Liang Di sat inside the carriage, too preoccupied to glance at the bustling street flashing past the window. Head bowed, she studied the transaction slip and House Nolan’s latest letter cradled in her lap. Her expression was far from pleasant.
House Mist had clearly set their sights on snatching this deal from House Langwendi. For this opportunity, they were even willing to pay top coin for House Nolan’s quarterly fabric shipment. But House Nolan’s fabric was merely average—why insist so stubbornly?
Eyes closed for a moment in thought, Liang Di reached only one conclusion: House Nolan’s eldest son was engaged to the Princess—the late Queen’s daughter, and the King’s most cherished child. House Mist was simply currying favor.
As for Auston? He likely relied on the current Queen as his patron—a patron who happened to despise the late Queen’s two daughters most of all. Naturally, Auston wouldn’t dare glance twice at anyone his master disliked.
“Does he truly believe Gar will inherit the throne?” Liang Di scoffed. She folded House Nolan’s letter neatly and tucked it into her pocket.
After over an hour of travel, the carriage slowed to a gentle stop. The coachman and two maids unloaded the wooden wheelchair. One maid then lifted Liang Di carefully and settled her softly into the seat.
*Sigh.* Life without legs was such a hassle. She hoped her legs would grow back soon.
“At last—you are Miss Liang Di,” a white-haired butler bowed deeply at House Nolan’s gate, gesturing inward. “Please follow me.”
Liang Di nodded. The maid pushed her wheelchair behind the elderly butler.
Along the path:
“Miss Liang Di, if you’ve come regarding the fabric trade… I fear this trip may be in vain.”
“Not quite about fabric,” Liang Di replied with an enigmatic smile. “I simply wish to ask Duke Malken if he’d consider partnering with me on a new venture.”
A flicker of surprise crossed the butler’s cloudy eyes.
“My father’s inaction does not reflect my own.”
The butler chuckled. “You appear far more astute than your father, Miss.”
Liang Di knew his position forbade him from calling Auston a foolish house head outright.
They passed through a dense grove of short, slender trees. Leaves brushed against Liang Di’s cheek. She plucked one, twirled it absently—then tore it. Sap oozed out, staining her nails a soft pink. She nodded thoughtfully, silently adding a new note to her plan.
At the grove’s heart stood a wooden cabin—humble yet hinting at luxury. After all, no true farmer would tether a snarling guard dog with a golden chain.
*Knock, knock, knock.*
The butler knocked.
“Enter.”
A deep voice echoed within. The butler turned the knob and swung the door open. “After you, Miss Liang Di.”
The maid wheeled her inside.
Marble floors gleamed like mirrors. A pure black sandalwood table stood neatly in the corner. Sofa cushions bore delicate embroidery; a master-carved bookshelf spanned an entire wall. From outside, no one would guess such opulence lay within.
“Duke Malken, greetings. Forgive my rudeness—I cannot rise from this wheelchair due to my condition,” Liang Di said politely, bowing her head slightly.
“No matter.” Duke Malken rose from the sofa, hands clasped behind his back as he approached slowly. “I assume you’re here about our fabric. I’ve already settled terms with Claude—House Mist’s second son. Unless…” He trailed off.
Liang Di read his meaning perfectly: *Raise your offer.* If she did, House Mist would counter. He’d profit handsomely; noble houses would bear the loss.
True, the Langwendi Family still held shops and gold reserves. Snatching the fabric outright was possible. But Liang Di had a longer game—one to build lasting ties with House Nolan.
Nobles they were, merchants they remained. Between merchants: profit, not friendship. Winning over a shrewd old fox like Malken with one inflated order? Unrealistic.
So…
“I have no intention of raising my offer,” Liang Di said, smiling warmly at him.
Malken froze, then frowned. “Then why—”
She cut in smoothly. “I’m here to propose a mutually profitable venture. Far more lucrative than selling fabric alone.”
She gestured. Her maid produced several pages from her satchel. Liang Di handed them to the Duke. “Please review.”
Once he took them, she continued: “You know your fabric isn’t premium material. Palace galas? Noble tea parties? Ladies’ gowns are never made from it—only a few wealthy merchants use it.”
“Your fabric… is barely better than commoners’ wear. Perhaps nearly the same. Hence the stagnant price.”
Malken’s expression tightened. A direct hit.
“Commoners’ clothes look rustic not from lack of desire, but lack of tailors. Only village women with basic skills sew for them.” Liang Di tapped the paper in his hand. “We nobles have surplus tailors and shops. Too many. Weeks pass with no noble customers—if the style displeases them, they won’t glance twice. Gold coins mean little to them.”
“So why not redirect most tailoring shops to craft clothing for commoners?”
Malken’s eyes widened slowly. “Miss Liang Di… you mean…”
“Precisely,” Liang Di said calmly. “The Langwendi Family is willing to redirect the majority of our tailoring shops to produce garments for the common folk.”
