Chapter 119: Tactics (1)

Chapter 119: Tactics (1)

The news that all the small gambling dens in the city had been raided in one sweep spread quickly throughout the town.

Except for a few old gambling addicts who muttered curses in secluded corners, everyone was cheering.

When the news of the gambling house raids reached him, Zhong Junxiong was going over the accounts at the leather shop.

He snorted with satisfaction: "Serves them right! They ought to shut down every gambling den for miles around!"

The leather shop manager knew what was weighing on his mind and didn't feel right making casual remarks, so he rubbed his hands and smiled: "The young master just likes his fun a bit too much. He's still a kid—he'll wise up as he gets older."

"Bullshit," Zhong Junxiong scoffed. "All told, he's already lost me fifteen acres of prime farmland. A beast like that—would you want him?"

The leather shop manager chuckled: "Well, he's your only son. How could I steal another man's pride and joy?"

Zhong Junxiong was about to laugh and kick him playfully when his heart suddenly lurched and jumped into his throat.

He paused mid-kick and muttered to himself: "...Where the hell is that brat?"

...Come to think of it, he hadn't come home all night.

Zhong Junxiong lost all interest in the accounts. He rushed home and sent servants out in every direction, swearing to drag that brat back.

Just as the manager said—no matter how rotten the little brat was, he was still one of a kind, the only one in the world.

He sat in the main hall and sipped his tea.

This was the new broad-leaf tea from Nanting, a hot commodity.

He usually loved it, but right now it tasted like nothing.

Just as Zhong Junxiong, irritated, sent the teacup and saucer clattering onto the table, bad news arrived.

...

Zhong Junxiong shot to his feet: "You sure about what you heard?"

The young servant saw his master's sour face and, though he was panting like a dog, didn't dare touch a drop of tea. His mouth dry, he replied: "I've confirmed it. Someone up early emptying their chamber pot saw it—the young master was the first one hauled in by the yamen."

Zhong Junxiong stood there frozen, speechless.

The young servant figured that was that and started to leave for a drink of water, but just as he was about to head out, a thunderous roar left him stunned.

Zhong Junxiong bellowed: "Where the hell do you think you're sneaking off to? Take some men and go dig up more info! How many were arrested, what charges, and why the yamen suddenly went after Dabao—don't come back till you've got the whole story!"

The young servant opened his mouth, feeling pretty sore about it.

"Dabao," as they called him, was their young master.

None of the household servants particularly liked this "Dabao."

Because the guy was too unpredictable—if he won, he was all smiles and would come over to joke around with the servants; but if he lost, even crossing his path meant getting beaten and cursed out.

Zhong Junxiong seemed to read his mind and quickly tossed out a few silver ingots: "Quick—round up more people and spread out across the compound. Whoever brings back solid info first gets all this!"

Seeing real silver and gold, the young servant finally cracked a genuine smile: "Don't worry, Master—I'm off!"

The servant scurried off, and only then did Zhong Junxiong slump back into his chair, drained and his mind a mess.

The servants couldn't understand why he was so panicked.

As for his wife, hearing this bad news, she wept anxiously but had no idea what was really going on. She still had the mind to mutter about Dabao's bad luck—how he'd picked today of all days to go out raising hell.

Only Zhong Junxiong felt like he was sitting in a fire pit, burning and restless, but couldn't tell anyone.

—He suspected there was more to Dabao's arrest than met the eye.

Zhong Junxiong's suspicion came purely from a vague gut feeling and a guilty conscience.

Could it be the Liao guy had failed? And ratted him out?

Sitting in the Grand Tutor's chair, Zhong Junxiong clearly recalled his whole dealings with the Liao man.

He'd given the Liao man a ton of intel—where the magistrate liked to go on Nanting Mountain, his favorite pastry shop, and the attendants he usually brought: a slow mule and a quiet, listless dog.

To avoid getting tangled up with him further, after letting the man out of his estate, Zhong Junxiong never saw him again and had no idea when he'd make his move.

Oh, and he'd also given him money to hire men.

The money was cash—no traceable jewelry, and it never went through any bank or exchange. No matter how sharp or well-connected the magistrate was, he couldn't trace it back to Zhong Junxiong.

As for the men, the Liao guy had recruited them himself.

He figured that even if that Wen Ren guy wanted to investigate, he should come after him directly.

Why suddenly go after his son? What the hell was that about?

Just as Zhong Junxiong was spiraling into worse thoughts, his mind twisted toward a more hopeful angle: What if it really was just about gambling?

That Wen Ren guy had raided gambling dens before—he'd shut down Li Asi's Jixiang Fang, after all...

At that thought, his face went pale again.

The day after Jixiang Fang fell, Chen Yuanwei had fallen too.

That really couldn't be considered a good omen.

His wife couldn't grasp his terror.

