Chapter 267: Two Hundred and Seventy-Seven, Master Di

Two Hundred and Seventy-Seven, Master Di

Published: 11: One month ago.

Shenjing Luoyang.

Ziwei City.

Early summer, afternoon.

A jujube tree grew beside the side wall of a grand hall with red walls and black tiles, its age unknown, its lush branches nearly reaching into the window.

"Cicada—cicada—"

The warm sunlight baked the brown-skinned cicadas on the branches, forcing them to chirp incessantly.

Yet not a single sound disturbed the man by the window.

Rustle—

In the center of a desk piled high with documents, a clear space held a scattered heap of small wooden sticks, all identical in length.

They were frequently rearranged by a palm with wrinkled, withered skin.

The rustling continued as the sticks were moved back and forth.

It was no game—the old, withered hand manipulated them with solemn precision.

Upon closer inspection, the pile was not chaotic; it subtly followed a pattern.

Beside the pile of sticks lay a thick volume.

The other withered hand held a fine wolf-hair brush, slowly writing lines of regular script on one page of the volume.

The regular script was neat, stroke by stroke, like woodblock printing—utterly devoid of vitality.

On the thick volume, the freshly inked characters were dry, dull numbers:

Grain: two million three hundred fifty-seven thousand plus shi,

Silk: three million seven hundred eleven thousand plus zhang,

Hemp: five hundred fifty…

And so on.

A fat old man knelt before the desk, bent low, his eyes inches from the pages.

He squinted as was his habit, his withered fingers recording entries in the ledger.

The pile of small sticks beside him was, in fact, a set of counting rods.

Similar to the abacus of Magistrate Ouyang Rong's past life, yet far more complex and inconvenient.

The fat old man was doing accounts.

Before him, the desk was piled with documents; on the inner edge, the lacquered surface gleamed wine-red.

The wrist where his hand manipulated the counting rods had been polished smooth by friction, faintly gleaming.

This fat old man, clad in official robes, squinting with wrinkles, seemed to have spent day after day, season after season, in this window-side workstation, mechanically calculating.

If one raised one's gaze above the towering piles of documents, one would see that this fat old man's workstation stood at the very head of the entire hall.

Inside the hall, besides him, there were over a dozen officials.

They sat upright behind their own desks, focused on their duties.

Some were vigorous young men with noble bearing; others were elderly men as deep as dark pools—all wore neatly arranged official robes and fish-shaped insignia; from afar, a sea of crimson robes, mostly fifth rank and above.

The dozen officials sat with calm dignity, radiating quiet nobility.

Along the outer corridor, green-robed clerks occasionally hurried toward the hall, arms full of documents.

But as they neared the hall's entrance, they instinctively bowed slightly, heads lowered; once inside, they presented their documents to the crimson-robed officials, speaking in hushed, cautious tones, as if afraid of disturbing something.

Thus, the grand hall and its dozen officials grew ever more solemn and profound.

Yet whenever the crimson-robed officials' gazes drifted to the workstation at the very back of the hall, where a small green window formed the backdrop,

and saw the quiet figure of the ordinary fat old man tallying accounts, they all bowed their heads slightly, lowered their eyes, a flicker of reverence passing through their pupils before they returned to their work.

To be fair, this solemn office hall, in terms of ornate decoration, was utterly unremarkable amid the entire extravagantly lavish imperial city.

Not to mention when compared to the nearby Zichen Hall, where the Wei Empress held court each morning.

Yet it was called the Zhongshu Province… no, it was called Fengge.

One of the highest authorities in Shendu.

At the window-side, humble workstation, the fat old man buried his head in accounts, occasionally closing the volume to gaze out at the green branches, murmuring with a frown:

"More spending again…"

He shook his head and returned to his desk.

Amid the cicadas' desperate singing, the sun above the jujube tree slowly sank westward.

"Dong—"

A rhythmic bell toll echoed through the buildings of Ziwei City.

Mao Hour, Second Ke—time to end the day.

Inside Fengge Hall, the dozen crimson-robed officials did not lift their heads; they continued working.

Yet at the workstation by the small window at the head of the hall, the fat old man laid down his brush, closed his volume, rose immediately, stepped away from his desk, passed among the others, and exited the hall.

The dozen crimson-robed officials exhaled softly, then rose one after another, packed their things, and left the hall.

One crimson-robed official wore a faint smile.

This highest official of Fengge, who calculated accounts daily, had one virtue: he never extended hours—he always left on time.

Even when the Empress had once, on a whim, visited Fengge and entered to inspect and comfort them, the fat old man had done the same—never allowing Her Majesty to encroach upon their dismissal time.

Ziwei City was the primary palace of the Zhou Dynasty, symbol of imperial authority.

Located at the highest point in the northwest corner of Shendu, Shenjing Luoyang.

The entire Ziwei City consisted primarily of two parts: Ziwei Palace and the Imperial City.

Ziwei Palace lay within, serving as the Empress's residence and the seat of governance and court.

The Imperial City lay outside, housing the Five Ministries, Three Courts, and other central bureaus, as well as guest lodgings for foreign envoys.

