Chapter 121: Methods (III)

Chapter 121: Methods (III)

Outside the courtyard, Xiang Zhijie hurried along, his cloak a swath of dark cloud, vanishing around a corner like a streak of lightning.

Secretary Wen chased behind him, gasping for breath, wondering how his legs could be so long—one step and he was gone.

Right now, Xiang Zhijie could only curse his own sluggish pace, wishing he could take one step and be at Le Wuya's side.

The last time he had come here, it was still summer, with trees in full leaf.

Now, cutting through the courtyard of dead grass and withered willows, he arrived at the study door. He started to push the door open, but with his palm against it, he pulled back.

Fighting his burning impatience, he shrugged off his cloak, stiff with cold, and cupped his hands to his mouth, breathing warm air onto them.

He'd been on the road for a day and a night, his body soaked through with the cold wind.

Xiang Zhijie thought: he couldn't bring the chill to his teacher's side.

Through the paper-paned door, Le Wuya watched the tall figure pause, head bowed to warm his hands, afraid of passing the cold on to him.

Le Wuya's eyes flickered, his fingers tightening on the blanket's edge, and he caught himself being ridiculous:

Doctor Cui must have already told Xiaoliu everything about his condition—what was the point of hiding it?

Qin Xingyue moved to open the door and welcome him, but Le Wuya stopped him.

He casually rolled up the blanket he'd just thrown over his legs and handed it back to Qin Xingyue.

Only when the chill had left his body and his stiff hands had warmed up did Xiang Zhijie knock on the study door.

Le Wuya's voice, laced with a smile, reached him: "Ahem. Come in."

Hearing his voice, a spring breeze seemed to drift into Xiang Zhijie's tight chest, easing his nerves without a word.

He pushed open the door.

Jiang He was holding the cloak, Qin Xingyue the blanket.

Their eyes met for a beat, and with a shared look, they both excused themselves.

Qin Xingyue also elbowed Secretary Wen, who had come hopping after them, and dragged him off.

Before seeing him, Xiang Zhijie had a bellyful of words, dying to pour them all out at once.

But catching the warm scent of pine in the room and seeing his healthy color, those worried words flowed away like a spring river heading east.

He made a casual comment: "The courtyard's gone to seed."

Le Wuya replied: "I'm doing well."

Their words didn't match at all—a classic case of talking past each other.

After speaking, they both realized it and couldn't help laughing together.

Le Wuya: "What excuse did you come up with this time?"

Xiang Zhijie shook his head.

"No excuse," Xiang Zhijie said. "I was going to Guizhou on business and came by on the way."

Le Wuya did the math on the distance between Guizhou and Nanting and let out a whistle: "That's a detour—eight hundred li in one go."

Xiang Zhijie: "So I can't stay long. I've got to head back. Just wanted to see you."

With that, he crouched down, his hand hovering over Le Wuya's calf: "Does it hurt?"

Le Wuya grinned cheekily: "Don't worry, I can still walk. Won't cramp your chess game."

Xiang Zhijie looked up at him with a smile, eyes shining: "That's good."

Wen Renyue didn't excuse himself.

He listened to their exchange and realized that Le Wuya's trip to the capital had likely put him on the Sixth Prince's side.

He lowered his head and pressed his lips tight.

He really hated Le Wuya calling himself a "chess piece."

Brother Gu was Brother Gu—good or bad, he was still Brother Gu, not a thing.

Wen Renyue kept these words to himself. After the Sixth Prince was settled, he found Le Wuya, squared his shoulders, and got ready for a proper heart-to-heart.

Le Wuya, thrilled to see an old friend and loaded with Guizhou goodies, pricked up his ears and listened to Wen Renyue's long spiel, only to realize with amusement that he was lecturing him on "self-respect."

Le Wuya was having none of his lecture: "I'm happy being a chess piece."

In his last life, if he hadn't treated himself like a toy and let himself go, he probably wouldn't have even made it to twenty-nine.

And in the end, when he finally tried to stand up straight and live like a real person—what happened?

Besides, between people, without a give-and-take of interests, how could any relationship last?

