Falling into the Capital's Radiance - Chapter 11

Today was the Zhao Family’s monthly family gathering.

Old Madam Zhao had caught a chill recently. After burning incense at the ancestral hall in the morning, she returned to her room to rest, leaving everything in the hands of Zhao Zonglan’s mother, Xie Yunfan.

Xie Yunfan was a lady from a distinguished family, well-educated and proper, meticulous in all matters. She had always managed the household affairs, which put the old lady at ease.

The Zhao Family’s old residence was a siheyuan passed down from their ancestors, located in the heart of Jing City, with solemn grey-brick walls.

The entrance featured a grand golden-pillared gate, with a plaque of golden-threaded nanmu wood bearing the residence’s name, flanked by guards on either side.

Yueling had just returned to the country yesterday, bringing a man with her. Fearing her mother’s nagging, she hadn’t stayed at home.

But she came back early, intending to visit her grandmother first.

Passing through the entrance hall and into the front courtyard, the crabapple blossoms on both sides of the bluestone path were in full bloom, their colors vivid. The servants passing by all nodded respectfully to her, greeting her as “Sixth Miss.”

Among her generation, Yueling was the youngest, ranked sixth.

Zhao Zonglan was the fifth. Outsiders both feared and respected him, addressing him as “Mr. Zhao,” while the household staff or those familiar with him sometimes called him “Fifth Master.”

Just as she entered the inner courtyard, Yueling ran into Aunt Ruan, who served Old Madam Zhao, carrying a bowl of medicine out of her grandmother’s room.

“Oh dear, Sixth Miss, your timing isn’t great. The old madam just took her medicine and fell asleep. You’ll have to come back this afternoon.”

Yueling frowned. “Why has Grandmother been ill for so long this time? Has the doctor seen her?”

“He has,” Aunt Ruan nodded. “Fifth Master instructed it. The doctor comes every day.”

“Yesterday the old madam was still talking about you, saying she’d saved some nice things for you.”

Old Madam Zhao doted most on Zhao Zonglan and Yueling, her grandchildren.

Since childhood, anything good was set aside for them, and Yueling was spoiled to the point of being utterly unruly.

“My fifth brother is back?” Yueling asked.

Aunt Ruan replied, “Not yet. Chang An called to say Fifth Master is still handling work and will be here later.”

Yueling snorted with a laugh. “Such a busy man. What’s the point of making so much money? He’s still all alone.”

Zhao Zonglan’s car only arrived at the Zhao Family’s old residence near noon.

The Zhao Family had many descendants. Among the younger generation, only Zhao Siyuan was still “exiled” in Hu City; the rest had all come.

The lavishly decorated dining hall was hung with palace lanterns, the floor paved with imperial gold bricks from Suzhou kilns. On several large round rosewood tables, the central celadon vases held wintersweet branches freshly cut from the backyard by the servants.

The servants in charge of the meal served the dishes in an orderly fashion.

When Zhao Zonglan entered, he saw Zhao Tian sitting at the table, brush in hand, intently painting the red plum blossoms on the table. He was nearly finished.

“Not bad,” Zhao Zonglan praised for once, handing his coat to Chang An behind him. “But it’s mealtime now. Put your things away.”

Zhao Tian had just turned eighteen this year and had been autistic since childhood.

He was quiet and withdrawn, fond of painting, often shutting out those around him from his world.

But he listened to Zhao Zonglan.

“Okay, Uncle.”

The young man put away his brush and drawing board without expression. When a servant reached to take them, he didn’t hand them over, instead placing them on the chair beside him, keeping them close within sight, as if they were treasures.

Yueling joked with a smile, “Our little Tian treasures his brushes and drawing board most. You’d better not upset him.”

The servant nodded, “Yes, Sixth Miss.”

Zhao Luoxi and the other younger members greeted Zhao Zonglan with a “Uncle” before taking their seats.

Such family gatherings were always dull for Zhao Zonglan.

After lunch, Zhao Zonglan played a game of chess with his fourth brother, Zhao Zhe, but he was listless and uninterested throughout.

Zhao Luoxi had never liked crowds since childhood. After doing some handicrafts with Aunt Ruan, she felt sleepy and decided to take a nap.

On her way back to the west wing, she ran into Zhao Zonglan in the corridor.

“Uncle.” She wore a new-style light purple cheongsam with a white fur shawl, her bearing dignified and graceful.

