Chapter 79: Drifting Clouds, a Wanderer's Heart — Not the Feelings of an Old Friend (Seeking Monthly Tickets!)

On the west side of the Chengtian Gate, at the very edge of the Six Ministries' office compound, a row of somewhat shabby duty rooms hugged the base of the palace wall.

This was the impoverished Messenger Office.

The entire office was steeped in a strange atmosphere, a mixture of anticipation and restless anxiety.

But Ma Maocai was tucked away in a corner, utterly engrossed in a storybook.

Unexpectedly, a shadow suddenly fell over him from behind.

Ma Maocai gave a violent start; with his right hand he tossed the storybook aside and swept it away, making it vanish among the documents on his desk in an instant.

Only then did he stretch lazily as if nothing had happened, muttering to himself, "Ah, where is that document? Why can't I find it?"

When he looked up, however, it was only his colleague Yuan Jixian's long, horse-like face.

Damn… nearly scared the soul right out of me. I thought it was the office chief.

Yuan Jixian had become a presented scholar in the same year as him, the fifth year of Tianqi.

Months after they passed the exams, the two had even studied together to prepare for the Hanlin Bachelor selection exam.

In the end, both failed the selection and were assigned together to the Messenger Office; both were poor capital officials with no background, so their friendship was fairly good.

"Jitong, a man scaring another man can scare him to death. Don't do that again," Ma Maocai grumbled irritably, even as he pulled over the chair beside him for Yuan to sit.

Yuan Jixian's face flushed slightly; his lips quivered for a long moment before he finally resolved to speak.

Yet his voice was as faint as a mosquito's whine: "Brother Qingjiang… are your… funds still ample? Your foolish younger brother… would like to borrow some from you, to tide things over."

After saying this, he seemed drained of all strength, and for a moment dared not meet Ma Maocai's eyes.

A scholar values face above all; if the capital's usury were not so terrifying, who would willingly borrow money from a colleague and lower himself a notch for nothing?

Ma Maocai was somewhat surprised.

Thanks to the strenuous efforts of their senior colleagues, the Messenger Office's rank had only just been promoted once, in the third year of Tianqi.

It rose one grade from "Upper Principal Eighth Rank" to "Lower Principal Seventh Rank," theoretically on equal footing with the Secretariat Drafter and the Supervising Secretary.

Although the Messenger Office was a poverty-stricken yamen with few avenues for income, relying solely on official salary and customary subsidies still yielded over thirty taels a year.

More to the point, Yuan Jixian lived frugally, was alone in the capital, and rarely went out to socialize—why would he suddenly need to borrow money?

"Has Jitong encountered some difficulty?" Ma Maocai asked with concern. "Speak freely, there's no harm."

Perhaps Ma Maocai's gentle manner gave him some courage; Yuan Jixian raised his head, his face full of bitter smile:

"It shames me to say. When I first received my salary, I had half of it drawn in my native district, thinking my expenses in the capital would not be large."

"As it turns out, living in this capital, the foremost place under heaven, is truly not easy…"

He glanced left and right; seeing no one paying attention, he lowered his voice further, tinged with an embarrassment too painful to voice:

"And last year, I was ordered to perform sacrifices for Prince Shouyang of the Qing fief. Although I received some travel gifts there, after repaying the usury from my examination days, not a sliver remained."

The moment a newly minted jinshi passes the exam, he is at his most honored—and also his poorest.

Renting a house, paying calls, working connections, giving gifts to one's chief examiner—everything costs money. If one's purse is empty, one can only borrow from the capital's wealthy merchants.

And this debt one dares not default on. Those who dare lend money to new jinshi are backed by either palace eunuchs or ennobled families; handling a minor jinshi is as easy as reaching into a bag.

Still, Ma Maocai remained puzzled: "Even so, Jitong, you live frugally day to day. How could it come to needing to borrow money just to get by?"

Yuan Jixian sighed, a complex expression flickering in his eyes.

"I won't hide it from you, Brother Qingjiang. Seeing His Majesty ascend the throne, purge the eunuch faction, yet burn all their name lists—it was truly decisive yet not lacking in leniency."