Wen Renyue had talked about many serious things with Le Wuya before, but never about how to conduct oneself in the world.

After this talk, he found in one sitting a bunch of places where their views clashed.

By the end of it, the two had wound up in a full-blown fight.

Le Wuya rubbed his leg and said with flawless logic: "If I hadn't saved you back then, you wouldn't like me this much."

Wen Renyue was so furious on the spot he nearly fell over: "Brother Gu, saying that—aren't you looking down on me?"

Le Wuya never backed down in a fight, always needing to win: "That's just how it is. If you're so tough, why didn't you turn me down back then and let me go back where I came from, to rest in peace?"

Hearing such a brilliant argument, Wen Renyue was struck dumb, and between shock and fury, he nearly laughed out loud.

Unable to convince Le Wuya, he stormed off in a huff.

Before leaving, he threw out one last line: "Brother Gu, calm down and think hard—is there really no one who asks nothing of you and just treats you well for no reason?"

After Wen Renyue left, Le Wuya lay on the bed, actually counting on his fingers.

Little Phoenix and his big brothers didn't count.

Ever since he could remember, they'd always been good to him, good with everything they had.

Their kindness to him was a given, etched into their bones.

Father Le, of course, had his own agenda.

And Mother Ye had known all along that his origins were unclear.

These two couldn't be called entirely aboveboard, yet they treated him exceptionally well.

As for Little Seven, he just wanted someone to pass the time with, and even made himself a target, trying to win a little of Little Six's affection.

He racked his brains and finally landed on one person.

Le Wuya turned over, gazing up at the bed canopy, thinking, why had Little Six been so good to him back then?

Before he'd even done a thing, the guy had shoved a hand warmer at him.

Out of respect for his teacher?

But when the hand warmer was given, he wasn't even his teacher yet—just some common kid, fresh back from the border, badly wounded.

This question gnawed at Le Wuya, keeping him awake for a long while.

Before he finally dozed off, he made up his mind to track down Xiang Zhi Jie the next day and get to the bottom of it.

In his last life, he'd just muddled through, letting things slide; but since he was set on living right this time, he couldn't afford to stay in the dark.

However, Xiang Zhi Jie had indeed, as he said, ridden hundreds of li just to "see how he was doing."

By the time Le Wuya woke up, he'd already taken his leave, smooth as you please.

Le Wuya sat on the bed, listening to Qin Xingyue's report, and spaced out for a moment. When he looked up, he saw a barely-suppressed grin on the other's face, like he was dying to spring a surprise.

Le Wuya chucked a pillow at him: "What are you smirking about?"

Qin Xingyue caught the pillow: "Why don't you come out and see for yourself?"

Le Wuya's eyes sparkled, and he held out a hand.

Piggybacking on Qin Xingyue, Le Wuya made it to the courtyard. He looked around and couldn't help but be stunned.

The willow, which had been dead all winter, had burst back to life.

Strands of bells hung from the withered branches like willow catkins.

When the wind blew, the bells spun and tinkled.

Whoever did this was meticulous—he'd taken out nine out of ten of the copper clappers inside the bells, so when the wind blew, only one or two soft, lingering chimes drifted through the yard—nothing loud, just a lazy, carefree charm hanging in the air.

Le Wuya strolled through the willow bells, reaching out to pluck a soft note or two, feeling completely at ease.

He thought back—yesterday, Little Six had only said, "the yard's gone to seed," and nothing more.

And the very next day, this lively surprise showed up.

So it turned out being a pawn had its perks after all.

...

Le Wuya waited for Wen Ren Yue to come calling again, itching to show off and let him see the joys of being "a thing."

But as it turned out, Wen Ren Yue had too much pride for that—he never came back, and instead planted himself at Nanting Academy.

Still, he didn't totally cut Le Wuya off.

Two days later, he sent over a sheep spine—his teaching stipend from Nanting Academy.

Qin Xingyue toted the sheep spine and repeated it plainly: "Scholar Ming said to send this to the master, to strengthen his bones."

Le Wuya happily accepted it.

When the bones turned into soup and hit the table, Le Wuya ate and slowly started to feel something was off:

...Was the guy mocking him for being spineless in front of the Sixth Prince?

