CHAPTER 131: THE DAY SHE SOLD HIS NAME
The attendant standing discreetly behind Ye Lanjue had, of course, witnessed the entire commotion unfolding within the shop. His breath caught in his throat, astonishment tightening his features.
"Your Highness, shall this subordinate intervene and prevent Miss Tang from… proceeding?" he ventured cautiously.
Miss Tang was actually attempting to sell the Third Prince's calligraphy?
The very thought was outrageous. She so rarely bestowed those treasured characters upon anyone. To possess a piece personally inscribed by His Highness was an honour beyond measure. How could she possibly bring herself to sell it?
Ye Lanjue's lips curved—barely—into something that was neither a smile nor a frown. His cold, fathomless eyes narrowed, and after a long, unreadable pause, he murmured, "No rush."
Not a refusal. Not an assent. Merely a quiet decree to wait.
The attendant exhaled in relief. He could only hope Miss Tang would come to her senses before disaster struck.
But Tang Kexin, oblivious to the silent drama outside, was already placing the calligraphy upon the counter with brisk determination.
"Shopkeeper, have a look. How much are these words worth?"
The shopkeeper leaned forward, his expression shifting from polite interest to stunned disbelief. His eyes widened further when he recognised the signature and the unmistakable seal.
"This calligraphy is exquisite," he breathed. "But… is it truly written by the Third Prince? I have heard it is nearly impossible for a young lady such as yourself to obtain His Highness's writing. How did you come by it?"
A small crowd had gathered, murmuring with suspicion. Few had ever seen the Third Prince's handwriting in person.
"Fake? You think it's fake?" Tang Kexin shot back immediately, righteous indignation colouring her tone. "Who would dare forge the Third Prince's seal? Even if someone handed me the courage, I wouldn't dare!"
Dong'er, standing loyally at her side, nearly choked on a laugh. If her young mistress dared to sell the Third Prince's writing, what wouldn't she dare?
Outside, the prince's attendants shared Dong'er's sentiment.
Ye Lanjue's lips twitched again—cold, but with a flicker of something more complicated. Irritation? Amusement? Exasperation? Even he might not have known.
"And look properly," Tang Kexin continued, rolling her eyes at the doubter. "His Highness's name is right there, and his seal as well. If you don't understand, kindly keep quiet."
Her business was being disrupted, and she had no patience for it.
Outside, Ye Lanjue's gaze darkened.
So she had planned this from the very beginning—having him sign and seal the piece solely so she could sell it off.
This woman… truly audacious.
"Yes, no one would dare impersonate the Third Prince," the sceptic conceded. "But is it not rather improper for a young lady to sell his calligraphy?"
Despite his words, his eyes remained fixed greedily on the piece. Even if it were not the prince's, the craftsmanship alone was worth coveting. His earlier accusations had merely been an attempt to scare off competition and secure a lower price.
"That's right," another chimed in. "Aside from the Third Prince himself, who would dare sell his writing?"
Tang Kexin's lips curved into a sly smile. "Do you mean His Highness should personally sell it?"
Her tone was light, but her words carried a subtle implication—she was selling it on his behalf.
"How much does the young lady wish to sell it for?" the shopkeeper asked, either unaffected by the crowd or persuaded by her confidence.
Tang Kexin considered, then raised her hand—five fingers extended.
"Fifty thousand gold?" the shopkeeper echoed, stunned. Then, with surprising earnestness, he nodded. "The Third Prince's calligraphy is indeed worth such a price. However, I cannot produce that much gold at once. Might the young lady allow me a few days to gather the full amount?"
Tang Kexin nearly staggered.
Fifty thousand gold?
Was gold so casually spent in ancient times?
And yet… the shopkeeper did not even blink.
Heavens. His Highness could become a wealthy tycoon simply by writing a few characters.
Tang Kexin was no expert in business, but even she knew the price was outrageous.
The surrounding onlookers sighed in regret. The writing was magnificent, but none of them possessed such wealth.
"How much do you have now? Give me that first. I'll return for the rest later," Tang Kexin said quickly. She had originally intended to ask for fifty thousand silver, but since the shopkeeper had misunderstood, she dared not correct him now.
If she changed her price, he might begin doubting the authenticity.
"Very well!" the shopkeeper agreed eagerly. "I shall have my men bring whatever silver I can gather at once. The remainder will be ready in five days. Shall I deliver it to your residence?"
Tang Kexin's smile froze. Deliver it… to the Prime Minister's Manor?
Absolutely not.
"No need. Just write me an IOU. Someone will come to collect it."
