Chapter 13: Thunder in Winter, Graves Everywhere

 Chapter 13: Thunder in Winter, Graves Everywhere

Lang Jiuchuan’s return to the manor indeed caused the Lang family to “look at her anew,” yet in truth, it did not draw much lasting attention. Especially not from the elders. The new head of the family, Lang Zhengping, had no time to spare for her. He was occupied arranging the funeral of his late father and, even more so, planning for his own future and that of the clan.

The title of Marquis of Kaiping had originally been conferred as an irreplaceable hereditary marquisate during the founding of the Great Dan by the Taizu Emperor. But in the generation of the Old Marquis, because he had chosen the wrong side in the struggle for the throne, His Majesty had seized upon the excuse to punish the house. Though the title was not stripped, it was downgraded to a decreasing inheritance. Thus, beginning with Lang Zhengping, the title would fall in rank with each generation, unless some descendant achieved great merit to restore it.

From the time of the late emperor, the Lang family had already begun to decline and fall to the margins of court. Fortunately, that emperor did not reign long before his death, and the present Son of Heaven ascended the throne. Just then, the northern frontier was troubled by incursions of the Xiongnu, and Lang Zhengfan, the second son of the house, had enlisted early. By accumulating military merit, he rose to the rank of General Who Pacifies the North, fourth grade, and for a time the Lang family’s fortunes seemed poised for revival.

Yet the good days were short. Lang Zhengfan died in his prime, and among the Lang sons, none could take up his mantle.

Now, more than a decade later, the only Lang who had once held audience was the deceased Marquis of Kaiping. The new heir, Lang Zhengping, had only secured a nominal fifth-rank sinecure with no right of court attendance. In the provinces, the only official was Lang Zhengwen of the Third Branch, but he was a mere county magistrate of the seventh rank, a man of juren background, and now he too must withdraw from office for mourning.

Thus, the next three years would be the darkest time for the Lang clan. If Zhengping could smoothly inherit the title, there would still be chances to rise again. If not, the Lang family would be utterly ruined.

The Old Marquis had surely foreseen this, which was why, even in his infirm old age, he had still strained to secure connections and influence for the family’s future.

That was also why Zhengping had no leisure to concern himself with a niece’s return. He had far weightier matters, matters tied to the very fate of the family.

Elder Zhao was one of the crucial figures he needed to befriend. Yet at their very first meeting, Lang Jiuchuan had already offended him gravely. Though inwardly furious, Zhengping had no choice but to smooth things over, personally sending his trusted steward Gao Cheng with a rare treasured book as an apology.

He still hoped Elder Zhao would assist in smoothing over the funeral arrangements. If the present emperor were moved to grant a posthumous honor, then the family’s prospects would brighten.

Thus it was that no sooner had Elder Zhao returned home than he received the Lang family’s gift.

Because of the mourning, Gao Cheng, though a family retainer, did not enter the manor. Instead, he merely kowtowed outside, presented the book, and withdrew.

Elder Zhao leafed through the volume and sighed heavily.

He understood Zhengping’s meaning well enough, and he knew the Lang family’s plight. Had the Second Son of the Lang family lived, steadily accumulating military merit, the clan might well have regained its place at the heart of government. With fortune, perhaps they might even have achieved the glory of two marquises in one house.

But fate was cruel. The Second Son’s life had been cut short. Worse still, at that time, the younger generation of the Lang clan were but children. No one was of age to carry on his mantle. The lineage of talent was broken.

As for his old friend, the late Marquis, he had been able to attend court but held no true power—merely an occasional presence in audience. Now, after more than ten years, the family still awaited a chance to rise again.

The old Marquis had written to him more than once to seek aid. Now that the man was gone, the Lang family’s future was all the more precarious. Elder Zhao had thought, when the time came, he might extend a hand to Zhengping, if only to ensure he inherited the title smoothly. With the title in hand, future opportunities could be sought.

Yet inexplicably, his mind could not cast off the image of those unfathomably dark eyes, nor the words she had spoken.

Boom!

A sudden thunderclap split the heavens.

Elder Zhao started violently, his heart thudding in chaos. He lifted his gaze toward the window.

Thunder in winter—graves everywhere.

The sky had grown oppressively dark, heavy with a sense of ill omen.

Dong, dong, dong—urgent footsteps approached from beyond.

Clutching the rare book tightly, Elder Zhao stared toward the doorway. His eldest son, Zhao Kun, burst in, hair dusted with snow, breath hurried. He leaned close, his voice hoarse.

“Father—at Mo Family Village in the western suburbs, the home of Old Farmer Mo has burned. Villagers put out the fire and carried out five corpses. It was Mo’s entire household. I checked—the child was truly of the Mo family…”

It meant that the child had escaped, and none knew whose identity he had now taken. As for the one who set the fire—

Clatter.

The treasured book slipped from Elder Zhao’s hands and fell to the ground.

He had saved one who should not have been saved. One life for one life. And this debt… must be repaid with his own.

Elder Zhao’s figure bent as if beneath a crushing weight.