Chapter 167

Let the Daoist die, not the poor Daoist.

As long as no one dies in the Jia-Size Prison and no one is made to take the blame, both Fan Officials can do whatever they please. Chen Guanlou accepted the assignment without a twinge of conscience and launched a grand hunger campaign before the year-end.

He urgently convened a meeting of the Jia-Size Prison's squad leaders; all attendees shared perfect tacit understanding, hearing the song and knowing the intent.

"Hunger? Easy. But what if the higher-ups still refuse to allocate grain? How do we wrap this up?"

"That's not our concern. We're just jailers, even if we hold the title of squad leader—we're still jailers. We only need to carry out orders from above."

"With Chen Tou saying that, we're all at ease. We'll follow orders exactly. Even if things fall apart in the end, it won't be our turn to step forward." Wu Squad Leader grinned. He muttered to himself: Could he get a share of the grain saved by cutting prisoners' rations to one meal a day?

Ah, this profit will surely end up in the hands of Fan Yucheng and the senior officials above him.

Forget it, forget it—he shouldn't dream of benefits that aren't his.

What a pity.

The meeting ended, and the prisoners of the Tianlaomiao entered their darkest phase: rations dropped from two meals a day to one. Worse still, what was once white rice—even for convict-officials, who were still officials and couldn't be fed poorly—was now all coarse rice. The broth, once faintly oily, was now pure watery sludge.

Disgusted?

Won't drink!

Fine!

Next time you want water, just give you swill—see if you drink it.

A man can go three days without food, but not one day without water.

Between swill and clear broth, even a toe could tell you which to choose.

The convict-officials wailed in misery—what kind of hellish days are these?! They said Tianlaomiao had good conditions—this? How dare they call it good? And to pull this stunt right before the New Year—do they mean to force everyone to death?

"It's not us trying to kill you. We wish for all of us to thrive, to draw dumplings and lift each other up. But even a clever wife can't cook without rice!"

Chen Guanlou wore a look of helpless sorrow, explaining to the convict-officials in the cells.

"The real reason is simple: Tianlaomiao has run out of grain. All of you are high-ranking court officials—you must know the court hasn't allocated a single copper in a full year. Our jailers' salaries depend entirely on the public account's meager funds. No money is bad enough, but this year the court hasn't sent a single grain of rice.

Now, at year-end accounting, the public account is empty. Our salaries are unpaid, and we have no money to buy rice. We've submitted over ten reports—each one vanished without a trace. No money, no grain—what can we do? We must tighten our belts and endure hardship. Not just you—even we jailers won't have money to buy meat for the New Year. How tragic!"

"Every prisoner pays at least six hundred taels, up to over a thousand—how could Tianlaomiao run out of money? How could you jailers be penniless? Chen Tou, even if you're lying, at least make it believable—don't make it so obvious."

Chen Guanlou cleared his throat, showing not a shred of shame or anger at being exposed.

He remained unmoved, his expression calm, lamenting deeply: "Yes, I admit you all paid to enter prison. But clearly you don't know the rules changed mid-year. The higher-ups increased their cut—Tianlaomiao now gets less than one-tenth. With so many hands in the pot, tell me—what can that pittance possibly cover? Barely enough for rice.

These past months, we've scrambled and juggled just to keep things afloat. But the books are truly empty, grain prices have risen, and we have no choice but to ask you to suffer a little. I swear: once the court allocates grain, we'll restore your former rations—two meals a day, oil visible in every broth. Deal?"

"When will the court send grain?"

"I'm just a jailer—I know nothing of court affairs. If you have connections, go ask. I want to know too—so I can eat a full meal on New Year's Eve."

"No food on New Year's Eve? Are you even human?"

"I can't eat a single day of coarse rice! I paid—give me white rice, preferably with a few slices of meat."

"Exactly! We all paid—why are we forced to eat coarse rice?"

"Most of us here are scholars. How dare Tianlaomiao humiliate scholars like this? Are you all bribed by Jiang Tu? Have you become his lackeys?"

"Your Excellency, don't speak recklessly! Tianlaomiao has always been a court institution, upholding imperial law and defending the court's bottom line. We are no one's lackeys, nor any official's tool for personal vengeance. Don't slap that hat on Tianlaomiao's head—we're too small to wear it. You all know perfectly well what Tianlaomiao is and how it's treated at court—don't go off on wild tangents."

Chen Guanlou was displeased.

Why accuse him of being Jiang Tu's lackey?

Does Jiang Tu even deserve that?

He was Chen—descendant of a prominent Beijing clan, connected by blood to Hou Fu. He'd serve Hou Fu before he'd serve Jiang Tu!

Utterly outrageous!

You may insult his looks, his morals—but not his taste or character.

"Just tell me—will you feed us or not?"

"How can I feed you without money or grain? I'm no immortal, I don't know the Five Ghosts' Transport Technique, I can't conjure food from nothing. I'm just a jailer—I only deliver orders. If you have complaints, use your own methods—I won't stop you."

Saying this, Chen Guanlou hurried off. He left the chaos to Xiao Jin and the others.

He was tired of catering to this bunch of official old men.

With one meal a day, terrible food, and the New Year approaching, the prison gate suddenly buzzed with activity. Families of prisoners—officials and commoners alike—arrived in droves, bringing food, clothing, and passing messages.

Chen Guanlou ordered: "Don't stop them. Let them talk. We must get the news of Tianlaomiao's grain shortage to the court—rely entirely on the prisoners' families."

"Aren't you worried something will happen?"

"Worried? Pfft!" Chen Guanlou sneered. "Jinzhou's victory—His Majesty is pleased, the court is pleased. No one's watching a tiny prison right now. Even if these convict-officials want to stir trouble, they can't do anything now. The big crackdown on court officials' networking last year killed dozens—it's only been half a year. They're still learning from that lesson. They won't risk it."

Even if trouble did arise, Tianlaomiao would get nothing worse than a verbal reprimand. With a great victory, it's a festive season—no one would dare provoke the old emperor now.

Court officials are sharp. Whoever angers the old emperor, everyone suffers. Why stir trouble during the New Year?