Though she clutched her handkerchief and craned her neck with anxious longing, she wasn't truly worried.

Her thinking was simple: gambling—a minor matter. By the usual practice, wouldn't paying a fine get him out?

By the time the sun passed noon, news trickled back in bits and pieces.

Zhong Junxiong slammed his palm against the armrest of his chair: "No ransom? Why no ransom?"

His wife wasn't startled by the news, but Zhong Junxiong's outburst gave her quite a fright.

She clutched her handkerchief and chimed in: "Yes, when gambling is punished, isn't it always detention pending ransom? ...Could they be planning to use the cane?"

The servant waved his hands frantically: "No, no. The yamen has posted a notice. It says that the previous raid on Jixiang Fang was to demonstrate the magistrate's resolve to ban gambling. Now these people—quote—'having repeatedly refused to reform, clearly showing that their wicked ways are hard to cut and their evil roots hard to eliminate'—so all those taken into custody this time are not permitted to be ransomed. They must serve a full month of labor before being released."

Zhong Junxiong stood frozen in place.

As he thought about it, this move by that Wen Ren fellow was bound to win him widespread acclaim.

Many households had suffered from relatives ruined by gambling addiction. Now that the source of trouble in their homes had been locked up, even if they couldn't reform through hard labor, at least their families would enjoy some peace and quiet for a while—and they wouldn't have to waste money running around scraping together ransom funds.

The mistress was so frantic her voice carried a hint of tears: "What's the meaning of this? How's Dabao supposed to do rough labor? He's never even washed his own clothes!"

Her voice was shrill, but there was no trace of tears in her eyes. She kept darting sidelong glances at Zhong Junxiong, urging him to go talk to the magistrate and smooth things over.

"...Ransom." Zhong Junxiong, tormented by a foreboding sense of dread, rose to his feet and said, "Have someone pass a message to the magistrate—throw more money at it if we have to!"

The servants had barely set foot in the house before they were shooed out again like a bunch of chickens.

By the time they got back, it was getting dark.

They stood out in the corridor, cold, tired, and hungry, but since they brought back bad news, even though they were burning inside, they didn't dare show it. All they could do was hang their heads and mumble out the news.

"No luck," they said. "The yamen says they can't make an exception."

Zhong Junxiong stormed out to the corridor, looking fierce, his grim face lit up by the lantern, looking downright sinister: "The magistrate won't give even a little face?"

"It wasn't Master Wenren who said it, but Secretary Wen. We greased a few palms and got to see Secretary Wen. He said the magistrate's sick and not seeing anyone."

"...Ill?"

"Yes, he's been sick for several days now, and it seems quite serious."

Zhong Junxiong froze for a second, then bolted for the door: "I'll go see him myself!"

The servants traded looks, still thinking the master was making a huge fuss over nothing.

With the young master's rotten temper, a few days of hard knocks might actually do him some good.

Zhong Junxiong never got the chance to go.

The cold wind, stinging with snow, sobered him up a bit.

Rushing to the yamen at night wasn't the way to talk business—it'd look like he was picking a fight.

With no other choice, he forced down the churning unease and panic inside him, telling the servants to buy local specialty gifts first thing in the morning and pick out some quality furs from the shops.

He'd go to the county office to check on the magistrate's health.

At the crack of dawn, Zhong Junxiong stood at the yamen gate, gifts in hand, braving the wind and snow.

He hadn't woken up early—he just hadn't slept at all, his heart hanging in suspense all night.

Before long, he was led into the yamen.

After waiting a long while in the reception hall, it wasn't the Little Master who showed up—it was Deputy Magistrate Sun.

Zhong Junxiong plastered a smile on his face: "I heard the magistrate's a bit under the weather, and I'm really worried. I wanted to come by and see how he's doing. Is he available?"

Deputy Magistrate Sun sized him up, looking friendly enough: "The magistrate's too sick to see anyone. If you've got something to say, just tell me—same thing."

Zhong Junxiong thought, "Like you've got the authority," but he piled on even more smiles.

He shoved all the gifts into Deputy Magistrate Sun's hands and slipped him a fat ten taels of silver on the side.

Deputy Magistrate Sun took the gifts but, whether on purpose or not, left the silver sitting there: "Gifts I can take; money, no need."

Zhong Junxiong's face hurt from all the smiling: "The gifts are for the magistrate; the money's a little something for you."

Deputy Magistrate Sun chuckled: "Well, isn't that something—I actually get a little respect?"

Catching the sour, bitter edge in his voice, Zhong Junxiong felt a spark of hope: "These days, the magistrate's got all the power to himself—must've been rough on you."

"Not rough at all," Deputy Magistrate Sun said, all business. "Nan'ing County's doing fine, the folks of Nan'ing are doing fine—how could I be having a hard time?"

