Chapter 38: Thirty-Eight, Rebirth

Thirty-Eight, Rebirth

“Stay calm, stay calm, my lord! Don’t overturn the table—how can we play if we overturn it? It benefits no one, we’ll all lose!”

The assistant county magistrate spoke in a panic, trembling.

“Without them, that’s the greatest benefit.”

“But you’ll lose too, my lord! You can’t mobilize troops without following procedure. A man of wealth doesn’t sit near the edge of a hall—how can you trade your life for theirs?”

“Why do I feel like I’m winning?”

“...” The assistant county magistrate fell silent. “You’re a seventh-rank county magistrate, a Metropolitan Graduate and third-place palace examination scholar, a scholar whose name even Her Majesty of Great Zhou remembers—your future is limitless. How can you let them ruin it?”

“Finished?”

The assistant county magistrate cautiously studied his expression and ventured, “Your servant has finished...”

Ouyang Rong nodded, gripped the sword hilt, and pressed downward to sever the “old dog’s” head—prompting the assistant county magistrate to instantly collapse into wailing: “There’s more! More! More...”

“Speak.”

The assistant county magistrate turned his head to shield his face from the blade, urgently saying:

“If you’re gone, what if the next county magistrate is a corrupt official? All the grain and silver you seized from their homes will vanish, and the relief camps on the city’s outskirts will likely be torn down—everything you’ve worked for these past days will be destroyed.”

“My lord, you don’t know—the previous magistrates were all money-grubbing scoundrels. We’ve finally got a just and upright official like you, and we’re counting on you to uphold justice. To trade one life for one? That’s far too generous for them. You can’t let them off so easily...”

“So my lord, you mustn’t act rashly—stay calm! A small impatience ruins great plans. As long as the green mountains remain, you’ll never lack firewood...”

The assistant county magistrate, flustered and babbling, finally fell silent—only to notice the man before him had stopped moving. He cautiously lowered his hand and looked up. The young county magistrate’s expression had grown calm, and he was silently watching him.

“My... lord?”

Ouyang Rong suddenly said: “Full of clichés. Are you studying for the imperial exams now, Assistant Magistrate?”

“...” The assistant county magistrate froze. Exams? What’s... “exams”?

Before he could ask, he suddenly felt a weight lift from his body.

Ouyang Rong had risen, quietly brushing dust from his robe hem.

The assistant county magistrate, having narrowly escaped death, wiped sweat from his brow. The man’s gaze had been truly terrifying—years of reading expressions told him: if he’d answered wrong just once, his head would’ve rolled. How in heaven’s name had a godlike magistrate come to Longcheng County? Do people outside really call this a virtuous gentleman?

The assistant county magistrate cursed inwardly, carefully avoiding the chilling blade at his neck, rose to his feet, drew his short sword, bowed low, and offered it to Ouyang Rong with both hands.

The latter glanced at him, accepted it without expression, sheathed it, and turned away, dropping one final remark:

“Assistant Magistrate, you’re clearly used to kneeling—but one thing you said just now had some merit.”

“May I ask, my lord, which one? Your servant will ponder it, so I may speak more of what you like to hear.”

Ouyang Rong narrowed his eyes at the approaching Commandant Qin, his junior sister, and Yan Liulang, and murmured: “Overturning the table is far too generous to them...”

“As long as we don’t overturn the table, as long as we don’t overturn the table... My lord’s insight is profound!” The assistant county magistrate nodded in relief.

Ouyang Rong didn’t look at him. He gazed at the pitch-black sky before dawn and called out loudly: “Commandant Qin.”

“Your servant is here!”

“Light fires, boil pots, feed the horses millet, and let the soldiers eat well before dawn.”

“By your command!”

Commandant Qin asked no questions and immediately carried out the order.

Hearing this, the assistant county magistrate nearly fainted. Wasn’t the plan not to overturn the table? Then why are they gathering troops for a “farewell meal”?

“You’ve worked hard all night—go eat too,” Ouyang Rong said softly to his junior sister and Yan Liulang, both equally confused, then turned and walked away alone, offering no explanation.

Whether or not the table in Longcheng County was overturned now rested solely on his word—the Liu clan and the other twelve families were the ones begging on their knees.

Someone was accustomed to walking through the relief camps on the city’s outskirts each morning, then returning to the government office. If there were no official duties that day, he’d stay at the camps to handle matters for the refugees, meddling in more than his share of affairs.

Even after last night’s events—including his first killing, cleanly severing a man’s head—he still went.

After giving a remark that seemed to signal overturning the table, Ouyang Rong left the government office and, as if by habit, walked to the relief camps on the outskirts.

The relief camps gathered refugees who had lost everything to the floods. The poor had no luxury of sleeping late, and there was little entertainment at night—they slept early and rose early, unlike the assistant county magistrate.

Thus, each morning, the silent camp would suddenly come alive, becoming the busiest time of the day.

Ouyang Rong had once loved this vitality.