"These past days, though he has not held court, he summons officials daily at Wuying Hall. There are faint rumors that henceforth merit will be emphasized, and factional strife will be vigorously suppressed."

"Because of this, that old atmosphere of treacherous, heart-palpitating uncertainty seems to have calmed considerably."

Yuan Jixian paused, and though somewhat embarrassed, continued:

"Now that the storm seems to be abating somewhat, certain matters can be planned for the long term."

"I have been thinking… thinking of bringing my wife, children, and elderly mother from my hometown."

At the words "wife, children, and elderly mother," Yuan Jixian's face grew even more sheepish, yet a glimmer of light shone through.

"Jiangxi is far; a single letter takes half a year to go and return."

"It has been two years since I passed the exams, and I have only exchanged three letters with my family in all that time."

"I miss them too much… Besides, my second son has reached the age for beginning his studies. Having him by my side would put my mind at ease…"

Ma Maocai watched the light in his eyes, feeling a slight stir in his heart, yet also some skepticism.

This Yuan Jitong was still a bit young, thinking of court affairs far too simply.

When a new emperor ascends the throne, you cannot only look at what he does now; you must also see what he will do later. A momentary lull in the storm—how can that be called calm seas?

Moreover, a messenger who is a third-class jinshi will most likely not remain a capital official for long; eventually he will be posted outside.

No matter how hard the homesickness is to bear, can he really not endure it for a little while longer? Wouldn't it be just as well to bring his family after he reaches his post?

He shook his head inwardly, thinking this young man was far too hasty and impatient.

But saying such things would be shallow friendship speaking too deeply; their relationship had not yet reached that level, so it was not his place to say more.

Seeing that Ma Maocai had not refuted or mocked him, Yuan Jixian's embarrassment eased somewhat, and he continued: "It's just that, if I do this, I must change to a larger house. I can't let them squeeze into a tiny room with me."

"That's only natural," Ma Maocai nodded in agreement.

"After searching for many days, I have set my sights on a courtyard near Xuanwu Gate—neither too big nor too small, just right for us."

"That's wonderful. May I ask what the rent is?"

Yuan Jixian sheepishly held up two fingers.

Ma Maocai was startled. "That… that's far too expensive! Why must you do this?"

Yuan Jixian's face reddened again: "Brother Qingjiang, you don't understand. My family has been farmers for generations. My late mother endured every hardship to raise me, and my good wife has followed me through thick and thin all the way."

"Now that they finally have the chance to come live in peace in the capital, how… how can I bear to make them live in some shabby, rundown house?"

He stammered; what came next was the truly embarrassing part: "And besides… they all think… think that I have prospered and risen to wealth in the capital. I… I have to grit my teeth and keep up this face, after all."

Hearing this, Ma Maocai was genuinely moved.

He could fully understand Yuan Jixian's feelings.

A poor scholar, ten years of bitter study, passes the exams in a single morning — in the eyes of his village elders, it is a carp leaping through the Dragon Gate, rising at once above the common run of men.

Locally, people flock to attach themselves to him and offer up their land; as the saying goes, when one man finds the Dao, even his chickens and dogs ascend to heaven.

But how could they know that here in the capital, a lowly Messenger of the lower seventh rank is nothing but the very bottom of officialdom, living worse than a butcher selling pork.

"Indeed…" Ma Maocai sighed with the weight of shared experience. "Back home they all think capital officials live in wealth and honor, but they have no idea that wealth and honor belong only to the grand secretaries, ministry heads, and the censors of the various circuits."

"Our posts in the Messenger Office — the rank is not honored, the duties are not clear. We lack the pure and noble fortune of the Hanlin, yet we must endure the pure poverty and hardship of the Hanlin. It is truly the lowest of the low."

Seeing that Ma Maocai too was lamenting how hard life was, Yuan Jixian assumed he simply did not want to lend the money, and his heart tightened involuntarily.

He wanted to press the question, but no matter what, he could not bring himself to speak. His face had flushed deep red, his expression mortified beyond measure, and he did not even know where to put his hands and feet.

