Chapter 33

Thirty-Three: Distant Water Cannot Quench Immediate Fire

“Why are you staring at me all the time, little sister?”

Inside the carriage, Ouyang Rong closed his eyes to rest and asked calmly.

Xie Lingjiang hesitated slightly: “Brother’s actions… have caught me off guard.”

She lifted the carriage curtain again, silently watching the knights escorting them back to the county government office—swords, crossbows, armor, and lamellar all complete, discipline rigid; these were the Black Armor Iron Cavalry of the Great Zhou.

Xie Lingjiang still felt a dull throb in her head—not because she was unworldly, but because everything had come too suddenly, as if something distant had leapt before her and crushed her before she could react… No wonder the wealthy gentry inside the Yuanming Tower had just moments ago been trembling in fear, their dignity shattered.

From the moment Ouyang Rong pushed open the window to “reveal his hand,” to his later polite mention of confiscation, then his sweeping gesture as he left the building, Xie Lingjiang had trailed behind, watching her brother’s calm nape, dazed and drifting—only when she followed him out and into the carriage did she finally snap back to awareness.

Ouyang Rong did not open his eyes, as if lost in thought, and said casually: “It seems my little sister still doesn’t understand me.”

The Xie noblewoman’s gaze was complex as she looked at him: “I understand a bit now… but why didn’t you tell me beforehand? Were you just waiting to see me stunned and speechless?”

There had been another unspoken remark on the tip of her tongue, but she held it back—she felt it sounded too much like a woman pouting.

“I forgot to mention it.”

“?”

Xie Lingjiang, as if angered, turned her head away, deciding not to speak to her brother that day—but Ouyang Rong opened his eyes, smiling, and confessed:

“Honestly, I didn’t expect it either. They just showed up, yet made such a huge spectacle—ah, Sixth Young Master is getting better at handling things.”

Xie Lingjiang, still turned away in haughty silence, glanced at his exasperated expression; the woman disguised as a man couldn’t help but let out a soft, amused snort: “So even you were surprised? But just now, you totally stunned everyone—very impressive… Next time there’s something like this, bring me along.”

Ouyang Rong couldn’t help but laugh: “Fine, next time I’ll give my little sister a line dripping with commanding presence.”

Xie Lingjiang glared at him: “What’s this ‘commanding presence’ nonsense? You’re making up words again.”

The two bantered and laughed for a while.

Xie Lingjiang turned to him, seriously asking:

“So, Brother, you sent Yan Liulang to Jiangzhou not just to supervise the transport of three thousand shi of disaster relief grain, but also to mobilize troops? But… how did you manage that?”

She frowned in confusion: “Also, that Qin Commandant just said he was assisting with the investigation—what case is this?”

The young county magistrate smiled without answering.

He had simply written a letter and had Sixth Young Master deliver it to Jiangzhou.

…

“Greedy for wealth, greedy for beauty, greedy for power—he must be greedy for something, right? Did we get a saint in Longcheng County?”

“Even if he were a saint, he’d still crave the saintly name! What the hell is this damned Proclamation Scholar of an official after?”

“Acting like a chastity widow, dragging it out—giving him face and he still puts on airs. Tossing the table? He just wants more. Damn it!”

Liu Zilin was in another rage, jabbing his index finger furiously toward the eastern side of the county government office outside.

But today he didn’t smash anything, because both his brothers were inside.

One was wiping his sword with a white cloth—Liu Ziwen, plain in appearance and temperament, slow and mild.

The other was observing the sword-wiper—a sickly youth in brocade robes.

This youth had triangular eyes, which should have made him look vicious, but his eyelids drooped perpetually, giving him the air of a lethargic tiger with no desires.

The sickly youth stared at the sword in Liu Ziwen’s hand and nodded: “Confiscating estates right after taking office—bold indeed.”

Liu Zilin spun around sharply: “Why didn’t you two do something back then? When I was ambushed that day, you should’ve reclaimed our honor immediately—now nothing’s happened, and this Ouyang Lianghan is pushing further, treating us like soft persimmons, showing not an ounce of respect to the Liu Clan of the Dragon King!”

That day, when he was publicly flogged in the street, what enraged him most wasn’t having his leg broken by that fierce little woman—it was being forced to kneel before a barbarian slave. Liu Zilin had swallowed his broken teeth whole.

He’d assumed his brothers had a plan; his eldest had even said they’d wear down the scholar county magistrate. But now? He’d turned into an eagle and swooped straight for their eyes!