The morning marketplace was the true pulse of this county—not the pipa music of Yuanming Tower, the decadent luxury of noble households, or the solemn dignity of the Longcheng County Office.

He again distributed the jujubes and barley candies his aunt had packed for him to the dirty children passing by, then found a hillside bathed in morning sunlight—also an old spot.

This time, he noticed a group of children trailing behind him, hesitant to approach. He was used to it—he waved them over.

Ouyang Rong seemed unaffected by last night’s events in the eastern warehouse.

He rubbed his stiff, weary face, turned, and feigned sternness: “Don’t move. Let me guess... Ah! You’ve come to bribe me again? You’re too young to be this corrupt—what will you become when you grow up? Will you climb to heaven?”

The younger children shrank behind the older one, who quickly blushed and explained.

Ouyang Rong feigned a sigh and frown: “Every day you bring me pickled radishes to feed me? Hmm—there really are bad people among the masses...”

Even as he scolded, his hands were busy—he gladly accepted all the bags of pickled radishes they offered, patted heads, asked after their well-being. If these children weren’t illiterate, he might even have assigned them homework... Soon, he dismissed the children, their faces still shy but now bright with joy.

This had become a daily ritual—since the women in the camp learned the handsome magistrate liked pickled radishes, they often “fed” him whenever they could.

At first, they came themselves, but soon realized the handsome magistrate had a thin skin—he’d blush and stammer whenever surrounded, and began walking around them. So the women, ever thoughtful, switched to sending their children instead.

Ouyang Rong had once been unmoved by the “harmonious ruler-people bond” portrayed in films—but now that it was happening to him, he found it unexpectedly sweet.

Yet today, after forcing a smile to send the children off, his face instantly returned to calm as he sat alone on the hillside.

Last night... his body felt cold.

Then, suddenly, someone timidly called from behind: “Master.”

Ouyang Rong turned—and saw a familiar small figure.

“Aqing? What are you doing here?”

The young girl with the branded character on her forehead still wore her old clothes—patched, but neatly mended, clean. Her sun-kissed, healthy wheat-colored face was the same—a girl who looked as pure as white clouds, a rarity only the unspoiled green mountains and clear waters of this era could produce.

“A... Aqing came to return Master’s robe... robe...”

Under his gaze, the girl spoke haltingly at first, then gathered courage, lifted her head, and fixed her bright, intelligent eyes on him, her voice clear:

“I heard you often come here in the morning, so I came. But yesterday you didn’t come—I waited all morning. Today, you finally came.”

Aqing stepped forward nervously, bowed her head, and offered him a neatly folded scholar’s robe—the one he’d accidentally given her after their clothing mishap. He’d forgotten it entirely, yet here she was, bringing it back herself.

“I didn’t come yesterday—I had a banquet at noon,” Ouyang Rong said, slightly embarrassed. “I’m sorry. You went to so much trouble.”

She offered it with both hands; he received it with both. His peripheral vision caught delicate embroidery along the sleeve.

Ouyang Rong fell silent.

“It wasn’t trouble,” Aqing blushed, lowering her eyes to her shoes. For a moment, they stood in quiet mutual silence.

Then, the girl with the “Yue” character on her forehead seemed to remember something, her face lighting up:

“Oh! Master, the medicine you gave me—I’ve been giving it to my brother every day with Mother, and I followed your advice—keeping the room ventilated, using fewer quilts... His condition has improved greatly. He’s no longer as frightening as before. The old abbot says he’s held on, and if he keeps going, there’s hope he’ll recover.”

Ouyang Rong nodded, forcing a smile. “That’s good.” In truth, his certainty that Ashan would recover had been a lie—meant only to give Ashan’s family hope. Sometimes, giving someone a sense of “life” mattered most.

Aqing knew nothing of what Ouyang Rong had endured recently, nor how cruel the adult world could be.

They sat together on the hillside. Her eyes sparkled as she spoke many words of gratitude; Ouyang Rong answered each one.

Though quiet, Aqing was perceptive. She sensed something was off, glanced at the weary smile on the young magistrate’s face, and quietly took her leave. Ouyang Rong thought for a moment, then let her go without protest.

Before she left, his sharp eyes caught the silk ribbon tied at her waist—it was the same butterfly knot he’d tied last time.

She’s quite skilled. He remembered Lady Liu had mentioned Aqing did embroidery to support her family...

Watching the girl’s retreating back, he sat on the hillside for a long time, quietly watching the twenty-four relief camps ahead gradually regain their usual bustle under the rising sun—as if reborn. Ouyang Rong felt something within him returning too.

Also rebirth.

“Playing dirty under the table? Who can’t do that...” A new plan formed in his mind.

When the morning sun warmed his body, the young magistrate rose, draped the scholar’s robe over his shoulder, picked up the bags of pickled radishes, and walked toward the waking Longcheng County, his back to the dawn.

“No good. Been a virtuous gentleman too long—I’m starving. Gotta bite into some ‘meat’ first...”