Chapter 26

Twenty-six: You Understand How to Aid the People

Zhen Shi discovered something strange.

Xie Ling had begun calling Tan Lang “Senior Brother.”

It came so suddenly—hadn’t she always called him “Senior Lianghan” before? And Tan Lang, for his part, addressed her interchangeably as “Lady Ling” or “Little Junior Sister,” whichever came to mind.

In the main hall of Meilu Xuan, Zhen Shi, dressed in a green skirt with a green shawl draped over her shoulders, turned to watch the two laughing and chatting as they passed by her, her expression suspicious.

Didn’t this proud Xie noblewoman come to her this afternoon, frowning, calling him “Senior Lianghan”? How had she changed her tone by nightfall?

Could Tan Lang be using the old trick of feigning indifference to lure her in—ignoring the girl for days, then suddenly offering warmth? Just like how she used to scold her maidservants… the woman in the silk robe mused inwardly.

Finally got it through her head?

Zhen Shi seized the chance to pull Ouyang Rong outside and asked:

“Why are you so filthy again? What’s Tan Lang been up to? Go wash up before dinner—mind your appearance. I’ll have Banxi to heat water…”

Ouyang Rong shook his head. “No need yet. I just returned to Luming Street to fetch official documents from the government office and brought Little Junior Sister along for dinner. I’ll be heading to the city outskirts tonight to handle some matters—I may be late. Auntie, rest early. Don’t wait up.”

Zhen Shi: “You…”

“By the way.” Ouyang Rong turned and handed her a small jar of pickled radish. “Put some on the table for Little Junior Sister to try.”

“She likes this?” The woman’s attention shifted; she sniffed it and smiled. “Alright, alright.”

Ouyang Rong warned, “Don’t serve it all. Leave me some.”

“Really now, a man should be generous.”

“….”

At Meilu Yuan’s dinner, Ouyang Rong also summoned Yan Liulang. He arrived in haste, nodded to Ouyang Rong, Xie Ling, and Zhen Shi, then sat down immediately and began shoveling rice into his mouth.

Just like Ouyang Rong when he first sat down—a ravenous ghost, devouring everything.

These past days, Ouyang Rong had sent him to lead the county constables in maintaining order at over a dozen relief camps on the city outskirts. He ran nonstop chasing thieves and bandits; with over ten thousand displaced people flooding in and out, trivial incidents piled up endlessly—he hadn’t sat still for a moment. Truly exhausting.

Moreover, Longcheng had always belonged to Wu-Yue territory, where the people were famously passionate about grudges and loyalty, valuing promises over life.

This didn’t mean the local customs were savage. On the contrary, in his time governing here, Ouyang Rong had found the people simple, honest, and quiet.

But the quietest are the fiercest—once ignited.

“It’s not about violent feuds. Just old grudges and resentments—foolish debts. I can’t fathom where they keep so many swords. Decades-old disputes from their fathers’ generation? When the chance arises, sons and grandsons dig out those blades to seek revenge.”

Yan Liulang wiped his mouth and sighed. “Even with the flood, they can barely afford rice, yet they still cling to these grudges.”

Xie Ling picked up a piece of pickled radish and nodded. “In the north, Yan and Zhao produce generous, tragic heroes. In the south, Wu and Yue are lands of vengeance. Not places that harbor filth. Scan history—both regions have always bred assassins and death-seekers who fight against overwhelming odds.”

“Having spirit is good,” Ouyang Rong muttered as he ate.

Yan Liulang set down his bowl and asked, “My Lord, the work-for-rice program has genuinely reduced refugees and bandits, and city security has improved greatly. But won’t gathering so many refugees on the outskirts cause trouble?”

“You mean plague or rebellion?” Ouyang Rong didn’t look up.

The bluntness nearly choked Yan Liulang.

“Er, My Lord, I just feel uneasy. No county magistrate has ever done this before—they’re probably afraid of losing control with so many people.”

“That’s not something you’d think of. Did your father tell you this?”

“Yes. He’s worried too.”

“Commandant Yan is thoughtful enough to consider this? Then why hasn’t he returned to the government office yet? Still on leave?”

“I don’t know. He says he’s old and retiring this year—he’s letting me take over the constabulary.”

Ouyang Rong nodded, glanced toward the outskirts, and murmured:

“Sixlang, rest easy. I visit every relief camp daily. As long as I’m here, nothing will go wrong. And if even I, as county magistrate, can’t plug the gaps, then scattering them won’t stop what’s bound to happen.”

Xie Ling nodded too. “Correct. Our Great Zhou isn’t like the end of Qin or Sui—gathering people to repair the Yellow River wouldn’t spark rebellion.”

Ouyang Rong added, “Besides, everyone just wants to eat. What’s wrong with that? It’s precisely what the Zhou court and our local government should do—and it’s not hard. No foreign enemies, no border wars. Luoyang and Chang’an welcome envoys from ten thousand nations, music and dance fill the air. The court ministers all call this a golden age of peace. Granaries across the land overflow with surplus grain. If we unite, we’ll overcome the floods.”

He felt renewed vigor and buried his bowl in two more mouthfuls. Beside him, Zhen Shi quietly served him dishes.

