Chapter 112: Seizing Power (Part II)

Prefect Lyu had been itching to teach Le Wuya a lesson.

Ever since his covert and cunning scheme to throw the county into chaos with wandering beggars had collapsed on its own, he had been lying low, biding his time, and finally, tax season came as a godsend.

— This year, the tax quota assigned to Nanting was a full twenty percent more than last year.

Prefect Lyu's justification was also quite solid:

Nanting had done so many big things this year, it ought to have something to show for it.

A mere county magistrate, having gone to the capital and received honors, shouldn't he have some outstanding accomplishments in office to repay the emperor's deep grace?

For Prefect Lyu, this was a one-in-a-million opportunity:

If the taxes could be collected, the revenue would be settled; if not, Nanting would likely descend into chaos, and he could openly take Le Wuya to task.

While Prefect Lyu sat high in his official hall, feeling triumphant, the gentry of Nanting caught wind of the tax increase and perked up as well.

A tax hike?

A tax hike was a good thing.

Every year, tax collection was a bloody, vicious fight.

But these gentry were used to bloodshed.

How had they acquired their connected fields and tiled houses? Reach into the dirt and squeeze, and you'd wring out human blood!

In the eyes of Nanting's gentry, whether through inventing pretexts or coercion and bribery, as long as the money was collected—even if it meant scraping the ground until sparks flew—it was commendable.

Pay what the higher-ups demanded, set aside a share to pay respects to the magistrate, and the rest was theirs, wasn't it?

Since ancient times, hasn't it always been like this?

As the gentry rolled up their sleeves, ready for a big fight, Le Wuya called them to the county office, saying he wanted to hold a meeting.

No one gave it much thought.

This was Nanting's annual major affair, and it did require getting everyone together for a proper headcount.

So the gentry arrived in unprecedented numbers, even the elusive Li Asi, who was rarely seen, appeared among the waiting crowd, pipe in mouth.

This time, the scene was quite different from the last meeting. Le Wuya didn't invite them straight in but had them stand under the porch, waiting until everyone had arrived before entering together.

Hua Rong, carrying a tea tray, nimbly wove among these gentlemen, serving hot tea cup by cup.

Over the past year, Hua Rong had shot up quite a bit, and having studied and learned etiquette, he had become much more composed.

But he still smiled at everyone and never got nervous.

The tea room was the face of the county office. Even if the gentry were shivering, rubbing their hands, and stamping their feet from the cold, they had to offer polite smiles to Hua Rong, who had once been a little beggar.

Frozen stiff, a few couldn't help but grumble inwardly:

The magistrate is sure putting on airs.

When he had assigned them tasks—repairing embankments, building latrines—he hadn't been so high-and-mighty.

But when they were all assembled and entered the hall, whatever little schemes they harbored were shattered by the bizarre sight before them.

A fine sword, drawn from its sheath, hung in the hall, beneath it an incense burner with curling smoke, along with several fine fruit offerings.

Le Wuya stood beneath the cold, gleaming blade, wearing a gentle, mild-mannered smile: "Gentlemen, please, sit down."

They sat down, hearts pounding, but Le Wuya didn't sit. He stood to the side, unhurriedly making small talk with them.

The gentry had no time for the magistrate's small talk, their eyes fixed on the sword behind him.

...As if the sword were the guest of honor.

Manager Zhu, having been favored by Le Wuya over the past year, was now well-fed and glowing.

In front of Le Wuya, he had a bit more nerve.

Seizing the moment when Le Wuya paused for breath, he smiled and asked, "Magistrate, may I ask what treasure this sword is?"

Le Wuya, in a casual tone, revealed its origin: "On my trip to the capital, the emperor bestowed it on me."

Manager Zhu's mouth hung open, saliva nearly dripping from the corner of his mouth.

The other gentry were equally dumbfounded.

It was Li Asi who reacted fastest, wrapping his tobacco pouch around his pipe stem and immediately prostrating himself: "Long live the emperor, ten thousand years, ten thousand years!"

