Song Yinjian and Keqing entered Zhang Rong's estate together, only to find it far livelier than expected.
The main hall was in complete uproar. The accountant was surrounded three layers deep by a crowd, everyone shouting over one another—demanding the inheritance be divided immediately. The scene was chaos.
And off to one side, Zhang Xiaoli's ice coffin had been shoved into a corner as if it were an inconvenience, left in lonely silence.
Keqing's face darkened. She strode forward and said coldly, "Enough! Quiet!"
"Zhang Rong's estate will be distributed by Yuehai Pavilion in accordance with the law. No one is to cause trouble here!"
Her voice cut through the noise like a blade. The crowd gradually fell silent.
They all recognized the Yuheng—swift, sharp, and utterly uncompromising. No one dared act wild in front of her.
The accountant seized the opening and forced his way out, hurrying to Keqing with a look of helpless panic.
"Lady Yuheng, please—arrange for Yuehai Pavilion to send people over soon. I'm going to lose my mind with these people!"
Keqing gave him a small nod, then turned back to the crowd.
"Leave this estate immediately. If you refuse, the Ministry of Civil Affairs will treat it as unlawful trespass and have you arrested."
The group bristled with resentment, but none dared push it. One by one, they filed out. Before long, the once-noisy hall became bleakly quiet.
The accountant bowed to Keqing, grateful. "Thank you, Lady Yuheng." Keqing waved it off, her tone steady. "No need."
"We're here to ask you something. Zhang Feng mentioned that Zhang Xiaoli brought an expensive ginseng not long ago. Do you know about it?"
The accountant nodded firmly. "Yes. The master couldn't bear to use it, so he stored it in the vault. I can fetch it right away."
"Please do," Keqing said.
The accountant hurried off toward the storeroom. Not long after, he returned with a carefully wrapped package.
The "ginseng" was presented lavishly—fine silk, elegant ribbon, the sort of packaging that screamed value.
Song Yinjian took it, looked it over, and clicked his tongue.
"This thing's worth at least a million mora. Zhang Xiaoli really went all in." The accountant sighed, as if remembering old frustration.
"She did. When she brought it, I tried to persuade her. I told her what kind of temper the master had, how he'd always treated her. I told her not to hold out hope."
"But she had unrealistic fantasies. She wouldn't listen." Song Yinjian tucked the ginseng away.
"I'm taking it. Consider it payment for the young lady's funeral expenses."
The accountant's face lit with relief. "Boss Song, you're righteous! I've been worrying about how to handle her funeral arrangements."
Song Yinjian shook his head faintly. "I'm not righteous. It's business." With that, he turned and left, his interest clearly fading.
Keqing exchanged a few brief words with the accountant, then quickly followed. Once outside the estate, Song Yinjian headed straight toward the bustling city center. About half an hour later, he stopped before a lavishly decorated building.
Then he turned slightly to Keqing and asked, "Do you know who this building used to belong to?"
Keqing blinked. "Who?"
Song Yinjian didn't bother with suspense.
"It belonged to Duke De'an. Ten years ago, when the Northland Bank entered Liyue, they used plenty of underhanded methods."
"They took this building, and they squeezed him out of the finance trade."
Keqing's eyes flashed with anger. "How could the Tianquan of that time allow something like that to happen?"
Song Yinjian only smiled and said nothing. Some things didn't need to be spelled out.
He stepped inside and sat down at the counter.
A young Snezhnayan woman with a gentle face sat across from him. She offered a professional smile at once.
"Sir, what service do you need today?"
Song Yinjian kept his tone calm and measured.
"A friend of mine borrowed money from Northland Bank. She's asked me to repay it on her behalf."
At the mention of repayment, the clerk's smile turned noticeably more sincere. "Of course. May I have your friend's name?"
"Zhang Xiaoli," Song Yinjian said.
The clerk nodded politely. "Please wait a moment. I'll check the records."
She stood, went into the back, and returned soon after with a promissory note—stained with a thumbprint of blood.
"Sir. Ms. Zhang Xiaoli borrowed a total of one million mora."
"Per the terms, interest is thirty percent per week. If overdue, the interest doubles." "The current amount due is six million, five hundred fifty thousand mora."
Keqing's eyes widened in shock.
Zhang Xiaoli had borrowed for just a little over a month—yet the debt had multiplied more than sixfold.
Song Yinjian let out a low, humorless sigh.
"I've always heard Northland Bank runs on blood and tears." "Today, I've finally seen it with my own eyes."
He paused, then offered a polite expression.
"Unfortunately, I didn't bring enough mora today to repay that amount. I'll return in a few days once I've prepared the funds."