Chapter 127: The So-Called King's Law: The Closer to the King, the Sharper the Blade (Votes Requested!)

The lands around the capital were swept bleak by a sudden, biting cold.

The north wind churned lead-gray clouds, pressing them heavily upon the horizon as if threatening rain that never fell, weighing on every heart.

On the post road, a horse-drawn carriage rolled unhurriedly along.

In the fields flanking the road, emerald wheat shoots had already broken through the soil, lush and dense, merging into a green sea.

Yet here and there, a few glaring patches of barren, yellow-brown earth still caught the eye.

Ahead of the carriage, a young scholar in a Confucian robe rode with a back straight as a pine.

He suddenly reined in his horse, wheeled around to the carriage window, and leaned down slightly.

"Master Biyu, Master Shedou, I shall go on ahead as usual to visit the fields. This evening I will rejoin you both in Zhuozhou."

The window curtain was lifted by a withered hand, revealing a face etched with wrinkles.

He glanced at the sky and nodded.

A trace of weariness showed in his clouded eyes as he said slowly, "Very well. Brother Youfu and I have endured days of travel by boat and cart and truly lack the strength to accompany you. Once we are settled in the city, I will send a servant to the city gate to meet you."

"I am obliged by your arrangements, Master Biyu." The young scholar nodded, dismounted with a nimble swing, handed his riding crop to an attending servant, and strode directly toward the fields.

The old man watched his receding figure in silence for a long moment before lowering the curtain.

Inside the carriage sat another old man, resting with his eyes closed.

The carriage started forward again, but inside the cabin, silence reigned.

"To be young is a fine thing indeed..." After a long while, the first old man sighed, apropos of nothing.

The old man with closed eyes did not so much as lift a lid, merely replying in a faint tone, "Jingzhi speaks insincerely. Is this merely a matter of youth?"

At these words, both men seemed to lose all interest in conversation, and they traveled the rest of the way without a word.

Who were these men in the carriage?

The first:

a jinshi of the thirty-fifth year of Wanli, a fellow disciple of the Donglin partisan Yang Lian, who had risen from Hanlin Bachelor step by step to Vice Minister of the Ministry of Rites — a model of the "pure-stream" official.

— Cheng Jiming, courtesy name Jingzhi, sobriquet Biyu, aged sixty-eight.

The second:

a jinshi of the twentieth year of Wanli, who had served in succession in the Ministry of Personnel, the Office of Transmission, the Ministry of Works, the Ministry of Revenue, and the Ministry of War — a model of the "muddy-stream" official.

— Wang Yongguang, courtesy name Youfu, sobriquet Shedou, aged sixty-six.

As for the mounted scholar outside the carriage, he was, of course, Lu Xiangsheng, Prefect of Daming Prefecture.

At this moment, they had reached a point ten li outside Zhuozhou, with just over a hundred li remaining to the capital.

Lu Xiangsheng walked along the post road, his gaze sweeping over field after field of wheat, and soon fixed upon one plot.

That plot was only a few mu in size, and a family of three was only now beginning to sow.

A gaunt farmer, his hair already graying, had strapped the harness of a seed drill to his own body and was straining forward like a beast of burden.

Behind him, a boy of seven or eight was using all his strength to steady the wobbling seed drill.

The woman followed at the rear, hoe in hand, hastily covering the scattered seeds with earth.

The north wind blew, whipping dust from the ground and pressing the boy's thin clothes tight against his body, making him look even more frail.

Lu Xiangsheng said nothing. He merely hitched up the hem of his Confucian robe, knotted it at his waist, and without a moment's hesitation stepped into the muddy field.

He walked behind the seed drill, placed both hands on the handles, and shoved it forward with a sudden burst of strength.

"Ha!"

The seed drill lurched forward, its speed increasing sharply.

The old farmer pulling in front felt the load suddenly lighten and gave a start.

He turned his head in astonishment and saw a stranger in a dark scholar's robe standing behind him, his boots caked with mud.

