Chapter 8: Will He Ever Return?
Chapter 8: Will He Ever Return?
By the time Uncle Hu finished his account, his voice had frayed, thick with the weight of unshed tears.
Both were the flesh and blood of Chen Zhan, yet the disparity was a chasm. While Chen Fusheng had never known a day without fine silks or a full belly, Chen Chang’an had been treated as little more than a stray.
Chen Hongluo stood frozen, her eyes wide with mounting horror. Beside her, Chen Zhan turned his head away, his expression grim and shadowed by the flickering candlelight. He leveled a piercing glare at Chu Yanran. “Is this what you meant when you claimed to manage the household and keep my ‘rear guard’ secure?”
Chu Yanran ground her teeth, her brow furrowed in sharp indignation. “Uncle Hu, there is no need to play the martyr for Chen Chang’an. Have I not provided his monthly stipend in full?” she snapped. “If he refuses to buy clothes, that is his own stubbornness. What does his vanity have to do with me?”
The younger sisters nodded in unison, their voices rising in a chorus of practiced agreement.
“The son of the Prince of Huainan does not lack for silver,” one chimed in. “Mother is right.”
“I see it now,” another added, her lip curling. “Chen the Half-wit is doing this on purpose, trying to sow discord between our parents. How manipulative.”
“He has the heart of a wolf!” a third cried. “He should be punished!”
Uncle Hu’s body trembled violently. He could not bear to listen to their callousness a moment longer. It felt as though his very heart were bleeding. He gritted his teeth and spoke, his voice shaking with suppressed rage. “Your Highness, how much silver does the Ninth Young Master actually receive?”
He didn’t wait for her answer. “When he first returned to the manor, you claimed you feared he would squander his wealth, so you capped his stipend at a mere five taels. He spent nearly every copper of that on the Young Ladies. Later, after he left the Imperial Academy, did he not enroll in Qingfeng Academy? Does an education not cost money?”
Uncle Hu’s voice rose, cracking with grief. “His tuition was five taels a month, but the Ninth Young Master begged them to take four and a half. He survives on a single steamed bun a day. His body is frail, his health failing! It is not that he does not want to buy clothes, Your Highness—he truly has no silver!”
Uncle Hu turned his face away, letting a single, bitter tear slip down his cheek.
The world whispered that Chen Chang’an was the luckiest soul alive—a common carp who had leaped the Dragon’s Gate to join the nobility. But only Uncle Hu knew the truth of how Chen Chang’an had lived these past six years. It was worse than a dog’s life. Even a hound in this manor gets a full belly.
The sisters froze, their mocking laughter dying in their throats. The Prince of Huainan was not short of coin; any single trinket in the manor, if sold, would fetch thousands of taels. Yet no one had imagined that Chen Chang’an was living in such abject misery.
Chen Hongluo, the Eldest Young Lady, felt her eyes burn with a sudden, stinging heat. “Mother… is what Uncle Hu said true?”
Every eye in the room turned toward Chu Yanran, filled with a volatile mix of expectation and dread.
Chu Yanran shook her head vigorously. “A lie!” she shouted. “I lowered the Half-wit’s stipend for his own good. Later, I simply… I forgot. I assumed he was on the same allowance as the rest of you. Uncle Hu, summon the accountant. Ask him yourself!”
Uncle Hu knew better than to argue further with the Princess Consort. He bowed stiffly and went to fetch the man.
Chu Yanran looked at Chen Zhan, her voice tight with forced confidence. “My lord, I did not intentionally withhold the boy’s stipend. Besides, if he truly had no money, would he have survived away from home for so many days? What has he been eating? Drinking? Would he not have starved to death by now?”
Chen Zhan frowned. To his military mind, Chu Yanran’s logic seemed to hold water. He glanced around Chen Chang’an’s stable-like quarters one last time, then waved a hand dismissively. “Eldest, stay here. Search for any unusual clues. The rest of you, return to the front courtyard with me. This place is… foul.”
Chen Zhan let out a heavy sigh. He could not stand to remain in the room for another second. It was difficult to fathom how Chen Chang’an had endured it for years.
Back in the main hall, they had barely settled when Uncle Hu returned, leading Accountant Guo, who clutched a thick, leather-bound ledger to his chest.
Chu Yanran’s face darkened. “Accountant Guo, tell the Prince honestly. What is Chen the Half-wit’s monthly stipend?”