Thus, offices situated within Ziwei Palace, close to the Son of Heaven, were exceedingly few—almost all were institutions of supreme power or ritual authority.

Such as this Fengge.

Fengge's location was deep within, yet the fat old man who left first was also the first to reach Yingtian Gate, one of Ziwei Palace's main entrances, waiting with folded arms for the gate to open.

The others were left far behind.

But as time passed, a group of veteran ministers and young officials holding core positions across the Zhou Dynasty gradually gathered outside Yingtian Gate, awaiting the gate's opening.

Seeing the familiar figure of the fat old man ahead, nearly half the officials clustered forward.

Words like "Master" and "Lord Di" slipped from the lips of this small group of crimson and purple-clad nobles.

The fat old man, who had been standing before the gate with arms folded in thought, turned his head, bowed slightly in return.

The punctual old man was none other than Di Di Fuzi, the famed Chancellor of Zhou, whom the Wei Empress reverently called Guolao.

The term "Master" was originally a Confucian title, derived from the true name of a high-ranking scholar in the Confucian lineage, one of the highest honors in Confucianism.

One could imagine the exalted status this old man held in the hearts of scholars across the land.

Since most court officials were scholars, they naturally used "Master" frequently, alternating it with the respectful "Lord Di."

Gradually, the entire realm came to call him thus; his real name, meanwhile, was nearly forgotten.

Before Yingtian Gate, facing his fellow ministers,

the fat old man smiled warmly.

His conversation was full of wit.

With such a superior, the atmosphere naturally grew cordial.

Soon, the appointed hour arrived, and the imperial guards opened the gate as customary.

The nobles filed out one by one.

Outside the gate, several waiting palace servants stepped forward, behind them a luxurious palanquin; they bowed respectfully:

"We humbly welcome Master. Please take your palanquin."

Di Di Fuzi shook his head and declined, took the reins from the old servant, mounted his horse, and rode away.

The palace servants, bound by imperial order, helplessly lifted the empty palanquin and followed the riding fat old man back to his residence.

Around them, ministers who had boarded their carriages lifted their curtains, saw the scene, and smiled—it was familiar; some eyed it with envy.

Riding in a palanquin was not something any ordinary Zhou minister could enjoy; only elderly ministers of great virtue and prestige were permitted to ride one to and from court.

Yet though the Empress had arranged it out of consideration for Guolao, Di Di Fuzi clearly was not accustomed to it.

Di Di Fuzi, dressed in light riding attire, rode out of the city, returning home along the streets.

Having parted from his colleagues, the fat old man on the lean horse had long since erased his smile; his eyes lowered, lost in thought.

His hand gripping the reins, two withered fingers curved slightly, tapping rhythmically against the horse's mane.

He muttered under his breath.

He was calculating again.

This Chancellor of Zhou, the pillar of the pro-peace faction in the eyes of scholars across the land, the man standing on the front lines of resistance against the Wei clan, lived a life devoid of any grandeur or cunning—instead, he performed the most mundane task in the world.

Calculating accounts.

The fat old man calculated the land taxes, labor dues, and poll taxes of over a thousand prefectures across the ten circuits; he calculated the state treasury's deficits and next year's budget.

He also calculated the extravagant, capricious spending of the Wei Empress and the Zhou nobility, princesses, and imperial kin within Shenjing Luoyang.

And yes, the tiny handful of qi-refining adepts the court kept, utterly useless.

In the eyes of this Confucian-born fat old man,

Those who retreated beyond the world's edge could be ignored, but these Qi Refiners who moved within the world—outside the Confucian sect and other prominent schools—produced nothing themselves and could not govern or secure the state.

Except to add a decorative flourish to the already fierce and ferocious border troops of Great Zhou, they were merely pretty ornaments.

Due to restrictions such as the Divine Cauldron's suppression, these Qi Refiners outside the Confucian sect ought to have kept far from the supreme imperial power—the very source most likely to corrupt the Dao-heart—and wandered the rivers and lakes as "lonely ghosts and wild spirits," their life and death left to heaven.

Yet they took shortcuts, learning from the Three Schools—Confucian, Buddhist, and Daoist—to cloak themselves in the guise of spiritual cultivation and enter the world for resource supply.

And the Empress Dowager and powerful families like the Wei Wang Fu particularly favored these "pretty ornaments," or even produced them themselves.

They merely ate free meals and intensified the brutal internal struggles of factionalism and power games.

Yet the most helpless thing in this world is:

No one willingly tills the fields; few cooks prepare meals well; yet countless people climb onto the table to eat their fill, clamoring for fish and meat, and some, after belching, kick wildly beneath the table legs.

If you ask Master Di, what is the Grand Chancellor of Great Zhou?

He is the largest cook among them, tasked with preparing meals for an entire household. In the words of a young county magistrate, economics determines the superstructure.

On the street, a fat old man sat atop his horse, gazing straight ahead, utterly silent.

The thin, bony old servant trailing beside him, seeing his master's silence, was long accustomed to it.