Ma Maocai finished his lament, looked up, and saw him in exactly this wretched state. He understood at once that Yuan Jixian had misunderstood.

Silently reproaching himself — "My fault" — he glanced left and right, saw that no one was paying attention, and pulled Yuan Jixian into a corner nearby. Lowering his voice, he asked:

"Jitong, you misunderstand. These past few years I have been sent out on assignments many times and have managed to save some silver. But I wonder… how much does Brother Yuan need?"

At these words, Yuan Jixian looked as though he had just been pulled from the water. He let out a long, deep breath of relief, his face showing an expression of tearful gratitude:

"Twenty taels… twenty taels will do! Thank you, Brother Qingjiang! Thank you, Brother Qingjiang!"

A little sheepishly, he added: "The salaries in the capital are truly meager. I have already written to my humble wife to bring all the family's savings, only… only I fear the journey will take a long time. This sum — I am afraid your foolish younger brother may not be able to repay it for half a year."

"A trifling matter." Ma Maocai clapped him heartily on the hand. "Between you and me, such words are unnecessary. When we are off duty, come home with me and we will fetch it."

"Brother Qingjiang's great kindness…" Yuan Jixian was so grateful he did not know what to say. He bowed deeply from the waist and was about to speak further words of thanks when a sudden clamor broke out in the hall.

The two followed the sound and looked over. They saw the Messenger Office Director, Yang Lun, walking in from outside, his face wreathed in smiles.

Yang Lun was past forty, warm and generous in character yet not lacking in sternness, and he commanded considerable respect in the office.

The moment he entered, the public room, which had been somewhat noisy, fell silent at once. Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned their eyes toward him in unison.

Yang Lun's gaze slowly swept across the assembled staff. A kindly smile on his face, he announced in a clear voice: "Gentlemen, the list of assignments for the ascension bounty distribution to the Nine Frontiers has been finalized."

That single short sentence instantly made the atmosphere in the entire duty room turn subtle.

The Messenger Office was a pure-water yamen. Its usual duties were nothing more than traveling on behalf of the Son of Heaven to issue edicts, bestow rewards, conduct sacrifices, and the like.

These assignments sounded glorious, but in truth they were unspeakably bitter.

The nearer ones were tolerable, but the distant ones meant going away for months or even half a year. If one was sent to miasmic regions like Yunnan, Guizhou, Guangdong, or Guangxi, everyone avoided it like the plague.

But there were always exceptions to every rule.

And this "ascension bounty distribution to the Nine Frontiers" was the exception among exceptions.

First, it was close — even the farthest garrison, Ningxia, was only a little over half a year round trip.

Second, it was lucrative!

The travel gratuities that local Regional Commanders gave to curry favor with an imperial commissioner had always been extremely generous — a hundred taels at minimum, as much as five hundred. It was truly the number-one plum assignment among all external dispatches.

For a moment, the men in the hall displayed a hundred different expressions.

Those with slightly better family circumstances, unwilling to endure the hardships of travel, immediately lowered their heads, eyes on their noses, noses on their hearts, terrified of being noticed by the Director.

And those with empty purses, who had been hoping for some outside income to supplement their household expenses, craned their necks one and all, their gazes burning as they looked at Yang Lun, the longing in their eyes nearly spilling over.

Yang Lun took in everyone's expressions at a glance. Not one to drag things out, he cleared his throat, unfolded the document in his hand, and slowly read aloud:

"Ma Maocai."

Ma Maocai groaned inwardly — "Misery."

Why me again… I just got back. Shouldn't I be resting a bit, by all reason?

I haven't even given the Director any gifts — why is it my turn again?!

Ma Maocai could not fathom it for the life of him. His heart was full of anguish; he truly did not want to go on assignment again.

Since passing the metropolitan examination in the fifth year of Tianqi, in just two short years he had already been sent out on assignment several times, traveling back and forth for tens of thousands of li.

To be honest, he was really rather tired.

Now that his purse was not short of money, all he wanted was to take advantage of this winter and have a good rest in the capital.