Accountant Guo had intended to consult his records, but hearing the Princess Consort’s pointed tone, he relaxed slightly, assuming she wanted the 'official' answer. “Your Highness, it is five taels.”
Chu Yanran slammed her hand onto the table, the tea service rattling. “Nonsense! I am not asking about the past. I am asking about his current allowance!”
Accountant Guo began to tremble. He dropped to his knees, holding the ledger up with both hands, his face turning the color of parchment. “Yes… yes, currently. By your verbal order, the Ninth Young Master is to receive only five taels per month. It has not been increased in six years. That was your command, Your Highness.”
A collective gasp—a sharp *hiss* of indrawn breath—filled the room.
Accountant Guo was terrified, his complexion drained of all color. Even Chen Chunhua and Chen Qiuyue wore expressions of utter disbelief. Five taels… that wasn't even enough for a single decent meal at a tavern.
“Five taels? Show me!” Chen Zhan roared. He snatched the ledger and flipped through the pages.
When Chen Chang’an was ten, he could barely write; his early entries were nothing but clumsy circles. But as Chen Zhan turned the pages, the handwriting transformed, becoming increasingly elegant and incisive. There was a sharp, commanding quality to the strokes, reminiscent of a general overseeing a vast battlefield.
Chen Zhan’s fists clenched until his knuckles turned white. “My lady, do you intend to give me a proper explanation for this?”
Chu Yanran knew she was cornered, but admitting fault was beneath her. “Yes, it was an oversight. But what is so wrong with five taels? He developed wretched habits in that Foundling Hall. Who knows if he hasn’t been stealing items from the manor to sell on the street? For one thing, I caught him trying to steal my Gold-Threaded Robe!”
Chen Zhan’s brow furrowed. The other sisters seemed to catch the scent of a distraction and pounced.
“The Half-wit did steal Mother’s Gold-Threaded Robe,” one cried. “He couldn’t wait to get his hands on it in her bedroom. He was even touching it with those filthy hands!”
“Thankfully, Mother caught him,” another added. “That robe is worth ten thousand taels! Father, we can all testify. The Half-wit has silver—he must have stolen it!”
The sisters spoke in a jumbled, frantic rush. Chen Zhan felt a headache brewing. He had spent so much of his life in military camps that he had paid little attention to the domestic squabbles of the manor. Could his son truly be a thief? If so, the boy was truly beyond saving.
Chu Yanran felt the tide turning back in her favor. She nodded firmly. “My lord, I admit five taels is a bit low. But the boy has dishonest hands. I feared he would turn to a life of crime if given more. Besides, while studying at the Imperial Academy, five taels is more than enough to last a month if one is frugal.”
She spoke with such absolute certainty that Chen Zhan found himself unable to refute her. He waved a hand weakly. “I do not know the truth of it. Regardless… the boy has disappeared.”
“So what if he has?” Chu Yanran brushed it off with a flick of her wrist. “When he crawls back, make him kneel before the Ancestral Tablets. Give him a severe beating! If we do not discipline him now, he is ruined. The Huainan Manor cannot raise a petty thief.”
Chen Zhan remained troubled. “Uncle Hu, did Eldest find anything else in the room?”
As if on cue, Chen Hongluo walked in, her eyes rimmed with red. “Father, Mother… there was nothing else.”
She paused, her voice trembling. “Only a worn wooden chest containing a locked notebook—likely his diary since returning home—and a pair of unfinished straw sandals. That is all. Nothing else.”
Disappointment flickered in Chen Zhan’s eyes.
Chen Hongluo sat heavily, her gaze hollow. “I feel… a deep pain in my heart. Ninth Brother is my own blood. Mother gave him no money. He could not even afford to buy socks. He had to patch and mend his own rags… How did he survive these six years?”
The other sisters burst into mocking laughter.
“We just told you, Eldest Sister! By stealing!”
“Yes, he even stole my medicine and kept applying it to his own face!”
“I don’t even want to mention it—he even stole my undergarments!”
The conversation spiraled back into a cacophony of accusations. Chen Zhan waved his hand to silence them. “It is late. Tomorrow, when the rain lets up, we will search the city.”
He took Chu Yanran’s arm and led her from the room. The sisters followed, giggling and whispering as they returned to their comfortable chambers.
Chen Hongluo’s lips moved, but no sound came out. Her father clearly didn't grasp the gravity of what they had seen. She thought of those six years—no money, no food, no warmth.
*Leaving this house might be the only way he ever finds a full belly,* she thought bitterly. *Will he ever return?*
*Should he?*