He stewed over it, feeling petty, but in the end, he drank every last drop of the bone soup.

Wen Ren Ming Ke wasn't Le Youque; he shouldn't have that many schemes up his sleeve.

While Wen Ren Yue and Le Wuya were busy sulking, Zhong Junxiong, over in a corner of Nanting, was a wreck, tossing and turning all night.

Three hundred taels of silver had gone into the yamen without so much as a splash.

Zhong Junxiong didn't dare poke around any more, just waited anxiously for word.

Before long, word finally came.

But it was bad news.

Zhong Junxiong's five fur shops were forcibly boarded up overnight by soldiers and slapped with official seals.

When Zhong Junxiong heard this, he nearly stopped breathing on the spot.

He stormed back to the yamen, demanding answers.

The yamen, in a soothing tone, told him that the master had followed the trail and found Zhong Guotai was suspected of having a stake in a gambling den.

Gambling with dice and running an illegal gambling house were crimes of completely different weights.

A charge of "corrupting public morals" was enough to bump the sentence from cangue or hard labor all the way up to exile.

Zhong Guotai had never worked a day in his life; if he'd "invested in a gambling den," his money could only have come from one place.

—The Zhong family's fur shops.

So the yamen raiding the shops and combing the books to find which entries were Zhong Guotai's gambling expenses was both legal and logical—no one could find a single fault with it.

When this came out, the whole Zhong household was dumbstruck.

With the shops boarded up, the accounts seized, and the doors sealed, the Zhong family's business was dead in the water.

The Zhong family's fur trade sat at the top of the supply chain.

They hired hunters to trap sables and blue-white foxes, bought the pelts for a pittance, did a quick and dirty tanning job, and flipped them for a profit.

Pelts wouldn't spoil like grain, sure, but the hunters weren't about to hold them just for him—if he couldn't pay up, they'd sell to someone else on the spot.

Then he'd lose his supply, miss his deliveries, and when the contracts fell through and creditors came knocking, the whole Zhong family would be done for in the blink of an eye!

Zhong Guotai had two big angry blisters on his lips, and he asked his wife in a panic: "Dabao really took money from the shop?!"

Lady Zhong was about to cry: "How the hell would I know?"

Zhong Guotai had always been a reckless mess, scraping money together from every which way like ants on the march, then gambling it away the moment it hit his hands. As for whether he'd actually used shop money to stake the gambling den, even his own parents couldn't say.

A pile of crooked accounts, and the yamen can spin it any way they please!

But what really did him in was when Zhong Junxiong sat down to tally his accounts, he was horrified to find that his liquid cash, all told, came to just a thousand taels.

The rest was sunk into his businesses—not a single coin he could touch.

The second he touched it, it would be total ruin—family wrecked, home gone.

Earlier, he had thought the magistrate was a man of reputation who valued honor above profit, but he never figured the man was just as slick with dirty tricks, dead set on smashing his whole Zhong family to splinters!

He couldn't sit still. Drenched in sweat, he ran to the yamen, pounded the drum, and hollered for justice.

This time, Le Wuya opened the court, greeted him with a smile, and used the Dayu Law to shut him up, leaving him red in the face and sputtering.

"The Holy Ancestor's stance on gambling was to root out the evil completely—cut off the hand to cure the craving. Running a gambling den is even worse—a crime worthy of death, no mercy." Le Wuya propped his chin on his hand and said, all smiles, "Shopkeeper Zhong, you've come at a lucky time. These days, the climate's a bit looser; gambling isn't a heavy crime, and the focus is on reforming folks through education. But running a gambling den still needs a thorough look—no leniency, no exceptions. I haven't raided your house or seized your shops—just checking the books. No need to get worked up. If you're clean, you're clean."

If you're clean, you're clean?

Oh, what a load of crap—"if you're clean, you're clean"!

When was he ever "clean"? Wasn't it all just up to how fast the yamen decided to dig?

By the time they finished poking around, his Zhong family would already be in the ground!