Only then did the gentry, as if waking from a dream, drop to their knees like dumplings into a pot.

Le Wuya also knelt with the crowd, offering a very insincere bow, then rose and smiled at them: "Get up, we have a lot to discuss—surely we won't talk on our knees?"

With Le Wuya's word, they dared to rise in twos and threes, but no one dared to sit back comfortably in their chairs and act like the old master.

Having successfully cowed everyone, Le Wuya finally turned his attention to laying out this year's tax matters item by item.

Those with weaker minds were struck dumb by the emperor's gift.

To these small-town gentry, the emperor was no different from a ghost: some had seen him, but they certainly hadn't.

Le Wuya's move was like dragging that distant, living ghost right before their eyes.

The sharper ones, meanwhile, were already clicking their abacus beads in their minds as Le Wuya spoke.

Clicking and clicking, a few pairs of drooping eyelids twitched slightly.

Unfortunately, constrained by the imperial sword hanging before them, they stood stiffly, far less convenient than sitting, and couldn't exchange glances in all directions.

On the contrary, since the gentry could only face Le Wuya, every subtle expression on their faces didn't escape his notice.

Le Wuya paused his narration and said with a smile, "I see some of you standing here seem to have questions?"

Since the magistrate had raised the topic, one bolder soul tentatively spoke up: "...Magistrate, didn't you say this year's tax would be a full twenty percent more than last year?"

Le Wuya beamed with delight and said warmly, "Sharp ears, aren't you?"

The man mulled it over, sensing it wasn't a compliment, but could only feign ignorance and offer a foolish grin.

Just as he estimated the man's smile was about to stiffen, Le Wuya, twirling his walnuts, said with a smile, "Your magistrate here handled a fine assignment at the start of this year, and I can't very well keep all the benefits to myself."

"Doesn't Master Chen Yuanwei have a nickname, Chen the Good? I thought I'd let him truly do a good deed, so he might be a good man in his next life. This year's additional twenty percent tax—he's covering it."

The gentry exchanged uneasy glances.

Many people's first reaction was that the magistrate had gone completely mad chasing fame.

That warehouse full of gold and treasures—if not distributed among the gentry to win their favor, should at least have been handed to his superiors to pave the way for his own promotion and wealth.

Using it to pay taxes for common folk? Had he lost his mind?

However, they soon calmed down.

If the magistrate himself was willing to foot the bill, let him.

It wasn't coming out of their pockets, after all.

Yet, just as this thought crossed their minds, Le Wuya said directly, "You all know how much tax every village owes this year, right?"

After watching every head nod obediently, Le Wuya continued, "Good. You know, and the common folk know too—these two ledgers now match."

At this, the crowd was baffled again.

Every previous magistrate had delegated the tax collection to them, letting them handle it as they saw fit.

What business did the common folk have in this?

Reading between the lines, a lot of them started getting a bad feeling.

Le Wuya said, "I've had notices posted outside listing what every household in every village owes in taxes, and I've tasked my band of beggars to spread the word. Now..."

He paused for a moment, "...I'd say at least a good half of Nanting knows how taxes will be collected this year."

At this, even those who hadn't gotten it before now saw it clearly.

The magistrate was going to make the exact tax amounts public to the people, leaving them no room to skim off the top.

But instead of looking alarmed, they found it funny, looking at Le Wuya with smiles as if watching a schoolboy who'd just read a few books and was now trying to run the world.

Someone chuckled, "Magistrate, this... puts us in a tough spot. There are too many troublemakers among the common folk, always looking to cheat the system. Give them an inch, and they'll take a mile. If we don't raise the tax a bit—say, collect two bushels of rice from them—they'll mix in half a bushel of chaff!"

The man spoke with a smile, and Le Wuya replied just as pleasantly, "If there's any dispute, bring it to me. I've seen plenty of troublemakers, but whether someone is a troublemaker or not isn't decided by mere words."

