Chapter 63: Government Affairs (I)

Chapter 63: Governance (I)

Through relentless, round-the-clock effort with everyone pulling together, by the summer solstice, Nanting had been completely transformed.

The public latrines were the first to be completed.

At first, some of the more high-minded Village Elders outwardly agreed to build latrines but were inwardly reluctant.

Although there was profit to be made, they were still indignant about opening them for free to those dirt-poor laborers, feeling that these riffraff were getting one over on them.

Despite being compelled by official authority, they held their noses and did the work, though resentment lingered in their hearts.

However, once the latrines were put into use, they did a complete about-face.

No mystery there.

The concentrated fertilizer turned out to be incredibly useful.

Used on their own fields, it saved the cost of hiring laborers and collecting manure; surplus sold in bulk, a single load of manure could fetch a full hundred wen.

The more people who came to use the latrines, the more they earned.

They wished everyone had two backsides.

After running things this way for a while, the Village Elders even began to complain:

Why did the Magistrate build latrines in every single village?

If they could contract the entire county's latrines and monopolize Nanting's fertilizer supply, wouldn't that be a goldmine?

Thus, the Village Elders launched a latrine-pit rivalry, both out in the open and behind the scenes.

Out in the open, some offered to buy up other elders' latrines; some provided free wiping paper to county residents using the latrines; some whitewashed the pits and painted murals on the walls to give folks something to look at while they did their business; some, considering that women valued cleanliness and privacy more, scrubbed the women's latrines every day to keep them spotless.

Behind the scenes, there were those who sneaked in at midnight to steal the manure; those who egged others on to take advantage of the free paper; and those who hired thugs to cause trouble at others' latrines, smearing filth on the walls and loitering around to harass the women.

For a time, everyone racked their brains and pulled out every trick in the book.

Le Wuya didn't care about their open competition.

But anyone who pulled dirty tricks behind the scenes? He'd have them arrested.

His earlier prisoner rehabilitation plan came in handy right about now.

The county had plenty of work to go around, and since those thugs had energy to burn, they could break their backs doing hard labor.

The thugs, green as grass, figured prison would be just like old times—they could call on connections, slip some silver, lie around eating and drinking for free for a few days, then swagger back out to keep throwing their weight around.

Little did they know, Le Wuya had completely tied the wardens' wages to how much work the prisoners got done each day.

When the wardens saw thugs entering prison, they were as excited as a pack of starving wolves, rubbing their hands together, eager to squeeze every last drop of blood from them.

The thugs had limited silver on hand, and all their old favors counted for nothing.

If they didn't work, they got slop to eat and no rest to speak of. Even a slight slacking during the day meant a lantern would be lit outside their door at night, blazing right in their faces, and every half hour, a jailer would shake them awake without ceremony.

After a few days of this grinding, even a strapping big bruiser would end up gaunt and haggard.

From then on, whenever thugs saw the gates of the Southern City Prison, they'd go weak in the knees and steer clear like it was the plague.

After catching several waves of people and putting them to labor, the results were striking.

Both inside and outside Nanting, law and order took a real turn for the better.

With all their sneaky tricks cut off, the Village Elders had to duke it out in the open.

Around just a single small latrine pit, Nanting had a fresh show to watch every single day.

Seeing all the fuss in Nanting flare up and die down, Wen Ren let out a soft sigh and remarked: "The poor scramble every day just to eat and dress; the rich are never satisfied with what they've got."

"The Zuo Zhuan says: 'A living comes from hard work; work hard and you'll never go without.'" Le Wuya replied without looking up, tracing Wen Ren's calligraphy. "Write me a policy essay."

Wen Ren gave a meek nod: "Yes, sir."

By now, everyone in the county office had grown accustomed to Wen Ren's presence. When Le Wuya was swamped with county affairs, several clerks would even seek his advice to get a read on what the Magistrate was thinking.

Clerk Luo had once asked Wen Ren: "Scholar Ming, do you think these people are done kicking up a fuss?"

After several trials, Wen Ren had learned to keep his cool: "The tree wants to be still, but the wind keeps blowing."

"How so?" Clerk Luo said. "I hear some Village Elders are already shelling out big money to buy up latrines."

"They won't get away with it," Wen Ren said flatly. "The land's county property—they don't own it outright."

It suddenly clicked for Clerk Luo.

Right.

Public land can't be sold off on the sly.

Even if a Village Elder forked over a pile of silver, it would still need county approval.

As long as the Magistrate put his brush to it, he could shoot down the transfer.

Clerk Luo couldn't help but be impressed.

He recalled that initially, he had griped to himself—why not just make the Village Elders use their own land for the latrines? Why use public land and rent it out so cheap?

So the Magistrate had been choking off their land-grab schemes from day one.

Clerk Luo was relieved: "These days, the Magistrate has dealt with a batch of local ruffians and deadbeats, and shut down their backdoor land deals. Even if they make more trouble, it won't get out of hand."

Wen Ren said: "It won't."

"Hm?"

"Competing out in the open costs real money. When the common folk make even a scrap off these big shots, it's like pulling meat from a tiger's jaws—they can't stand it," Wen Ren said calmly. "It's calm on the surface now. But when trouble comes, it'll be big trouble."

Clerk Luo's nerves, which had just settled, got jumpy again: "Then what?"

Wen Ren said, trying to put him at ease: "Relax. Since when has the Nanting county office ever been scared of trouble? The Magistrate has also given me three criminal case files to review. I'd better get to it."

Clerk Luo swallowed and watched Wen Ren go. He thought: it's wild how one stroke of bad luck could turn a hot-headed, impulsive scholar into this.

