Yan—always so steady with her chopsticks—suddenly dropped one to the ground. At the sound of it clattering, Song Ye glanced over and saw a chopstick rolling on the floor. He thought nothing of it, simply picked it up, wiped it with his sleeve, returned it to Song Yan’s hand, and gently admonished, “Eat slowly.”

Song Yan nodded and resumed eating her noodles. Truthfully, she herself didn’t know why her right hand had suddenly failed her, causing her to drop the chopstick. She had heard her mother mention the Murong Clan several times before, and all she knew was that her mother disliked the very name. Yet she was unclear as to the true connection between her parents and the Murong Clan; perhaps she had once known, but had forgotten. After all, she was still young, and many of her memories were vague and fleeting.

So, Song Yan did not realize that she bore a blood feud with the Murong Clan. She was even less aware that her mother’s dying wish was for her to carry this enmity through life, to follow Qin Xuanxi in earnest cultivation, and one day personally wipe out the entire Murong Clan in vengeance—not to while away the days with Song Ye, growing up carefree and innocent.

Even if, when she grew up, Song Yan lacked the strength to exact her revenge, once thirty years had passed, Qin Xuanxi would personally act and bathe the Murong Clan in blood. Thus, no matter how powerful the Murong Clan seemed now, at most they could only flourish for another thirty years—their doom had long been inscribed in the Book of Fate, and the one who had written their end was none other than the “Living Judge of Hell,” Qin Xuanxi.

Song Ye, unaware of Song Yan’s true heritage, knew nothing of the enmity between her and the Murong Clan. “So, what will this new city be called?” Song Ye suddenly inquired.

“It will be called Yancheng,” Zhao Zhigao replied. “It seems the name was chosen for its auspicious meaning—something like ‘enduring peace.’ The name was personally selected by Princess Yi'an, and the emperor has approved it!”

“Once this place becomes Yancheng, I doubt my little tea stall will survive. Making a living here will become a problem,” Song Ye said helplessly.

This wasn’t idle talk; he truly did not know how he would make a living in the future. If it were just him, he wouldn’t care much—after all, the daily task rewards occasionally provided him with necessities and food, so even if he did nothing, he wouldn’t starve. The problem was, now he had Song Yan to care for. He had to raise her until she turned thirteen, then entrust her to Zhang Zixuan.

So, for Song Yan’s sake—to ensure she could eat well, dress comfortably, and even afford a private tutor—Song Ye needed a stable source of income.

Moreover, his activities had to remain confined to the original area of Qiuyu Village. If he sought work in the newly established Yancheng, he couldn’t leave that region.

Zhao Zhigao said, “To be honest, Brother Song, once Yancheng is built, your little tea stall won’t last. If you want to run a small business in Yancheng, you’ll have to go through the Murong Clan; only with their approval could your business continue. But you have no connection to them, and certainly no money to grease the wheels.”

“But don’t worry,” Zhao Zhigao said, clapping Song Ye on the shoulder. “With me around, I’ll be sure to find you a way to make a living.”

“Will you still be a constable in Cheng County?” Song Ye asked.

“Maybe, or I might become a constable in the new Yancheng!” Zhao Zhigao lowered his voice. “Magistrate Wang might be promoted; he may become the prefect of Yancheng. If that happens, he’ll bring me to the prefecture office and I’ll be a constable there.”

“Then I’d be able to look after you in Yancheng. Maybe I could even recommend you to Magistrate Wang—you could join me as a constable!”

Song Ye smiled. “I’m not suited to being a constable, but I appreciate your kindness all the same.”

He knew he wasn’t cut out for such work—constables needed to move about, while he was restricted to a fixed area. Besides, the new prefecture office might not even be within Qiuyu Village’s original boundaries; if he couldn’t even reach the office, how could he serve as a constable?

“It’s fine. If you don’t want to be a constable, I’ll find you some other suitable way to earn a living,” Zhao Zhigao said.

“Good. With your promise, I feel much more at ease. Let’s drink while we can—come, another cup!” Song Ye raised his cup, clinked it with Zhao Zhigao’s, and drained it in one go.