When Lady Zhong heard her husband had come back with his tail between his legs, she was fit to burst with rage. She called for Zhong Guotai's concubine and ordered her to go squat at the yamen gate and wail, claiming the magistrate was holding her man hostage to get his hands on the Zhong family's property—first slapping the label of "bleeding the people dry" on that Wen Ren bastard!

After all, she wasn't a real daughter-in-law—if she went and made a scene on her own, the Zhong family couldn't be blamed!

The concubine ate the Zhong family's rice, so when the matriarch told her to raise hell, she didn't dare say no.

But she'd barely been sobbing at the gate for a minute when, instead of the magistrate, she drew a crowd of locals.

The more they heard, the more baffled and pissed off they got, and they started piping up one by one to defend the magistrate.

No other reason.

To the folks of Nanting, Master Wenren was just too damn good.

They'd never seen an official this honest, and they knew a man with his skills wouldn't be stuck in Nanting for long.

And the more they knew that, the more they wanted to shield him.

The magistrate didn't grab for money, didn't hike taxes, built bridges, paved roads, and fixed up the waterways, so folks in Nanting had grain to spare at home and books in every house. Why would such a great official "bleed" your Zhong family dry?

And with your Zhong family's piles of money, what makes you "common folk"?

After a year of good governance, Le Wuya had already won over every heart in Nanting.

The concubine never wanted to come in the first place. After getting chewed out by the crowd, she was ashamed and sorry, and she covered her face and ran off.

Back home, she sat in her room, stewing the more she thought, and caught wind that Zhong Guotai was tangled up in a lawsuit and the whole Zhong family business had ground to a stop—probably about to go under.

She wasted no time pulling a vanishing act, packing up a stash of gold, silver, and jewelry, and bolting in the dead of night.

Lady Zhong was livid, her face beet red, standing in the yard cursing the heavens, but there wasn't a damn thing she could do.

Seeing that both the straight road and the crooked road were dead ends, Zhong Junxiong had no choice but to go underground, inviting Secretary Wen out to the Four Seas Pavilion for a sit-down.

Secretary Wen wasn't shy at all—he showed up, grabbed his chopsticks, and tore into the food like there was no tomorrow.

All through the meal, Zhong Junxiong kept dropping hints, but the secretary acted like he didn't get it, staring back with big, innocent, clueless eyes.

Just when Zhong Junxiong, boiling with frustration, was about to grab the guy by the skull and dunk him in the soup pot, Secretary Wen wiped his mouth and said, all prim and proper: "Ah, the yamen—tough place, really."

Zhong Junxiong's vision went black.

He choked back the bile rising in his throat: "What else?"

Secretary Wen went on, taking his sweet time: "For next year's provincial exam, the magistrate wants to build a pavilion up on Chahua Mountain in Nanting. First, he'll go there in person to see off the candidates and remind the students of Nanting that even if they pass and head off, they can't forget the land and water that raised them, and they've got to always think about giving back to their hometown. Second, so the tea farmers and flower growers up in the hills have a spot to rest when they're worn out."

"Third..." Secretary Wen took a sip of wine and parroted, "The magistrate said if travelers passing through are worried about running into bandits on the main road, they can bunk there for the night, so they don't have to risk traveling after dark."

Zhong Junxiong's blood ran cold.

A bitter taste clogged his throat, and it took him a long moment before he could choke out one sentence: "...How much?"

Secretary Wen ticked off on his fingers: "The pavilion, the stele, and the well—that's still the cheap part. The real kicker is getting Grand Secretary Xu to write the name plaque and a couplet..."

After a careful calculation, he held up one hand: "Five hundred taels of silver, and that'll do it."

Zhong Junxiong's face went white as a sheet. He staggered up.

He'd figured out two things.

First, the magistrate was dead set on wiping out his family—no doubt about it.

Second, there was a rat in his own house.

The magistrate had bled him for twelve hundred taels, all told.

His cash on hand, plus his wife's dowry—every last drop of liquid money he had came to exactly twelve hundred taels, not a copper more.

Unless he sold off his shops and land to cover it, then threw away decades of hard work and skipped town, his bones and blood would be ground up by the magistrate to feed the soil of Nanting!

Zhong Junxiong was about to cry.

How could there be a man in this world so poisonously scheming?