Zhong Junxiong, sensing he was getting somewhere, quickly jumped in: "Yes, yes, everything the magistrate and the deputy magistrate do is for the good of our Nan'ing—like yesterday's gambling bust, which got rid of a blight on Nan'ing."

Deputy Magistrate Sun gave a thin smile: "Now, now, Boss Zhong. Talking about your own son like that—not too nice, is it?"

Zhong Junxiong's heart lifted.

He wasn't scared of him being direct; he was scared of him playing dumb.

Zhong Junxiong put his hands on his knees and lowered his head humbly: "I ask for your understanding, Deputy Magistrate."

He heard Deputy Magistrate Sun heave a long sigh.

"A few days back, the conscription levy order came down to Nan'ing," Deputy Magistrate Sun said slowly. "Ah, we just paid this year's taxes, and now the military's apportioned supplies come knocking. For folks in these little border counties, why's it so hard to just live a decent, peaceful life?"

Zhong Junxiong wasn't stupid—he caught on fast.

He nodded, half wary, half agreeing: "Right, military pay and year-end grain can't be put off. How much silver are we talking?"

Deputy Magistrate Sun held up a hand and said flat out: "Nan'ing's been hit with five hundred taels."

Zhong Junxiong's face went pale, like he'd just been slapped out of nowhere.

He didn't want to smile, but he forced one anyway: "That's... a lot. Isn't the magistrate pretty tight with General Pei?"

"Tight, sure. But business is business, and personal is personal."

"Ah, difficult."

"Who says otherwise?" Deputy Magistrate Sun shook his head with a sigh. "The magistrate wants to let the people rest easy and keep the wealth with the folks—that's the hard part."

Zhong Junxiong got the full picture now: this money was coming out of his own pocket, and he wasn't allowed to squeeze it from the folks under him.

This was a shakedown!

It was a huge sum—like carving meat off his bones.

Zhong Junxiong couldn't help but chew it over.

...Maybe Guotai was just plain unlucky, getting caught at the wrong time.

Maybe after a month of hard labor, they'd let him go?

But then he thought again—something didn't add up.

If Deputy Magistrate Sun had just wanted some pocket money, that'd be one thing.

But he didn't just single out his son—he opened his mouth wide and demanded five hundred taels flat out. That was clearly using his son as a bargaining chip.

Once he figured that out, Zhong Junxiong knew he had no right to get mad at the officials. Even if he wasn't calm, he had to act like it: "No problem, leave it to me."

Deputy Magistrate Sun: "Oh, how could I put you out like that?"

Zhong Junxiong, choking on a lump of rage, got to his feet, still smiling: "Don't be polite with me. Taking care of Nan'ing's worries is my job."

Zhong Junxiong swung his arms and stormed off like the wind, like fire, with the air of a man hacking through brambles.

After the guest had left, Hua Rong emerged from behind the screen carrying a tea tray, deftly clearing away the cup of tea that Zhong Junxiong had not touched, and with a poised smile, greeted Deputy Magistrate Sun.

Deputy Magistrate Sun shuddered.

This kid was getting creepier by the day—he moved without a sound, and no matter where you were, he'd show up.

But Deputy Magistrate Sun didn't dare complain.

While he'd been running around like a chicken with his head cut off, the Magistrate had already locked Nanting down tight.

Even the county office was crawling with his spies.

Deputy Magistrate Sun had gone from grudging respect to total surrender.

What else could he do? Might as well follow the man.

...

Zhong Junxiong pulled five hundred taels of silver from his accounts and, stewing with resentment, headed to the county office to bail out his son.

Deputy Magistrate Sun took the money, thanked him for his "generous contribution" to Nanting, and then disappeared.

Zhong Junxiong waited at home for half a day, but his son never showed, so he nervously headed back to the county office.

He was greeted by the ever-polite Secretary Wen.

Secretary Wen, cradling a hand warmer, greeted him all smiles: "You're looking for the Deputy Magistrate? He's off to Qingyuan. Our taxes came in early this year, and we were the fastest to collect the military grain levy. If the Magistrate doesn't get an 'outstanding' rating this year, nobody would stand for it."

Zhong Junxiong couldn't find a single flaw in that, so he swallowed his rage and asked, "So... how did things go?"

"What things?"

Secretary Wen blinked: "You've heard about it too?"

Zhong Junxiong sensed something was wrong.

Secretary Wen, ignoring how pale Zhong had just turned, rattled on with his gripes: "A corner of the roof of Chengyue Hall at Nanting Academy caved in under the snow a couple of days ago. The academy decided to have the whole place inspected and fixed up, and reported to the office that the repairs would run to two hundred taels of silver all told."

"Matters of the scholars are the highest priority—they bear on the future of Dayu itself. And with the provincial exam right around the corner, tell me—where are we supposed to scrape up that kind of money on short notice?"