Chapter 8: Preparing to Make Money

Yang Tian gave a brief explanation.

Wang Fu was thoroughly impressed.

In over ten years, the young master had never shown such sharp wit.

It was possible he had always concealed it, simply lacking the opportunity to demonstrate his abilities.

Yet Wang Fu believed it more likely that the young master, after suffering a grievous blow, had risen above it, transformed as if reborn.

One either collapses under adversity or rises, renewed by fire, growing stronger with every hardship.

The young master was clearly the latter.

To awaken from a coma and rescue the Yang family from imprisonment and execution—such a feat was far beyond the reach of ordinary youths.

The stronger Yang Tian appeared, the happier they felt.

Loyalty was not lacking among them.

No one wished to devote themselves to a leader with no redeeming qualities.

Following someone so astute, the hope for future vengeance was not mere fantasy.

Having won even deeper loyalty from his followers, Yang Tian also ate his fill of dry rations.

“Uncle Fu, since you left, where did everyone settle?” he asked.

“Young master, just ahead in Wuyang City. We agreed that if we didn’t arrive by dusk today, they would leave immediately and head north,” Wang Fu replied.

“How long to the next city?”

“We’ll arrive by noon, young master. Of late, this road hasn't been very safe; a gang of mountain bandits has been prowling Mount Qiyin, occasionally waylaying merchants and travelers. The imperial forces are still trying to root them out. I was concerned the group might be attacked, so I escorted them to Wuyang City before hurrying back. I should have arrived by dusk, but on the way I was suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to advance in cultivation, which delayed me quite a bit. I nearly missed our meeting—thankfully, you proved so resourceful. Otherwise, I…” Wang Fu explained in detail, making it clear that this was the reason for his tardiness.

Yang Tian could tell that Uncle Fu was truly remorseful and anxious.

“Uncle Fu, I should be thanking you for appearing in time to save me. Please don’t blame yourself—you did nothing wrong.”

Of course, Uncle Fu could not be faulted; suppressing a breakthrough in cultivation might have disastrous consequences.

Moreover, had he not advanced to the eighth rank in the literary path, he might not have been able to kill Wang Qifeng, and his abilities would have been exposed.

Now, no one else knew of Uncle Fu’s true strength.

Uncle Fu was his greatest hidden asset.

That secrecy would make their enemies even more wary.

Yang Tian did not ask about this matter; even if Uncle Fu hid his abilities well, his predecessor’s father surely knew—perhaps this was always the Yang family’s secret weapon.

Since it was no threat, Yang Tian saw no reason to probe further.

“Uncle Fu, from here to Desolate City, are there many bandits along the way?” Yang Tian suddenly asked, as if struck by a thought.

“Yes. The northern part of Qin is lined with mountain ranges—perfect for bandits and brigands to hide. It’s not easy for the authorities to clear them out. As war has become more frequent in recent years, banditry has flourished, though most bands are not very powerful. But you needn’t worry, young master—with me at your side, you’ll reach Desolate City safely,” Wang Fu replied, assuming Yang Tian was simply young and anxious about the dangers of the road.

“Young master, our route north passes through very few areas plagued by bandits. No matter how bold they are, they fear the authorities’ crackdown and stick to places hard to search, usually targeting merchants, making the risk worth their while only for a big haul.”

Seeing Yang Tian lost in thought, Wang Fu continued, trying to reassure him.

The young master still needed time to grow; he had seen little of the world, but being so young, that was only natural.

He had already surpassed those sons of noble families who knew nothing but indulgence.

So Wang Fu mused.

When Uncle Fu mentioned bandits, a notion flickered through Yang Tian’s mind.

He felt no fear or worry—he was weighing the possibilities.

Hundreds of years ago, the Nine Provinces continent had entered an age of constant warfare among competing states.

Small kingdoms perished, new ones arose.

Now, fewer than thirty states of note remained on the continent.

Qin itself had been founded less than two centuries ago.

Its strength ranked in the upper middle among the states.

Yet it faced many issues.

Externally, it dealt with both aggression and defense.

Internally, remnants of the previous dynasty lingered, rebellious factions and banditry flourished, and now the instability of the court and the struggle for the throne added to the chaos.

Qin stood at a pivotal crossroads in its fate.

But these were not Yang Tian’s concerns.

He only wanted to survive and grow stronger.

As long as his strength was sufficient, even if Qin fell, he would remain unharmed.

Thus, survival was his ultimate goal.

And increasing his power was the guarantee of that survival.

The Chinese Treasure Book within his mind-sea was his greatest reliance.

And fate, or fortune, was the key.

Becoming the lord of Desolate City in Qin bound him to the nation’s fortunes.

Developing Desolate City would be a way to enhance his own accumulation of fortune.

Rooting out bandits and other scourges should also strengthen his luck.

Doing good deeds and accumulating virtue certainly would.

“Uncle Fu, based on our strength to eliminate bandit forces, and setting a deadline of one month to reach Desolate City, can you help me draw up a new route? Is there any way to get accurate intelligence on the bandits along the way?” Yang Tian’s words rang out like thunder.

Wang Fu and the others were stunned to silence.

They wondered if they had heard wrong, suspecting their ears were playing tricks on them.

They had thought the young master feared bandits—how mistaken they were.

His words implied he wanted to wipe out the bandits?

Wasn’t that a bit too righteous?

“Young master, is it because you can’t bear to see these bandits wreak havoc, and wish to do some good?” Wang Fu asked in disbelief.

Not being afraid was one thing, but to go after the bandits?

“I need money. After all, the bandits’ wealth is all ill-gotten—I see no problem in putting it to use,” Yang Tian declared, perfectly justified.

This was the second reason for targeting the bandits: money.

As for fate, Yang Tian would never share that secret with anyone.

“You all know what Desolate City is like. If we don’t find a way to get money now, what will we live on there—eat the wind? By taking their riches and destroying the bandits, we both do good and fund ourselves. Can you think of a better plan?”

Seeing Yang Tian’s earnest and serious expression, they could only shake their heads in confusion.

The logic was sound, but something felt off.

Though the bandits’ riches were stolen, wasn’t robbing the bandits just as bad?

Yet wiping them out was undeniably a good deed.

Still, shouldn’t the money be handed over to the authorities?

To keep it for themselves, and to speak so righteously about it—this was not the Yang family’s usual way.

But, remembering the problems they would face in Desolate City, their own heads ached.

The young master was already thinking like the head of a family, considering how to raise funds.

If asked to come up with a way to gather a large sum quickly, there was no better method than targeting the bandits.

Robbing bandits was certainly better than robbing the rich directly.

“Young master, perhaps you should reconsider—take more time to plan?” Wang Fu ventured cautiously. This was unprecedented.

Even without the title of Champion Marquis, such actions would surely leave a stain on their name.

Destroying bandits would earn them glory.

Taking the loot, though, would draw criticism.

“There’s no need to discuss it any further. It’s settled,” Yang Tian said firmly.

All else was fleeting—raising money was what mattered most.