Besides, now that a new sovereign had ascended the throne, the atmosphere was fresh and new. Though he did not know whether it would last, it was all the more reason to observe carefully and grasp the winds and waves to come.

This call for proposals on capital governance strategy, for instance, was a fine point of entry.

He had already set his sights on the matter of the famine refugees. It did not seem too complex, and even if he handled it poorly, it was unlikely to bring any great disaster.

He had been planning to go around inside and outside the city tomorrow, then write a proper routine memorial to see if he could secure this matter for himself.

Ah… perhaps I should go find the Director later and discuss whether I can give this slot to Yuan Jixian instead?

But before this thought had even finished turning over in his mind, Yang Lun's next words struck like a sudden thunderclap, exploding beside his ear with a roar.

"— Assigned to: Yansui Garrison, to distribute the bounty!"

Yansui Garrison!

Those three words crashed down like a boulder, stirring a thousand ripples across the lake of Ma Maocai's heart — and then, in the next instant, transformed into a bell-note that tolled straight through his very soul.

Hummmmm—

All the sounds around him — his colleagues' whispered murmurs, the autumn wind outside the window, even the beating of the heart in his own chest — all of it receded completely in that moment.

The world fell instantly silent.

It was actually Yansui Garrison! That was his homeland!

Before his eyes was no longer this small, cramped public room of the Messenger Office, no longer the faces of his colleagues, envious or jealous.

In a daze, a vast, bleak loess plateau emerged.

The wind blew from the edge of the sky, carrying the desolate chill of the frontier and the gritty texture of yellow sand, scraping roughly across his cheeks until he almost had to narrow his eyes.

This was not the wind of the capital. The capital's wind was damp and stinking, laden with the smoke and bustle of the marketplace.

This wind belonged to northern Shaanxi, belonged to Yansui, belonged to Majiagou.

He saw it — saw the gullied and furrowed highlands, where the tenant farmers drove their oxen, busy sowing seed in the fields.

His gaze crossed the fields and came to rest beneath the old locust tree at the village entrance.

Beneath the tree stood a familiar figure.

Ama!

She wore a blue cotton jacket, her hair combed meticulously and drawn back into a bun.

She simply stood there quietly, a sewing basket in her hands, yet for a long time she did not move at all, only gazing out toward the official road in a dazed reverie.

Who is Ama waiting for? Who else could Ama be waiting for?!

The fragrance of the soil, mingled with the smell of cow dung, and drifting from afar, the rich aroma of the mutton-offal stew Ama had simmering on the stove…

All of it was so real, so vivid, as if he had never left.

The ten years of bitter study in the capital, the two years of drifting through officialdom and rushing back and forth — in this moment, all of it seemed like a distant, blurry dream.

What was real was only that patch of earth, that gust of wind, that person, that bowl of soup.

A surge of immense sorrow and wild joy intertwined seized his heart, choking his breath.

Ma Maocai stood rooted to the spot, his eyes vacant; he did not hear a single word of what Yang Lun read out after that.

"Brother Qingjiang! Brother Qingjiang! Come back to us!"

Only after he did not know how long was he shaken vigorously by Yuan Jixian beside him and called back to his senses.

"Ah?" Ma Maocai responded blankly.

"Brother Qingjiang, hurry, hurry home to bathe and change!" Yuan Jixian's face was full of irrepressible excitement and delight. He tugged at Ma Maocai's sleeve and said urgently, "For this enthronement bounty, His Majesty actually wants to summon us in person! This has never happened before!"

He tried to lower his voice, but could not suppress the joy in his heart: "Brother Qingjiang, this time… this time my name is on the list too! Hahaha, that money I owe you — once I return from the border garrison, I can pay you back right away!"

Dragged by him, Ma Maocai stumbled forward two steps.

Then, he recovered slightly from that immense shock and wild joy.

Ma Maocai said nothing, only his steps beneath him grew faster and faster, so fast that Yuan Jixian could barely keep up.

In his chest, it was as if a searing magma surged and roared, nearly bursting through his throat.

Ama…

Your son is coming home!