Chapter 75: A Sense of Superiority

Old Bao was clearly asking the Shen family to step forward and take action. This was the inevitable course for any local official with ambition—after all, imperial authority never truly reached the countryside.

“We should let Grandmother decide,” Shen Shi said.

“This…” Gongsun Ce hesitated, for Lord Bao’s real target was not the Shen family as a whole, but Shen Shi himself. Ever since he had witnessed Shen Shi’s skills, Lord Bao had set his mind on recruiting him—he needed a true master at his side, someone even more formidable than Wang Chao and the others.

“All right then!” Gongsun Ce did not specify that Lord Bao only wanted Shen Shi and not the entire family, but instead agreed to cooperate with the Shens.

Yes, this was a form of cooperation—a partnership between the court and the local gentry.

“Good, good. I’m willing,” Shen Liang said eagerly, barely waiting for Gongsun Ce to finish conveying Lord Bao’s intentions.

He was growing restless at home. Being nothing more than a walking seed-sower was exhausting.

“But Mother, isn’t our family set on the scholarly path?” Shen Shi’s mother was less than enthusiastic, for as a woman, her desires differed from a man’s. After finally enjoying a few days of marital bliss, she was reluctant to see her husband go away again.

“That’s true,” the old lady nodded, not entirely pleased with sending her son off to manage the horse farms either.

The family had chosen the path of scholarship long ago, and had never wavered from it.

“My lady, the Liao are powerful, and their strength lies in their horses. With hundreds of thousands of Liao cavalry threatening us, our court is determined to revive equine husbandry—emulating Emperor Wu of Han to drive back the Xiongnu…” Gongsun Ce spoke with passionate fervor.

To someone unfamiliar with Song history, his words might have sounded persuasive. Emperor Renzong of Song sought to emulate Emperor Wu of Han—a grand undertaking, and one that could easily terrify anyone.

“Mother, His Majesty strives to strengthen the realm; as loyal subjects, how can we not do our utmost?” Shen Liang spoke with burning enthusiasm—though whether this fire sprang from genuine patriotism or from a desire to escape his marital duties was anyone’s guess. Perhaps both.

“But horse-rearing is tantamount to joining the army, and isn’t that rather dangerous these days?” the old lady said with concern.

Shen Shi’s mother quickly added, “Mother, you’re right. Shi’er has already passed the preliminary exam. It’s better for us to pursue the path of letters.”

“What’s the use of that? We’re a family of military men by blood. Even if we throw ourselves into scholarship, the literati must be willing to accept us first,” Shen Liang interjected, fearing his mother would be swayed by his wife.

“Well… Shi’er, what do you say?” The old lady was at a loss, turning to Shen Shi for guidance.

“Grandmother, it’s your decision,” Shen Shi replied, ignoring his parents’ expectant gazes. This was no longer a simple family matter, nor even just a national one; he had no desire to be caught between the marital tensions of his parents.

Nevertheless, the importance of horses in the Song dynasty meant that, even if Shen Shi refused to be involved, his grandmother would surely send her son. Though Shen Shi’s mother yearned for her husband’s company, she had no grounds to prevent him from serving. And so the matter was settled.

With Shen Liang joining the equine administration, the Shen household grew lively. Old classmates of Shen Liang’s came to call, and for a time the mansion bustled with guests—a liveliness that seemed to validate the old lady’s decision. She wore a broad smile for days, until unwelcome guests arrived at their door.

“Shen Liang! Shen Liang!” Shen Shi had just finished his morning lessons when a commotion erupted outside. He peered out the window.

“Stop! Who are you?” The servants barred the way of several men who were barging in without the slightest courtesy. The intruders grew indignant at being stopped. “We’ve come to congratulate our dear friend Shen Liang! Who are you to keep us waiting?” One man, dressed in a scholar’s robe, pointed his folding fan at the servant with a haughty air.

“That’s right, hurry up and announce us, or you’ll be out of a job before you know it!”

The Shen household, though past its prime after a century of glory, still employed retainers whose families had served for three to five generations. Yet none knew how to handle such a scene. Shen Shi, frowning, emerged to find the servants flustered and sweating, retreating under the guests’ pressure. He cleared his throat.

“And who are you?” The scholar snapped his fan shut and eyed Shen Shi appraisingly.

Shen Shi took in the group. The eldest among them already had flecks of white at his temples, yet all wore expressions of arrogant youth. Their attire was fine, but not the garb of degree-holders—evidently, these were failed scholars, gentlemen without official rank.

“May I ask what brings you here?” Shen Shi inquired, though he already guessed the answer.

The scholar, evidently their leader, raised his chin. “My surname is Wang, a student of Shuntian Prefecture. And you are?”

In these times, the status of scholars had risen so high that looking down on others had become second nature. Moreover, their purpose today was anything but innocent. Horses were valuable—northern warhorses even more so.

This region produced not only scholars, but also merchants and brokers. The horse traders were a formidable power in their own right. After the Song dynasty initiated horse husbandry reforms, it was they who engineered such absurdities as breeding 562 stallions, losing 315 to death, and ending up with only 27 foals—a farce of their own making.

By the reign of Emperor Renzong, their influence had grown so great they even persuaded the Grand Chancellor to allow the sale of Song horses.

Though their power was not yet at its later height, Jinhua—a nearby city—had already established a horse farm, breeding northern warhorses. Such things were not easily kept secret.

Horses, unlike pigs, needed room to run; and when they ran, they could hardly go unnoticed. Once word got out about good horses here, how could these men resist? In business, the early bird catches the worm.

Still…

Shen Shi regarded these self-important men and wondered if they hadn’t heard the horse farm was run by Black Bao. Ah yes, but Black Bao’s famous three execution blades had not yet been forged, nor had his reputation spread. Even if they knew, they would not be afraid.

Shen Shi ignored them, which only irritated the group further. The scholar snapped his fan shut and, with a trace of annoyance, demanded, “Where’s Shen Liang? Hey! I’m talking to you!”

The Song dynasty’s overindulgence of scholars had bred such arrogance that these men could brazenly engage in illegal acts—undercutting the empire’s interests—without a hint of shame.

In the end, the Song never succeeded in breeding horses, largely because of men like these.

Shen Shi shook his head and turned to leave. He had no desire to tangle with such people.

“Young master!” a servant asked how to deal with these would-be gentlemen.

“Throw them out!” Shen Shi said, not breaking stride.

Damn it! Many had schemed to get their hands on these warhorses lately, but this was the only group who brought their sense of superiority with them—scholars who knew nothing beyond the Classics and the pursuit of profit!

“Insolence!”

“How dare a mere man of arms be so audacious! Believe me, if I send in just a slip of paper two fingers wide, your family will be ruined!” The group grew indignant before Shen Shi could even be bothered to get angry.