Chapter Thirty-Five: The Unusual Master Zhang

Feng Yuan’s home was on the eastern side of the city, while the Zhang residence lay to the south, a distance of four or five kilometers. Even by carriage, it took quite some time to arrive.

As one of the ten great families, the Zhang household’s manor was naturally imposing. Of course, being an ordinary merchant family, no matter how wealthy, their residence could not exceed three courtyards—unless someone in the family held official rank, in which case they could build four or five. Residences with more than five courtyards required an official of certain standing; those below the fifth rank were forbidden from constructing homes exceeding five courtyards, lest they break the law.

Thus, most merchant families wishing for grand homes but constrained by the three-courtyard limit would instead focus on the size of each courtyard—making each as large as two or three typical ones, with gardens in front and behind, side wings with additional gardens, maximizing luxury within the permitted bounds.

The Zhang manor exemplified this approach: its first courtyard was as vast as two or three of others’, an impressive sight from the entrance. Yet to Feng Yuan, this was nothing remarkable—his own residence boasted nine courtyards. No matter how grand the Zhang estate, it could never surpass his own.

Feng Yuan alighted from the carriage, surprised by the scene at the Zhang household’s gate.

In front of the courtyard walls on either side, a crowd had gathered—mostly scholars—examining numerous posted writings. They discussed animatedly, creating a lively atmosphere. Nearby stood a tea pavilion, where anyone feeling parched from debate could request a cup.

Perplexed, Feng Yuan turned to the steward Qiao Si beside him, “Steward Qiao, what is all this?”

“Oh, Master Feng,” Qiao Si replied, “though our master holds no official title, he enjoys writing and painting. Whenever he’s pleased with a piece, he posts it outside, inviting scholars to critique and appreciate it, seeking their feedback to improve himself.”

Feng Yuan was taken aback. He hadn’t expected Master Zhang to be so devoted to such pursuits—it was rare. Most merchant families focused on nurturing the next generation; Master Zhang, it seemed, was intent on refining himself.

“Would you like to take a closer look, Master Feng?” Qiao Si asked.

“Certainly.”

The two approached the wall. Feng Yuan looked up at the posted writings and found they were not formal essays, but novels—strange tales of the supernatural, much like his own. The illustrations were not traditional paintings, but comic-like panels depicting bizarre stories.

Yet the writing itself was rather poor—quite ordinary, even worse than the earliest internet authors in China, filled with useless rambling and muddled themes.

Feng Yuan quickly lost interest. The story panels were slightly better, though only in technical skill; the plots, frankly, were dreadful—utterly tasteless, as if Zhang Fei were tasked with embroidery, a sight unfit for the eyes.

He could not continue, yet the scholars around him were absorbed, nodding in admiration, even entranced. Feng Yuan was bewildered—these novels were barely coherent, let alone worthy of praise. Had these people never seen real literature?

Watching their reactions, Feng Yuan noticed their expressions were odd, especially their eyes—fixed on the illustrations with obsessive intensity, as if gazing at a naked beauty. He could not comprehend such fascination.

“Master Feng, what do you think of my master’s work?” Qiao Si inquired.

“Excellent,” Feng Yuan replied with a polite smile. “I did not expect Master Zhang to be not only a business genius, but also so accomplished in writing and painting. If he were to sit for the exams, he would surely place highly.”

Qiao Si was delighted, “If my master hears your praise, he will be overjoyed! Please, follow me inside.”

Qiao Si then led Feng Yuan into the Zhang estate. The manor was vast, with many servants—Feng Yuan counted hundreds as he passed through the courtyards. Yet their expressions were strange, blank and lifeless, with pale, weak faces. It was odd, but Feng Yuan paid little attention.

Soon they reached the garden in the third courtyard. Qiao Si invited Feng Yuan to sit in the pavilion, ordering tea and pastries, before going inside to summon Master Zhang.

Feng Yuan sipped his tea and rose to survey the garden. The flowers and trees were beautiful, but the overall layout was peculiar, as if everything was contrary to convention, leaving an uneasy impression. He wondered at Master Zhang’s temperament.

“Master Feng, our master has arrived!” Qiao Si’s voice came from behind. Feng Yuan quickly turned and saw Qiao Si accompanied by a middle-aged man.

This was Master Zhang—Zhang Heng. His appearance stunned Feng Yuan: Zhang Heng was exceptionally tall, nearly two meters, with a robust build. Though dressed in fine robes, his muscular chest could not be concealed. His features were rugged, with a broad, clean face and a thick beard covering half of it.

Most striking were his eyes—large and protruding, almost fish-like, with a faint green hue, seeming to glare at all times, fierce and intimidating. His thick, dark brows enhanced his formidable presence. He looked nothing like a merchant, more a warrior—children would surely be frightened by his gaze.

He did not resemble a businessman at all, more a martial artist.

“Hahaha... Master Feng, I am truly grateful you have honored us with your presence!” Master Zhang greeted Feng Yuan with hearty laughter, striding with powerful steps that exuded a commanding aura, instantly demanding respect.

Feng Yuan bowed and replied with a smile, “Master Zhang, you are too kind. I am flattered that you appreciate my humble works—I wonder what merit they possess to earn your favor.”

“Hahaha... I did not expect one so young as Master Feng to possess such composure—unassuming, yet destined for greatness!” Master Zhang praised him. “Please, do sit.”

“After you, Master Zhang.”

The two sat. Master Zhang turned to Feng Yuan, “Master Feng, your novels are extraordinary! I am utterly captivated. These days, your stories are the talk of every street and alley, rivaling the celebrations of a newly crowned scholar. You are remarkable!”

“Oh, not at all. Just fortunate, merely fortunate,” Feng Yuan replied with a smile.

After exchanging polite conversation, they got down to business.

Master Zhang signaled to Qiao Si, who promptly produced a banknote from his pocket and placed it before Feng Yuan.

Feng Yuan glanced at it—it was a note for ten taels of silver. Puzzled, he asked, “Master Zhang, what is this?”

“Master Feng, consider this ten taels a meeting gift. I would like to ask a favor; if you agree, I will add ten more!” Master Zhang smiled broadly, but his fierce appearance made his smile resemble that of a man about to devour his guest.