"Of course, of course," the shopkeeper said warmly. "Would the young lady like the silver exchanged for banknotes? They are far easier to carry."
"That would be convenient," Tang Kexin admitted.
"How many silver notes equal fifty thousand gold?" she whispered to Dong'er.
"One tael of gold equals nine taels of silver," Dong'er murmured back.
Tang Kexin nearly fainted.
Four hundred thousand silver taels…
Minus the fifty thousand she owed the Sou Yan Sect…
She had accidentally become rich.
A tycoon.
A wealthy, carefree tycoon.
The crowd, seeing the shopkeeper's enthusiasm, finally accepted that the calligraphy must indeed be genuine. Regret washed over those who had hesitated earlier.
"Young lady, do you have any more of the Third Prince's writing?" one man asked hopefully.
"No," Tang Kexin replied truthfully. Obtaining this one piece had been pure luck. Without stumbling upon Ye Luchen's collection, she would never have had the chance.
"Truly none? Since you managed to get one, surely you could get another…"
"There really isn't," she said firmly.
Outside, the prince's attendant was astonished. He had expected Miss Tang to seize the opportunity and attempt to obtain more from His Highness. After all, fifty thousand gold was a fortune beyond imagination.
Yet she refused without hesitation.
She was not greedy.
A pity she was also terribly unlucky—caught red‑handed selling the Third Prince's calligraphy while the Third Prince himself stood outside watching.
And His Highness had remained silent the entire time.
That was what frightened him most.
"Miss, here are two hundred and sixty thousand silver taels," the shopkeeper announced at last. "The remainder will be ready in five days."
Tang Kexin accepted the banknotes with unrestrained delight. She had never handled ancient currency before and could only hope she was storing it correctly.
"If the young lady ever wishes to sell more calligraphy or paintings, please return to Falling Ink Workshop," the shopkeeper said warmly.
Tang Kexin smiled politely but inwardly dismissed the idea. There would be no more.
She and Dong'er stepped out of the shop, her heart fluttering with excitement. Over two hundred thousand silver taels—just like that.
But she had barely taken a few steps when a figure appeared before her, blocking her path.
Tang Kexin froze.
Her breath caught.
Her eyes widened in horror.
He was here.
When had he arrived?
How much had he seen?
Had he watched her sell… his calligraphy?
Her heart plummeted.
CHAPTER 132: A PRINCE WHO CAME TO COLLECT
It must have been a coincidence.
Or so Tang Kexin desperately told herself.
Perhaps he had merely been passing by. Perhaps he had glanced in her direction by chance. Perhaps the heavens were simply playing a cruel joke.
Yet the moment her gaze collided with his, the banknotes tucked safely against her chest suddenly felt far less secure than they had a moment ago.
Beside her, Dong'er stood frozen, stiff as a carved statue, scarcely daring to breathe.
The Third Prince had caught her young mistress selling… the Third Prince's own calligraphy.
"Your Highness," Tang Kexin said brightly, summoning a smile she did not feel, "what a coincidence."
The attendant behind Ye Lanjue nearly choked.
A coincidence?
If one were to call His Highness standing here for an age, waiting for her to emerge, a coincidence, then the word had lost all meaning.
"Bring it here."
Ye Lanjue's voice was low, cold, and so dark it seemed to swallow the air around them. His hand extended towards her—unhurried, implacable, and utterly merciless.
He had assumed she would treasure his calligraphy.
Instead, she had marched straight out to sell it.
"What?" Tang Kexin blinked innocently, though her heart lurched in alarm. She widened her eyes, feigning confusion—though a good portion of her shock was entirely genuine.
"This king's writing," Ye Lanjue said, each word clipped and icy, "was sold for silver taels."
Her smile collapsed.
So he had seen everything.
He had not just arrived—he had been watching.
Why was this man everywhere?
Why did he appear at the most inconvenient moments?
And worse—why was he now demanding her money?
"What does His Highness mean? This humble girl does not understand." She clung to denial like a lifeline. If she admitted it, she would lose everything. She needed that silver for the Sou Yan Sect. Without it, she would be in serious trouble.
"You want this king to retrieve it himself?" Ye Lanjue's gaze lowered—deliberately—to the slight swell of her chest where the banknotes were hidden. His tone was soft, but the threat beneath it was unmistakable.
Tang Kexin exhaled sharply and glared at him. She had intended to give him some of the money. He surely didn't know exactly how much she had received… did he?
"Twenty‑six banknotes," Ye Lanjue said coolly. "Not a single one missing."