Zhao Zonglan held a cigarette, unlit, and responded indifferently.

“The batch of Song Brocade you had Chang An inquire about yesterday-Second Brother sent it over and I’ve already tailored it into clothes. Is there something wrong with that batch of Song Brocade?”
It was already strange enough for the younger uncle to inquire about an unremarkable batch of brocade.

So Zhao Luoxi was suspicious.

Zhao Zonglan toyed with the silver lighter in his hand, his eyes narrowing slightly, his voice indifferent: “Has it already been tailored?”

“Yes.”

“No problem, don’t overthink it.”

He flicked the lighter unhurriedly. With a crisp ding, a flame leapt up. He turned his head to light a cigarette.

After Zhao Luoxi left, Zhao Zonglan remained standing under the corridor.

In the courtyard, there was a wide, circular pond. Artificial rocks were stacked in the water, which was clear and flowing, and several koi swam happily within.

He exhaled a thin stream of smoke and instructed Chang An in a low voice, “Go find a few teams that hand-weave Song Brocade. Let them name their price.”

Having been by Zhao Zonglan’s side for a long time, Chang An naturally knew this was for Miss Shen.

“Yes.”

After dinner, the younger generation went to visit Old Madam Zhao.

Xie Yunfan had been busy all day, arranging gifts for them to take back.

New Year’s Day was approaching.

No matter how deep the family’s heritage, a harmonious family atmosphere was most important.

So for every festival, the old residence would have gifts sent to the younger generation-antiques, jewelry, or checks and red envelopes…

Finally finding a moment to herself, Xie Yunfan sought out Zhao Zonglan for a talk.

Her expression was somewhat uneasy, her tone tentative: “Your father called yesterday. He said… he wants our family to spend Christmas in London. Yueling will be back too, so I thought I’d ask what you think.”

Zhao Zonglan’s father, Zhao Yanhe, had gone to England eight years ago.

He was sent abroad by Zhao Zonglan.

To this day, father and son had not seen each other for eight years.

Zhao Zonglan sat in the Taishi Chair, smoking, his long legs crossed. He flicked the ash from his cigarette and sneered, “Isn’t that a redundant question?”

“If I go, how will your family celebrate the holiday?”

Xie Yunfan frowned helplessly, her voice unconsciously lowering, “Zonglan, no matter what, he is your father.”

Blood is thicker than water; it’s not so easy to sever family ties.

Zhao Zonglan seemed to have heard a joke.

He let out a cold laugh, a shadow passing through his eyes. “Precisely because he is my father, I ensure he lives out his days in comfort. Otherwise, I’d have repaid him for that bullet back then.”

Xie Yunfan fell silent.

She closed her eyes and let out a long, heavy sigh.

Everyone said Zhao Zonglan was born for the family.

Decisive and ruthless, deeply shrewd, he could always easily take control of any situation.

Some even said the ‘lan’ in Zonglan’s name meant ‘to turn the tide.’

Because of him, Jingyao Capital was able to expand its reach globally, becoming one of the most influential business forces in the world, and the Zhao Family’s century-old legacy remained unshakable and illustrious.

But few knew that when he was ten, Zhao Yanhe, acting on his own will, left him in New York for the sake of ‘tempering.’

How could a ten-year-old boy survive in a foreign land?

Though Old Madam Zhao had sent people to look after him,

He still had to endure countless hardships.

Ten years later, when Zhao Zonglan returned to China, father and son began to clash, often disagreeing.

When Zhao Zonglan was twenty-four, about to take over the Zhao Family, Zhao Yanhe tried to control his marriage as well.

From then on, the father-son relationship completely broke down, to the point of real confrontation.

By the time he left the old residence, it was nearly ten o’clock.

Zhao Zonglan sat in the car, lazily leaning against the seat, irritably loosening his tie at the neck.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he took a deep drag of his cigarette, eyes half-closed, his gaze unreadable.

The air around him was oppressively heavy.

Chang An knew his master was in a foul mood, so he was careful even with his breathing.

“Where’s today’s letter?”

Zhao Zonglan’s voice was cool as he idly rubbed the ring on his left index finger.

Chang An answered nervously, “Miss Shen didn’t send a letter today.”

“Maybe she’s just… too busy.”

“Busy?” Zhao Zonglan let out a cold laugh. “Then let’s go see just how busy she really is.”