Lu Xiangsheng gave him a slight smile, revealing two rows of white teeth: "Old sir, I am a scholar on my way to the capital for the examinations. There are some farming matters I wish to inquire about. But there is no hurry — let us finish sowing this furrow first."

The old farmer, taking in Lu Xiangsheng's attire and bearing, merely nodded blankly and turned back. Seeming to feel a loss of face at being helped, he pulled forward with even more desperate effort.

The furrow was soon sown.

The family of three stood in the field, looking at this unfamiliar gentleman, at a complete loss.

"Sir..." The old farmer rubbed his hands together, not knowing what to say.

Lu Xiangsheng looked at them, then at his own mud-spattered boots, and laughed brightly: "Since I am already in the field and my boots are already soiled, I might as well sow a few more furrows. Consider it my apology for delaying your work, old sir."

"No, no, that won't do!" The old farmer waved his hands repeatedly and moved to seize the seed drill.

Lu Xiangsheng, however, shook his head. Without arguing, he simply walked around to the front, slung the harness over his own shoulders, and without another word, put his head down and strode forward.

His strength was prodigious and his stride steady; the heavy seed drill seemed weightless in his hands.

The family of three stared, dumbfounded.

The old farmer recovered his wits and hurried after him, pushing the drill with all his might from behind.

The young boy followed, watching Lu Xiangsheng's tall back, and could not help laughing aloud: "Papa, this gentleman is as strong as an ox — much faster than you!"

"Nonsense!" the old farmer scolded in a low voice, his face full of embarrassment.

Lu Xiangsheng heard this and burst into a hearty laugh, his voice ringing out with great good cheer: "Ha ha! When I plowed the fields at home as a boy, my companions all called me 'Big Ox Lu'! You have a sharp eye, little one!"

His laughter dispelled the awkwardness in the field.

They sowed another three or four furrows in one sustained burst, and when more than half the field had been planted, the old farmer's unease grew too great to bear.

He rushed forward a few steps, seized the seed drill firmly, and refused by any means to let Lu Xiangsheng continue.

"Sir, you really mustn't, truly you mustn't... You are a learned man, a body of gold. How can you do our rough labor..."

Lu Xiangsheng looked at the half of the field still remaining, then at the farmer's frightened face, and in the end did not insist further.

He removed the harness, walked to the ridge between fields, cupped his hands in salute, and his expression turned solemn.

"I am indeed a scholar bound for the capital. I have heard that the new sovereign values practical accomplishment, and so I wished to inquire about farming matters along the way, to prepare for the policy examination."

He pointed at that newly sown field and asked, "Old sir, I have traveled all the way from Daming Prefecture, and the wheat along the road has all been sown. Why is your family's field only half-sown at this time?"

At these words, the old farmer's face showed a trace of hesitation. His eyes darted away, and he stammered, unsure how to answer.

It was the young boy who, with a child's unfiltered tongue, let out a snort.

"It's because we had to plow and sow the fields of the great philanthropist Feng first — only then does it come around to our family!"

"You child!" The old farmer glared anxiously at his son.

Fortunately, the young gentleman before him showed no strong reaction, and only then did the old farmer breathe a sigh of relief. He said, "Do not take offense, sir. The child is ignorant and speaks nothing but nonsense."

"It is like this," he gathered his words and then explained carefully, "this Philanthropist Feng was also of military household origin in his early years. Later, by some great stroke of fortune, he passed the jinshi examination, and I hear he became a very high official in Beijing. A few years ago he returned to his home region and acquired a vast stretch of farmland here in our Zhuozhou."

"I… I am his tenant. The land I rent is by the river, fine irrigated fields with higher yields, so naturally those fields must be sown first."

"These few mu of thin fields here are my own, but they are far from the water source. I can only tend to my own after the work over there is finished."

As if afraid Lu Xiangsheng might misunderstand, he added, "In truth, Philanthropist Feng is not bad, as these things go. His rent is a little lower than other landlords', and he is not so harsh in pressing for payment. When the harvest is poor, he is always willing to grant a few days' grace. This boy doesn't understand, talking about 'his family' and 'our family' — he has made a laughingstock of us before you, sir."