This scholar, whose accounting had turned his short white hair thin with worry, appeared one way in court or before crowds—witty, eloquent, sharp-tongued.

But when working or alone, he appeared another way—silent, sparing every word.

To leave the grand and majestic Purple Micro Palace, one had to exit the imperial city through the Right Ye Gate.

Beyond the imperial city, directly ahead lay the ceaselessly flowing Luo River.

When viewed from above, Shenjing Luoyangcheng was nearly square.

The Luo River cut through its center, dividing it into two districts: Luo North and Luo Nan.

The Great Zhou imperial palace stood in Luo North.

The imperial clan and noble families resided in the northeastern district of Luo North.

The Luo Nan district, across the Luo River from them, was where most ordinary people lived and moved about.

Most government officials and ministers also resided in the Luo Nan district.

Yet most of them lived near the Luo River, for it had long bridges, allowing them to cross just a few and reach the imperial city directly for morning court.

Master Di's residence lay in Jishan Fang, adjacent to the southern bank of the Luo River.

As the party crossed the Luo River and arrived at Dingding Gate's main street, they encountered a group of foreigners in strange attire.

They appeared to have come to the capital to pay tribute, gazing around with wide eyes, marveling at the dazzling, colorful streets of Shenjing Luoyang.

The entire city of Shenjing Luoyang exuded an atmosphere of openness and prosperity.

There were Shenjing Luoyang youths wearing Hu clothing and Hu hats, bold young ladies in high-waisted ruqun dresses as if stepped from a court lady's painting, and slow, courteous Daoists and monks.

As the saying goes: "The nine heavens' gates open to imperial halls; ten thousand nations bow before the imperial crown."

The Shenjing Luoyang commoners, seeing these foreign envoys with high noses who had come from unknown lands, were long accustomed to them.

Shenjing Luoyang had no shortage of Hu people and foreigners—Hu merchants in the West Market, Hu dancing girls in taverns, envoys from vassal states—there were dozens, all fluent in Han speech, fully woven into Shenjing Luoyang's daily life.

Some Shenjing Luoyang locals even cast amused, mocking glances at these new foreigners, as if at country bumpkins.

Master Di, seeing these foreign envoys who had appeared from some obscure corner, frowned slightly.

"Another round of gifts will cost money."

Muttering this, the fat old man spurred his horse away, though the empty, lowly carriage behind him betrayed his status.

On Dingding Gate's main street, commoners and envoys alike stepped aside to respectfully let the Chancellor's carriage pass.

"It's Master Di!"

"At this hour, he must have just left court—he still refuses to ride in a sedan," a Shenjing Luoyang man boasted to his companion.

The blond, blue-eyed foreign envoys knew nothing of the fat old man's disdain; the officials from the Court of Justice hurriedly pulled them aside, making them step off the main road. They turned to watch the back of the great chancellor of the Celestial Realm, their eyes filled with reverence and admiration.

Master Di rode back to his residence in Jishan Fang.

The residence was not large. When he was reinstated, the Empress Dowager had granted him a luxurious mansion—in the noble district of Luo Northeast.

He refused to live there, for it was too far from the imperial city, inconvenient for duty and morning court.

This modest house in Jishan Fang was close to the imperial city, so he lived here permanently, kept few servants, and saved money.

Yet small houses have their drawbacks: right now, visitors from across the empire lining up to deliver their petitions stretched all the way onto the street; the parked carriages nearly blocked Jishan Fang's thoroughfare.

The fat old man, experienced in such things, whipped his horse, left the clumsy sedan behind, took a detour, and entered through the back gate.

The head steward had already waited near the back gate and hurried forward with a neatly organized stack of petitions.

"Master, today's petitions—for your review…"

Master Di dismounted, first led his old horse into the stable, squatted to scatter some hay, patted his hands clean, stepped out, and took the petitions.

He automatically narrowed his eyes, scanned them quickly, then suddenly pulled out the last one, opened it, and studied it closely.

The fat old man handed the rest of the stack back to the steward:

"Reject them all."

After a moment, he closed the one petition he kept and said:

"Bring Chenjun Xie Xun's eldest disciple to the study."

"Yes, Master."

About half an hour later.

A modest study, where books piled like mountains on a wooden cooling couch.

A faint "creak" sounded as the door opened from within.

A serious young man with a square face, who had hurried from Jiangzhou in Jiang Nan Dao, stepped out quietly, respectfully closed the door, and walked down the long corridor.

Inside the room, beneath the half-open window.

Master Di sat behind an old desk, its legs propped up with books, idly flipping through a letter from Chenjun Xie Xun… and a sketchbook.

The sketchbook lay open.

A map of a county—familiar, yet slightly alien—came into view.

Master Di raised his brow.

Familiar, because it was Longcheng County, where he had once been exiled and served.

Alien, because this Longcheng was missing something—and had gained something.

This quiet, humorless fat old man narrowed his eyes and studied further.

After a moment, he suddenly exclaimed, "Huh?" closed the book, lifted his head, and muttered:

"You can save money this way?"

The scholar smiled.

(End of Chapter)