“Senior Brother is right,” Xie Ling said, her eyes bright and earnest.

Her mind still held the image she’d seen that afternoon: bustling, alive with industry.

Yan Liulang couldn’t help glancing at this Xie lady, who had always been quiet during their conversations.

He didn’t dwell on it, smiled, and said, “Alright then. I’ll be leading patrols and can’t stay by your side, My Lord. I’ll leave her in your care, Lady Xie.”

“Alright.”

Everyone’s mood was good after dinner. As soon as they finished, Ouyang Rong immediately left with Xie Ling and Yan Liulang.

Tonight, they had to inspect the newly built Shuangjiang Camp, and he also needed to address the refugees’ medical needs—the county’s recruited physicians were insufficient. He was considering visiting Donglin Temple… Only now did he realize, this “ancient lamp, ancient Buddha” Donglin Temple was absurdly wealthy.

Before leaving Meilu Yuan, Zhen Shi had Banxi slip a handful of candied fruits into Ouyang Rong’s pocket for his midnight snack. But Yan Liulang knew—quietly, their My Lord always gave them away to refugee children at the camp gates.

The three left Meilu Yuan, first heading to Longcheng County government office. Ouyang Rong signed documents in the temporary office, stamped them with the official seal, handed them to the clerks, then joined Xie and Yan waiting outside, ready to depart.

At that moment, the panicked deputy county official, Dai, rushed through the government office gates with two men dressed as postal messengers, waving several thin sheets of paper.

Before they reached them, Ouyang Rong and the others heard:

“My Lord! My Lord! Disaster! News from Jiangzhou! Three days ago, the Ji Min Granary, meant for relief, opened by imperial decree—but its hundreds of thousands of shi of rice vanished! The granary now holds less than a quarter full!”

Inside and outside the government office, silence fell instantly.

Whether it was a constable passing by after work or a clerk about to write, all froze like paused figures, faces stunned.

On the open ground outside the main hall, closest to the messenger, the three young men—those standing on either side—turned sharply, staring at the young county magistrate in the center.

“You… say that again.”

The calm voice from the man standing in the tree’s shadow made Deputy Dai instinctively step back—but with no retreat left, he swallowed hard and repeated it, then hurried on:

“Jiangzhou City is in chaos now. The granary’s head committed suicide out of guilt. A host of officials under the Jiangzhou Inspector have been suspended. The Jiangnan Inspector sent to oversee relief has arrived and already arrested one hundred and thirty people…”

“Stop.” The young magistrate suddenly spoke. “Just tell me: how much grain remains in the Ji Min Granary? And how much relief grain can be allocated within three months?”

“Only seventy thousand shi remain—but it must be shared among Jiangzhou City and several surrounding disaster-stricken counties. We’ll get… three thousand shi.”

“Three thousand… shi.” The young magistrate murmured to himself.

“Also…” Deputy Dai hesitated. “With the emergency worsening and Jiangzhou’s scandal, every region is overwhelmed. The higher-ups have ordered each county magistrate to handle local relief and flood control independently…”

“No grain, no money—how do we relieve?” Xie Ling’s voice was cold.

“They say the magistrate must think of ways. If grain and funds fall short, summon local landlords and wealthy families to donate surplus grain—or seize grain from temples and Daoist monasteries. Anything. Ease the burden on the state and county. After the disaster, you may grant them privileges: tax exemptions, labor exemptions. You may decide freely—even borrow grain from local gentry now, to repay when relief arrives…”

“So we’re left to fend for ourselves.” Xie Ling nodded. Someone remained silent.

Deputy Dai sighed. “That’s the order. Here’s the official document… And there’s one crucial point: during relief, you must maintain order at the bottom—especially among the refugees. No slip-ups allowed. This is the court’s bottom line and the most critical criterion in post-disaster inspections. Other failures may be forgiven.”

After he finished, the entire courtyard fell silent.

No one spoke. No one dared to. Because one man stood motionless.

Xie Ling turned her head silently.

On the open ground of the government office courtyard, the vegetation behind them blocked the candlelight from the main hall. The young magistrate’s body was half swallowed by shadow. Xie Ling couldn’t read his expression—only saw a pair of eyes fixed on the ground.

“My Lord, perhaps you should read it again.” Deputy Dai pulled out a document and offered it.

Seeing the man beside him remain still, Xie Ling reached to take it—but the next second, a cold hand snatched it away so fast it brushed her knuckles. She knew then: his palm was icy, and it hurt.

Ouyang Rong pinched the document between two fingers, flicked it, and asked curiously: “So you’re saying—in three months—I, and twelve thousand nine hundred and eighty-one refugees—have only this paper, and less than twelve thousand shi of grain?”

Deputy Dai had no answer, stammering, “Y-yes, I suppose.”

Ouyang Rong suddenly wanted to ask: If the court doesn’t relieve famine, what’s the point of the court? A decoration the people pay for? Like the Buddha towers in temples? At least those towers get you three meals a day.

But the words died on his lips. All that came out was a quiet approval:

“Ji Min Granary… what a fine name.”

Ouyang Rong turned, holding the document, and walked away from the government office with a faint smile. The others stood frozen, staring at each other.