Lu Xiangsheng listened quietly and nodded. "There is indeed need for haste. For sowing wheat, the autumn equinox is best, White Dew second-best. Now it is nearly Frost's Descent — it is indeed rather late."

A bitter smile flickered across the old farmer's face. "Late it may be. Scatter more seed, put in more labor — there will be a harvest in the end."

Lu Xiangsheng asked again, "Does Zhuozhou levy requisitions of horse fodder?"

"Requisition — of course they requisition!" the old farmer answered at once. "The autumn tax has just passed, and my family just handed in a bundle."

Lu Xiangsheng's brow lifted slightly. "I see your fields, old sir, amount to only a few mu. Must you still deliver a full bundle?"

"This…" The old farmer shook his head blankly. "I wouldn't know. In any case, the village head came to notify us that every household, every family, must hand in one bundle of fodder."

Lu Xiangsheng nodded. His gaze grew deep and shadowed, but he said nothing.

He bowed to the old farmer once more. "I have troubled you, old sir."

The old farmer had never in his life received such a grand gesture from a scholar. Startled, he hastily dodged to the side, waving his hands repeatedly. "Sir, you overwhelm me — I… I didn't say anything of worth."

He asked again, "Sir, the sky is growing dark. Why not… stay the night at my house? Humble though it is, it is at least clean."

Lu Xiangsheng shook his head and pointed to the servant holding the horses on the distant post road. "Many thanks for your kindness, old sir. I have already arranged to meet a friend in Zhuozhou city and cannot trouble you further."

As he spoke, he felt about in his sleeve, took out a small object wrapped in oiled paper, and handed it over.

"Passing through Baoding Prefecture the day before yesterday, I bought some malt sugar, but I have never cared for sweets."

"Seeing your boy here, so lively and endearing, I took quite a liking to him. This small token — give it to him as a treat. Let it also serve as my apology for keeping you so long, old sir."

With that, without waiting for the old farmer to decline, he turned and strode away with great swift steps.

Reaching the post road, he casually pulled up a few wild grasses by the roadside, wiped the mud from his boots, then mounted his horse and, together with his servant, galloped off toward Zhuozhou.

On the raised path between the fields, the old farmer gazed after the young scholar's receding figure, still somewhat bewildered.

The boy, however, tilted his head up and stared eagerly at the oiled-paper packet in his father's hand, his mouth nearly watering.

The old farmer turned back, saw this, and let out a hearty laugh.

His rough, large hand stroked the boy's head. "Go on, eat it — look how you're drooling."

The boy shook his head. "Father works hard. Father should eat first."

The old farmer froze for a moment, and his eyes grew faintly warm.

He carefully opened the oiled-paper packet, and a sweet fragrance instantly wafted out.

He brought the piece of sugar to his lips, touched it only with the tip of his tongue, then let out a long, contented sigh and handed the sugar to his son.

The boy still shook his head and looked toward his mother, equally weary, standing nearby. "Mother works hard too. Mother should eat first."

The woman looked at her thoughtful son, her eyes brimming with smiles. She reached out and stroked the child's head, took the sugar, but merely touched it to her lips before handing it back to the boy.

Only then did the boy accept it with boundless delight. He put it carefully into his mouth, his whole face squeezing into a blissful squint.

"Come on, back to work!" The old farmer straightened up and gazed at the land still unsown. "Wife, you go home first and bring that oil lamp. Even if we burn a little extra lamp oil tonight, we must finish sowing the rest of this field!"

He lifted his head and looked at the gray, overcast sky, his brow furrowing tightly.

"I only hope the rain holds off a little longer."

"Otherwise, the harvest from these few mu of land — I fear it will be ruined."

The sky had gone completely dark. On the post road, only two men and two horses remained.

The evening breeze blew, carrying the scent of earth and vegetation from the fields, and a touch of chill.

Soon, the city of Zhuozhou came into view.

Lu Xiangsheng reined in his horse beneath the city walls.