Tang Kexin's heart plummeted.
He knew.
He had seen everything.
He even knew the exact amount.
Did he also know the shopkeeper still owed her fifty thousand silver?
With no room left to manoeuvre, she reluctantly withdrew the banknotes and thrust them into his hand, her expression murderous.
He accepted them with infuriating calm, flipped through them once, then handed them to his attendant.
"Count them. Not one may be missing."
Tang Kexin's eye twitched.
Was that necessary?
She hadn't even counted them herself. If the shopkeeper had shorted her, was she supposed to treat that as a charitable donation?
At least Ye Lanjue said nothing about the outstanding fifty thousand silver. Perhaps he didn't know. If so, she could still return in five days to collect it.
"Collect the remaining banknotes in five days," Ye Lanjue said lightly.
Her heart cracked.
He had said it to his attendant—not to her.
There was no portion reserved for her at all.
Tang Kexin clenched her teeth so hard her jaw ached.
Did he truly need to be this ruthless?
The attendant's lips twitched violently.
So this had been His Highness's plan all along—wait for Miss Tang to sell the calligraphy, then confiscate every coin she earned.
His master was wealthy beyond measure. Why, then, was he behaving like this?
Tang Kexin wanted to die.
Or better yet—kick someone to death.
But she swallowed it down.
"Your Highness, it is exactly two hundred and sixty thousand silver taels," the attendant reported. "Not a single note missing."
"Mm. Let's go." Ye Lanjue cast Tang Kexin a brief, unreadable glance before turning away.
Dong'er remained frozen, her mind blank. Everything had happened so quickly she could scarcely process it.
"Your Highness—you're leaving just like that?" Tang Kexin blurted, stunned.
He had stolen her money and simply walked away?
Even if it was his calligraphy, she had been the one to sell it. She had worked for it. And now he intended to take the rest in five days as well?
"Or what?" Ye Lanjue stopped mid‑stride and turned back, his gaze cool and faintly amused.
He wanted to hear what else she dared to say.
She had sold his calligraphy without hesitation.
Not the calligraphy itself—that was trivial.
But the fact she had sold his things so easily…
It meant he held no place in her heart at all.
Why not sell his other calligraphy? Even his lesser works were worth silver.
"I admit," Tang Kexin said, drawing a steadying breath, "that I was wrong to sell the Third Prince's writing without permission."
Ye Lanjue's lips curved faintly.
So she could recognise her faults.
But she did not look particularly apologetic. He waited, expression unreadable.
"However," she continued, "Your Highness clearly saw everything. If you were displeased, you could have stepped out and stopped me."
He had watched the entire process.
If he hadn't wanted her to sell it, he could have intervened.
Why wait until she had the money in hand—until she was secretly delighted—only to appear and douse her in ice water?
"Is it not convenient," Ye Lanjue said, lips lifting in a cold arc, "to collect the money after you have sold it?"
One sentence.
And Tang Kexin's soul left her body.
Even the attendant was stunned.
Was this truly his master?
"So," Ye Lanjue added lazily, "this king did it on purpose."
Tang Kexin's hands curled into fists.
If she could, she would have kicked this man into the next dynasty.
The attendant's lips twitched again. His master's heroic image was crumbling rapidly.
"Your Highness," Tang Kexin burst out, unable to contain herself, "I spent so much effort selling that calligraphy. Isn't it excessive to take all the money?"
Her tone was no longer respectful.
It was raw, frustrated, and edged with fury.
"So," Ye Lanjue replied softly, "this king should thank you for selling his name in secret?"
She fell silent.
Her earlier bravado evaporated.
She had been in the wrong.
"Actually," she said quickly, "I helped Your Highness as well."
His brow lifted. "Oh? And how did you help me?"
"I prepared the ink," she declared, standing straighter. "Without me, you could not have written those words."
Therefore, she deserved a share.
A fair one.
Even the attendant nodded inwardly. Miss Tang had indeed helped. It was only reasonable she receive something.
Ye Lanjue inclined his head slightly, as though acknowledging her contribution. His expression grew thoughtful, as if calculating how much silver would be appropriate.
Tang Kexin's eyes brightened.
Even the attendant looked hopeful.
"Ming Xun," Ye Lanjue said.
"Yes, master," the attendant replied eagerly.
"Give Miss Tang ten copper coins for her ink."
The attendant froze.
Dong'er's jaw dropped.
Tang Kexin's face turned an alarming shade of green.
Ten… copper… coins?
Could this man be any more miserly?
How did he even have the audacity to say it aloud?