Chapter 57

Wang Yang asked, “Can we delay it for a few days? Something like illness...”

The black-haired man smiled bitterly, “I’m a soldier’s son, my life is as worthless as grass—unless I’m too sick to stand. But if they investigate and find I’m faking, I’ll be punished by military law.”

Wang Yang turned to Liu Zhao: “Can Xie Niangzi find a way? We don’t need to remove him from the rolls—just delay the order by six days.”

“She has influence, yes—but first, she’s not from Jingzhou, so she doesn’t know the local players; second, the people she can reach are all high aristocrats. But surely she won’t go to the Jingzhou Military Commissioner over the transfer of a single soldier! Such orders fall under the purview of the External Troops Assistant Officer. Yet how could such a low-ranking officer possibly know a daughter of the Xie family?”

The Military Commissioner was second-in-command of the Jingzhou army—approaching him was like going to the deputy theater commander over the transfer of an ordinary soldier. It was too loud, but if it worked, that was all that mattered.

Wang Yang said, “We have no other choice—ask her to try.”

Liu Zhao hesitated, then said, “There’s one person who, if he intervenes, this matter will be settled.”

“Who?”

“Yu Yi. He is the leader of the Western Chu gentry, highly esteemed, with students and former subordinates scattered throughout Jingzhou, and many friends even in the capital.”

“In terms of official standing, the Yu family of Xinye is the most prominent of Jingzhou’s four clans—three of them hold ranks above the fifth grade in the court. His eldest son is currently the Jingzhou Registrar; his second son you’ve met—he’s my student, Yu Yuling.”

Wang Yang exclaimed, “Yuzjie! Then I can ask him to persuade his father to intervene! By the way, where’s Yuzjie? I haven’t seen him these past two days.”

“He... is on leave at home,” Liu Zhao began, then fell silent.

“On leave? Is he ill?”

“Likely confined by his father. But you can still go to his house—see if you can meet him. Yu Yi is... well, you are from the Langya Wang clan, after all.”

Inside the Yu estate, among the rockeries,

Yu Yi wore a white silk night robe, holding a long sword, his body extended as he moved slowly.

“Master, a young master from the Langya Wang clan is outside. He says he’s a friend of your second son, here to visit him and pay his respects to you.” The steward presented Wang Yang’s name card with both hands.

Yu Yi had already heard of Wang Yang from his son, but he did not take the card—instead, he continued sword-dancing as he said, “Tell them we’re out.”

The steward hesitated, standing where he was.

After completing two sword forms, Yu Yi said, “Why are you still standing there?”

“Master, this... he’s from the Langya Wang clan...”

Yu Yi thrust his sword into empty air, smiling lightly, “How many Langya Wangs are there, really...”

Outside the Yu estate.

Wang Yang and the black-haired man left.

Wang Yang knew the steward was lying—if Yu Yi were truly away, why bother going inside to ask?

But he had no other option—he turned to his second choice and took the black-haired man to find Xie Si Niangzi.

Yet she wasn’t home either!

Wang Yang asked where she had gone and when she’d return, but the Xie household gatekeeper gave no answers—everything was “unknown.” Still, they had been ordered by Xie Niangzi to wait for Wang Yang’s letter.

Wang Yang told the black-haired man to return to the county school for the manuscript—not Liu Zhao’s annotated copy of “The Shangshujinguwenzhixia ,” but a new short book he’d written alone last night, barely over four thousand characters. By modern standards, it was less a book than an essay.

But ancient texts didn’t need to be long—“The Dao De Jing” was just over five thousand characters; “The Classic of Filial Piety” was under two thousand.

The Xie household was tightly guarded—without their master’s order, they didn’t invite Wang Yang in to wait.

Wang Yang waited outside until dusk, still no sign of Xie Xinghan.

He handed the manuscript to the gatekeeper, instructing him to inform Xie Niangzi immediately upon her return—he had urgent business to discuss.

Then he took the black-haired man to seek Zong Ce, hoping Zong Ce might have a solution.

But Zong’s household said Zong Ce had gone to Xisha Zhou and wouldn’t return tonight.

Wang Yang felt weary—when you truly needed to get something done, you couldn’t even find a person to ask. Relying on others was so hard!

Huh?

Why rely on others at all?

Must I, Wang Yang, be powerless without them?!

The black-haired man had followed Wang Yang all day, though to no visible effect—he was already tearfully grateful.

“Young Master, forget it. Going to Tianmen isn’t the end of the world. I’ll leave Wuwu with neighbors, give them extra money. Or wait until you plead with the Prince and get me recalled.”

“You cannot go to Tianmen Prefecture—this order is suspicious,” Wang Yang suddenly said.

“Suspicious?” The black-haired man flinched at Wang Yang’s serious expression.

“Anything against reason is suspicious. Why would Tianmen Prefecture need to draft soldiers from Jingzhou? If they were short, they’d call up entire garrisons, like before—not single out one man by name. What’s so special about you?”

“But... what if they just randomly circled my name in the roster...”

“You can’t stake your safety on ‘what if.’ Have you considered—if this is truly intentional, what’s the goal?”

People always cling to luck—sometimes they sense something is wrong, yet convince themselves they’re overthinking.

This is laziness at work. Not everyone will expend energy thinking about or preparing for dangers that may never come.

The black-haired man froze. Could someone truly be targeting him—a poor soldier’s son?

“Let’s go,” Wang Yang said.

“Young Master, where to?”

“Back to the county school. I need to ask a few questions—and borrow some things.”

Night fell; the dawn moon rose.

A slow ox-cart halted before a grand mansion with high walls and lavish decoration—this was the residence of Jiao Zheng, Jingzhou’s External Troops Assistant Officer.

Wang Yang lowered the curtain: “He lives here? But wasn’t he said to be of humble origins? How can he afford such a house?”

Opposite Wang Yang sat Liu Zhao’s steward, surnamed He. Liu Zhao was absorbed in scholarship; daily affairs were handled entirely by Steward He.

Steward He bowed respectfully and replied:

“Your Excellency, I’ve confirmed it—this is the place. Jiao’s family was commoner, not even low gentry. He rose through military service, earned promotion by merit. He reportedly served in the capital’s imperial guards. Later, for reasons unknown, he was transferred to Jingzhou as External Troops Assistant Officer—three or four years now, no promotion. His rank is low, yet as soon as he arrived, he bought this large estate in the best district—he clearly isn’t short on money.”

Wang Yang nodded. “Everything arranged?”

“All prepared.”

“If I act rudely, please forgive me.”

Steward He bowed deeply. “Your Excellency speaks strangely. The Master has instructed me—I will obey your every command.”

“Good. Listen for the noise.”

Steward He bowed again, then clapped his hands. Outside, a servant pulled back the curtain.

Wang Yang stepped down, brushing his robes.

Beside the cart, eight servants from the county school stood waiting, bowing in unison: “Young Master.”

Wang Yang’s expression was cold: “Kick down the gate.”

The servants walked to the vermilion gate and began kicking it hard.

“Who is it? Stop knocking!”

The gate opened; a gatekeeper stepped out, shouting, “Who are you? What do you want?!”

Wang Yang walked straight in, ignoring him entirely.