Even in the darkness of night, one could still feel the city's imposing mass and weight.

On the gate tower, two lanterns had already been lit.

In their dim yellow glow, a couplet was faintly visible:

"A matchless strategic post at the sun's edge; the foremost seat of complexity under heaven."

The calligraphy still bore its strength of character, but the scene beyond the words had already become another sight entirely.

There was still over a shichen until curfew, yet the city gate was already locked, with only a small side door left open for passage.

A few soldiers slouched idly against the gate, barking orders at the commoners entering the city. Some would fish a few wen from their sleeves and press the coins into a soldier's hand, earning only an impatient sideways shift to let them pass.

The decay of public morals, in this one corner, already showed its first signs.

Lu Xiangsheng's face betrayed no ripple of emotion. He dismounted and silently took his place at the end of the line.

When his turn came, a soldier sized him up with a sidelong glance and directly thrust out a hand. "Five wen a head. And you, riding a horse — that's an extra ten!"

This was several times what others paid.

Lu Xiangsheng said nothing. He counted out thirty wen from his sleeve and tossed them into the soldier's hand.

The soldier gave a lewd chuckle, weighed the coins in his palm, and only then stepped aside to let him pass.

At the inn, Lu Xiangsheng asked for a basin of hot water, gave his face a simple wipe, and washed away the dust of the road.

He had just changed into clean clothes when, from outside the door, came the reporting voice of his personal attendant.

"My lord, someone has come to the gate with a visiting card, inviting you to a banquet this evening."

Lu Xiangsheng took the card — it was a large crimson name-card, upon which several bold, flamboyant characters had been written in gold powder.

"Feng Boheng of Zhuozhou, with respect."

Lu Xiangsheng held the weighty card but did not open it, only gently rubbing his fingers across its surface.

He asked, "Did the other two lords also receive visiting cards?"

The page nodded. "The messenger came with three carriages and is still waiting outside the inn gate. He said he was delivering three cards and that he must beg the three lords to honor him with their presence."

Lu Xiangsheng's fingers stopped on the three characters "Feng Boheng."

A moment later, he shook his head and casually set the card down on the table.

"Decline it."

His voice was very calm.

"Say that we bear His Majesty's commission and are anxious to return to the capital, and dare not hold private banquets. When we have leisure another day, we shall come back to Zhuozhou and share a cup with Academician Feng."

"Yes." The page took the order and left.

Lu Xiangsheng stood in silence in the room for a moment, then finally shook his head again, as if in self-mockery.

He walked to the desk and drew a booklet from inside his robes.

The booklet was already densely filled with writing.

"Daming Prefecture: per qing, requisitioned 5 to 7 bundles of fodder."

"Guangping Prefecture: per qing, 9 to 13 bundles."

"Shunde Prefecture: per qing, 12 to 19 bundles."

"Zhending Prefecture: per qing, 18 to 27 bundles."

"Baoding Prefecture: per qing, 25 to 35 bundles."

Lu Xiangsheng picked up his brush and added the latest line below.

"Zhuozhou: per qing… 28 to 41 bundles."

Having written it, he looked over the data from all the way north out of Daming and could not help but let out a sigh.

The king's law, the king's law — the nearer one draws to the king, the keener the law cuts like a blade.

Could this journey of his truly change anything…

If it could not, then it would have been better to stay in Daming Prefecture and finish the work properly.

He had just straightened out the old land-tax accounts and was about to set his hand to greater things — he had never imagined he would suddenly be reassigned to this fodder matter.

Fodder, fodder — on the surface it looks like a military supply issue for the Nine Frontiers, yet at its root it probably cannot be disentangled from that one word: king.

The lamp in Lu Xiangsheng's room lingered a moment, then went out.

Next door, in Cheng Jiming's room, the old minister, nearing seventy, had already put on his crystal spectacles and was reading, character by character under the lamplight, more than ten issues of the Capital Gazette copied out from the post stations on different dates.