So he held back, and the longer he held back, the angrier he grew; he retreated, and the fire surged in his heart.

“Damn it, when have we ever endured such humiliation? Big brother, second brother—we’re dragons, we’re tigers, not sheep!”

Liu Ziwen wiped his sword silently, his focus absolute, polishing the blade with meticulous care using the clean white cloth, as if he hadn’t heard his brothers’ words.

“He seeks no wealth, no beauty, no power—not even fame—only disaster relief and flood control,” said Liu Zian, the second son of the Liu family, shaking his head. “Dealing with such a righteous man is hard with a hard blade, easy with a soft one.”

Liu Zilin paced inside the room, anxious: “Now he doesn’t care whether we use a hard blade or a soft one—he’s already put the blade at our throats! Checking accounts is just an excuse—he can overturn the table and confiscate at will! We must go to the prefecture and get someone to deal with him…”

Liu Zian ignored his agitated younger brother and turned back to his eldest:

“This is strange. How did he summon the Iron Cavalry of Jiangzhou’s Zhechong Fu? There are only six military commands in the entire Jiangnan Circuit; moving more than ten men or ten horses requires a central imperial decree and bronze fish tally. He’s a seventh-rank exiled county magistrate—could he possibly have such heavenly influence? Then why would he lack even this small amount of grain and silver for disaster relief?”

Liu Ziwen finally paused his polishing and nodded: “I’ve already sent men to investigate. That’s the key to this scheme. Breaking this current trap isn’t hard—it’s the larger trap waiting behind that’s dangerous.”

Liu Zian suddenly asked: “Could it be that family helping him?”

Liu Ziwen shook his head: “We don’t know if Ouyang Lianghan is one of theirs. But if they so much as touch military authority, even Master Di himself couldn’t save them.”

He lowered his head again and resumed polishing: “Just pretend they don’t exist.”

Liu Zian pondered for a moment, then nodded.

Liu Zilin couldn’t help but interrupt: “A larger trap? Who gave him the nerve to set it up? Do they know who backs the Liu Clan? Are they trying to die? If they delay the noble’s sword…”

Liu Zilin suddenly fell silent, lowering his head immediately, as both his brothers’ gazes locked onto him—one furrowed in frown, the other coldly piercing.

It felt like a moment passed, or perhaps an eternity—then the three Liu brothers acted as if nothing had happened, returning to the original topic.

Liu Ziwen gave a subtle glance to his second brother.

Liu Zian received it, and turned to the only fool in the room, Liu Zilin, speaking coldly:

Still unyielding? Do you think this trap he’s laid can be solved by comparing whose noble patron is more powerful? Doesn’t Ouyang Lianghan know that our powerful local clans have patrons even above us? How dare he turn the tables on all thirteen families at once?

“He’s asking for death!” Liu Zilin gritted his teeth.

“Exactly—he’s asking for death,” Liu Zian finally smiled, though his smile was more menacing than his frown: “But if he’s just going to die, fine. Why does he want to drag a few of us down with him? Fool! We have vast estates and wealth—can we afford to die with him?”

“Does he even deserve to?”

“But he can.”

Liu Zian rubbed his face, weary from teaching his brother:

“Because of the Grain Warehouse case, all our allies in Jiangzhou are either being suspended or forced out—no one in the prefecture can immediately intervene in Longcheng. But Ouyang Lianghan now has three hundred Zhechong Fu Iron Cavalry.”

“That’s the immediate fire. We have distant water beyond Jiangzhou—but how do we pour it now?”

Liu Zilin felt as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped on him—he instantly calmed down, stopped pacing, and sat back at the table with his brothers, leaning in to ask:

“Three hundred iron cavalry—can’t our high walls and private soldiers hold them off?”

“These are elite troops just rotated back from the frontier—their blades still drip with barbarian blood.”

“Then what do we do?”

Liu Zian turned to his eldest brother and stated simply: “We cannot let him audit the accounts.”

Liu Ziwen finally finished polishing the sword. He carefully sheathed the fine short blade, its scabbard inlaid with jade, agate, pearls, and gems—exquisitely luxurious. This sword was prepared annually to be sent to a Luoyang noble.

Liu Ziwen spoke calmly to his two younger brothers:

“The Liu Clan is not merely a fat sheep of fine fields, mansions, gold, and jewels. The Liu Clan is this scabbard—inside it lies… a sword.”