Building latrines was just one small piece of Nanting's governance, and it had already stirred up this much trouble.

Flea and rat extermination, city gate tax reductions, promoting the drinking of boiled water—one policy after another rolled out, and with them came a flood of new headaches.

And the folks of Nanting quickly got a taste of what this young Magistrate could do.

Civil cases passed through his hands like water flowing by, and he could handle five to six in an hour.

He had sharp, unbiased judgment and a silver tongue; in handling cases, no one left a civil case dissatisfied, and no criminal case went against the law or public feeling.

Once the latrines were built, Nanting's streets were several times cleaner than before.

Le Wuya ordered uniform wooden flower railings made from dead walnut wood; anyone who wanted to plant grass or flowers in front of their house could pick them up free at the yamen.

For a while, Nanting's streets looked brand new—everyone took care of them, swept them often, and kept them spotless every day.

With smooth roads and lower taxes, lots of merchants were happy to pass through Nanting. Seeing this border town transformed, they were amazed and spread the word, talking up how great Nanting was to live in wherever they went.

As a result, Nanting's population grew and households shot up.

The magistrate came up with a new idea every day; no matter how many people showed up, there was always something to do.

The Nanting coal mine had just passed an imperial inspection and paid well; as long as you were willing to work hard, you could make a decent living.

Boiling water for the townsfolk needed someone to watch the fire and someone to keep people from getting scalded when they came to fetch it.

The latrines needed someone to hand out toilet paper and stop people from taking more than their share.

Artisans could make walnut carvings or carve wooden railings; the magistrate never shorted or delayed their pay—that alone put him ahead of eight or nine out of ten county offices.

There were beggars on the streets, dressed neat and clean, who'd occasionally come out, tap their broken rice bowls, and give funny little talks about Nanting's customs and latest projects.

After half a year of running things so lively, Le Wuya got his first "umbrella of the people."

This umbrella wasn't like the fancy ones gentry and scholars threw together for departing officials; instead of silk ribbons, it had coarse cloth strips hanging from the edge.

It wasn't started by a Senior Secretary or a Village Elder, but by the noodle stall owner who made that great chili sauce.

Following Le Wuya's advice, he'd reopened his stall to sell only chili sauce, and business took off, leaving the old slump behind.

Within the first few days, he sold out a whole month's worth of chili sauce.

True to his word, Le Wuya came by, bought a small jar of chili sauce, and gave him some advice: he shouldn't go crazy making new batches just because it was selling fast.

That would wear him out and ruin the sauce's original flavor.

Once brought home, the chili sauce would last a month or two.

He only needed to sell one big jar a day and stop when it was gone.

The stall owner did as the magistrate said, and not only was it easier, but he got lots of regulars lining up at his stall every morning.

Word of Nanting chili sauce even spread to other counties.

Grateful to the magistrate, the stall owner paid for a big umbrella out of his own pocket, hung it in front of his stall to shade the line, and told people: if you think our magistrate's great, sign your name on the cloth strips; anyone who signs for real gets an extra liang of chili sauce.

Before long, Le Wuya got this gift that smelled of chili.

He was thrilled with the gift, walking around the umbrella a few times, just beaming.

In his last life, he'd worked himself ragged and only got a flood of curses.

He hadn't even done that much—how could someone already like him?

He was so happy he had to tell someone.

So he went back to his study, picked up his brush, wrote a letter, and called for Qi Wuhu, saying he had something great to show him.

Qi Wuhu figured Le Wuya's camellias had finally bloomed, so he dropped his county work, got on his old horse, and trotted over to Nanting.

He'd barely arrived and caught his breath when Le Wuya dragged him over to the umbrella, showing it off like crazy.

Once he realized why he'd been called to Nanting, Qi Wuhu's face went green with annoyance.

But seeing Le Wuya waving his arms around, all excited, he swallowed the scolding that was about to come out.

This Wen Ren Ming Ke, usually so smooth and steady, why was he acting like a happy kid now?

Thinking that, his look at the umbrella softened with a touch of envy.

He said, half sighing, half meaning it: "When I retire, if the people of Jinyuan could give me an umbrella like this, that'd be great."

Le Wuya said, all excited: "No problem, Brother Yingchen! Even if they don't, I'll bring this umbrella over at night to back you up!"

Qi Wuhu spat at him: "...I knew you'd say something stupid."

Le Wuya: Woof.

While Le Wuya was showing off to Qi Wuhu, at the Sixth Prince's place in the capital, flute music drifted out in all directions.

Ru Feng stood in the courtyard, arms crossed, let out a worried sigh, and asked Jiang He: "When you handed over the letter just now, why were you staring at the master the whole time?"

Jiang He gave Ru Feng a cold look and said: "To check if the master's real."

Ru Feng: "..."

After all this time together, Ru Feng knew his nature well: if it weren't for his amazing martial arts, he'd have been tricked into being sold and still be counting the money for the seller.

After a moment of being speechless, he held back the urge to flick his forehead: "The master's right there in the house, and you still think it's someone else?"

Jiang He: "Hard to say."

Ru Feng choked on his words, frustrated: "Look at you, so pigheaded—the master's probably mad because of you! See, he's been playing for over half an hour now!"

Jiang He felt pretty innocent. He'd messed up big last time, so being more careful this time made sense.

The master had a good temper and wouldn't hold it against him.

So he figured: "It's not me. It's the letter that made him mad."

Ru Feng didn't buy it: "Tell that to the ghosts. Who'd dare to upset our master?"

Jiang He shut up, knowing he couldn't figure it out, so he stopped thinking and looked at Shuangshui Hall: The Sixth Prince played the flute so well—such a long breath; he could never hold it that long.