Wei Zhongxian had hanged himself; Cui Chengxiu and Tian Ji had been exiled…

"Three-ignorances Grand Secretary" Zhang Ruitu had been dismissed…

New policies in the capital… Prefect of Shuntian Xue Guoguan…

Sun Chengzong reinstated as Supreme Commander of Ji-Liao…

Cheng Jiming read through every word, then removed his spectacles.

He stared blankly at the oil lamp for a while, countless thoughts flashing through his mind, but in the end only let out a quiet sigh.

After a while, the lamp in Cheng Jiming's room also went out.

On the other side, Wang Yongguang's room had long been completely dark.

If one drew close and listened carefully, one could still hear a steady, rhythmic snoring, which in this bleak, cold night seemed extraordinarily serene.

That night, of the three men who had set out together from Daming Prefecture, not a single one went to the banquet of their Zhuozhou host, Feng Boheng.

The Feng residence.

In the brilliantly lit hall, Feng Quan listened to his household retainer's report, and the smile on his face slowly froze.

"All three… declined?"

"Yes… yes, Master." The retainer answered tremulously. "They all said… they all said they were in a hurry to travel and dared not delay."

Feng Quan's fist clenched instantly, the veins on the back of his hand bulging.

Wang Yongguang and Cheng Jiming he could perhaps accept — but even this Lu Xiangsheng, who had sprung up from who-knows-where, actually dared to slap his face. It was absolutely outrageous!

When your old man passed the metropolitan examination, you were probably still off somewhere playing in the mud!

Yet anger was useless. Such was the way of the world — the winner is king, the loser a bandit.

Those men now enjoyed His Majesty's favor, which made them greater than him, a remnant of the previous reign's eunuch faction!

Having thought it through to this point, Feng Quan's clenched fist slowly, finally relaxed.

He even put on another faint smile, though there was not the slightest warmth in it.

"Good. Very good," he said softly. "Since the three lords are so anxious to share His Majesty's burdens, I naturally must not hold them back."

Feng Quan lifted his teacup and instructed the retainer:

"Tomorrow morning, take a squad of household retainers and wait at the east gate."

"Tell them… tell them, my master understands that the three lords are hurrying to answer the imperial summons and dares not trouble them."

"However, on the road from Zhuozhou to the capital, before Lugou Bridge, bandits are frequent. My master has specially ordered us to escort and protect you, to ensure the three lords' complete safety."

The retainer hesitated. "Master, if… if they still refuse?"

The muscles on Feng Quan's face twitched violently.

He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, as if struggling with all his might to suppress something.

Yet in the end, he could not hold it in.

The scalding teacup was hurled viciously at the household retainer's feet — shattered porcelain flew, and the hot tea scalded the man into a flinch, yet he dared not even cry out.

"Refuse?" Feng Quan ground his teeth, forcing the words out one by one through clenched jaws. "If they refuse, then you just follow them from a distance, damn it! They can't very well draw blades and drive you off on the public road!"

"Get out of my sight!"

"Yes! Yes!" The household retainer scrambled and crawled his way out.

In the empty hall, Feng Quan stood alone, watching the heavy night outside the window, his chest heaving violently.

Human feeling is but paper; the world's affairs, a game of chess.

Why must they leave no room at all?

The three of you, putting on this act — are you truly biting down hard on the certainty that I will never be restored to office?

I, Feng Quan, am this year merely thirty-two years of age!

Ten li outside the city.

Busy until midnight, the sowing was at last finished.

The family dragged their weary bodies as they gathered up the farm tools and walked home along the raised path between the fields.

"Oh! Father, look quickly!"

The young boy's clear voice was full of delight. Pointing at the sky, he jumped and shouted, "The moon has come out!"

The old farmer jerked his head up.

He saw that the sky, which had been overcast earlier, had at some unknown moment cleared of clouds and mist. A bright, flawless moon hung high in the heavens, its cold, clear radiance pouring down like quicksilver over the land, plating the entire field in a layer of silver frost.

(I did my best — the damn AI wouldn't listen to me... this is the best it could draw.)