A quarter past noon. The people of East Street in the capital had long grown used to this scene: the vermilion gates of the Shen residence opened right on time, and Shen Wanjun, the richest man in the land, came out carrying a redwood food box himself. It had three tiers, decorated with gold paint and jade inlay. Inside were the Eight-Treasure Duck, crabmeat lion's head meatballs, and squirrel-shaped mandarin fish, all prepared by the head chef of Zuixian Restaurant, along with a jug of thirty-year-old Nuerhong wine. He swung into the saddle with a nimbleness unbecoming a forty-six-year-old. The two servants behind him tried to take the box, but he drove them back with a glance. "Master," Steward Chen hurried up to the horse and lowered his voice. "Today, thirteen trading houses..."