The gentry still smiled, but their smiles turned uneasy. Combined with the blazing charcoal fire in the hall, their faces felt hot and their muscles grew tense.

They mulled over the magistrate's real intentions in the silence that filled the room.

Amid the crackle of the charcoal, Le Wuya clasped his hands toward the unsheathed sword and said, "When the Emperor bestowed this sword upon me, he gave explicit orders that I should aid His Majesty in 'slaying the wicked and the treacherous.' What counts as wicked, what counts as treacherous—I ask you all to think hard on it."

Le Wuya's closing statement landed like a hammer, immediately slapping the label of "wicked" and "treacherous" on the heads of the assembled gentry.

Only by obeying him completely could they take off this heavy cap.

With smiles on their faces and curses in their hearts, they filed out one by one.

Everyone left, but Li Asi stayed.

Le Wuya said with a smile, "Boss Li, long time no see. You've gotten even more prosperous. Where've you been making your money?"

This was no lie. After a year of keeping a low profile, Li Asi had come back looking even worse.

Compared to the portly, round-faced Manager Zhu with his perpetual smile, Li Asi increasingly resembled a plate of braised pork head.

But Le Wuya knew damn well this man was no fool.

Li Asi replied, "Magistrate, I've come to offer my apologies."

Le Wuya smiled at the man, knowing exactly why he'd come.

The Tianjin Pawnshop belonged to Li Asi.

The pawnshop manager, out of greed, had accepted a bundle of stolen goods from Yin Family Village, thereby exposing that the killers from the Yin Family Village massacre hadn't been caught and were still on the loose.

In fact, the Tianjin Pawnshop had played no small part in the entire Yin Family Village, along with Shao Hongzhen, being wiped out in one fell swoop.

Le Wuya sure as hell didn't believe he'd come to "apologize."

It made no sense to do something wrong and then show up months later to apologize.

But since that's what he said, Le Wuya would take it at face value.

Putting on a fair-minded air, he said, "Boss Li, you're being too hard on yourself. Your businesses span all of Nanting—how could you possibly keep an eye on everything?"

Li Asi said solemnly, "Thank you for the advice, Magistrate."

Le Wuya smoothed his robes in front of the sword and sat down with great aplomb, "What advice did I give you?"

Li Asi replied respectfully, "Just now, when you brought up Master Chen—I understand your intention perfectly."

Le Wuya propped his cheek on one hand, his posture getting more and more casual and sloppy, "What intention is that?"

The fat on Li Asi's face twitched a little, like he was smiling, "You just wait and see."

With that, this mountain of flesh strode out with great dignity.

Xiao Huarong, who'd been holding tea behind the screen, had been listening closely the whole time.

He'd always prided himself on being clever, but this cryptic exchange had him completely stumped.

He slipped out from behind the screen, handed Le Wuya a cup of tea, and leaned in close, humbly asking, "Magistrate, what exactly did Manager Li mean by that?"

In his view, they'd clearly been about to have a deep talk—why'd it end so suddenly?

Le Wuya took the tea and whispered back, "I can't say."

Huarong: "Huh?"

Le Wuya suddenly raised his voice, "Walls have ears!"

The secretary crouching outside the window, eavesdropping, felt his goatee twitch hard. He wanted to run right away, but when he tried to move, his legs had gone numb from squatting.

Guilty as hell and not daring to waste a second, he scrambled away on all fours, grimacing in pain.

Luckily, the weather had turned colder, and nobody at the yamen was bored enough to wander outside.

The secretary's pathetic, donkey-like scramble on all fours was seen by no one but himself.

Only after fleeing back to his warm office and shutting the door did the secretary let out a long sigh of relief.

The Village Head in charge of his household had bought him a good bottle of wine last night, hoping to get him to feel out the magistrate's stance on this year's taxes while he was at the yamen.

Little did he expect his first try at eavesdropping to end in total failure.

The secretary patted his chest, comforting himself: Well, at least I showed up—that counts as doing my duty.

Besides, he hadn't understood a word of it anyway.