Chapter 310: Incident

During the reign of Old Zhu, the transmission of private letters through post stations and express delivery posts dropped sharply, and they essentially handled only imperial court correspondence.

But starting from the Yongle era, this situation improved; post stations and express delivery posts began accepting private letters and packages, and by this reign, they had expanded to the scale of the former Song dynasty.

Post stations held a natural advantage in this industry.

Old Zhu established express delivery posts every ten, fifteen, or twenty-five li, depending on regional conditions, to ensure timely receipt of official documents and letters from local offices and to facilitate military intelligence transmission.

This density of delivery posts surpassed that of any Minxin Bureau.

When Pan Yun was on Mount Sanqing, didn't she have to send letters to her father and brother in Datong through the express delivery posts?

Because the only option at the great market was the express delivery posts.

These letter deliveries relied entirely on post soldiers from the post stations; except for a few urgent military or imperial confidential letters, they were mostly carried out by local conscripted laborers serving as post soldiers.

And conscripted laborers received no wages—only basic food and lodging; if, like this post soldier brother, they were punished with three additional months of service after their three-month term, they would miss both spring planting and summer harvest, unable to secure their family's income—how could they support their households?

He was called "brother" because he said he was only twenty-six.

Seeing his creased corners of the eyes and frost-white temples, Pan Yun felt a tightness in her chest—he was only a few years older than Wang Cong, yet he looked even older than Wang Feiyin.

Pan Yun turned to Seeing Miao Zhen and said: "Make the ox run faster."

Seeing Miao Zhen agreed, cracked the whip, and set the ox moving swiftly toward the county seat.

The cart arrived directly at the county government office; the post soldier quickly jumped down, clutching his backpack, yet dared not leave the two large packages on the ox cart.

"It's not that I don't trust the Daoist, but it's the rule."

Pan Yun knew he must have been burned before on this—so even when encountering the kindest people, he dared not break the rule.

Pan Yun nodded, helped him shoulder the load, then quietly slipped two folded yellow talismans into his waistband.

The man, carrying the load and backpack, walked into the county government office.

The contents of the backpack were the county government office's official documents.

The clerk receiving the documents frowned at him and barked: "Why are you here so late? You're two hours overdue."

The man bowed low in apology and explained: "The snow from recent days melted, making the roads treacherous—I fell several times yesterday, slept outdoors at night, and feared the ground moisture would ruin the documents, so…"

"I don't care about your excuses. This isn't your first time late. The magistrate has shown leniency multiple times, and you've grown bold. Only because there's been no urgent official business lately—if there had been, your life wouldn't be enough to pay for the delay."

The man nearly wept, pleading: "My lord, give me one more chance—I didn't mean it. Delivery duty is supposed to be rotated, but I've been delivering letters for three straight months…"

"That's your post station's problem. We in the county government office don't handle that. If you don't want to deliver letters, go complain to your post supervisor." The clerk turned to someone beside him: "By law, he deserves five strokes. Take him down and administer them."

The man dared not argue; he followed the constable down to receive his punishment.

He was used to this—he wiped his tears and lay face-down on the long bench in the courtyard.

Sun Guisheng hurried past him, paused upon seeing, turned his steps, and blocked Meng Dadong, who was approaching with a large cudgel: "Meng brother, I'll take this beating."

Meng Dadong frowned: "What, you've got nothing else to do?"

Sun Guisheng rolled up his sleeves: "I've been holding in anger outside—perfect chance to vent it."

Meng Dadong's expression softened; he chuckled: "Fine, this job's yours. Give him a good beating. This old fool never learns—he's been late delivering documents several times already?"

Sun Guisheng agreed, took the cudgel, stood beside the man, and verified: "Su Dashan, from Nanpo Village—correct?"

"Correct, correct."

Sun Guisheng: "Negligence in duty—five strokes. The charge is correct, right?"

Su Dashan: "Correct."

Sun Guisheng said: "Alright, punishment begins now."

Sun Guisheng raised the cudgel high and brought it down hard—with a loud crack—but Su Dashan froze.

Sun Guisheng also froze, glared fiercely at Su Dashan, who snapped out of it and let out a howl of pain.

Meng Dadong, who had taken two steps toward them, stopped and leaned back to watch, noticing Sun Guisheng raised the cudgel high and brought it down hard—but each time, he slackened force at the last moment, striking only the fattest part of the man's buttocks. He sneered.

In the entire county government office, he was second to none in administering beatings—how dare someone play tricks right under his nose?

Sun Guisheng claimed he wanted to vent anger, but every stroke avoided Su Dashan's vital areas—he clearly looked down on Meng Dadong's methods.

Still, Sun Guisheng was favored by the magistrate, so Meng Dadong had no intention of exposing him.

After finishing the five strokes, Sun Guisheng handed the cudgel back to Meng Dadong and smiled: "Meng brother, thanks for taking over."

Meng Dadong accepted it with a cold, forced smile: "No trouble."

After he left, Sun Guisheng spoke to Su Dashan, who was struggling to rise and clutching his buttocks: "I've seen you many times—you're a good man. Running deliveries for a whole month will break anyone. You should hurry and get your family to raise money, find connections with the post supervisor or post station chief—even if you can't go home, change your rotation for delivering letters."

Su Dashan opened his mouth, voice barely audible: "Thank you, my lord, for the advice…" He lifted his pole, staggered, and shouldered the two large packages as he walked out.

Not only did Sun Guisheng stare in shock, but Su Dashan himself was startled—he'd only tried, thinking he'd lift it even if he died, yet never expected to lift it so easily.

Su Dashan turned back to Sun Guisheng, overwhelmed with gratitude, bowing repeatedly: "Thank you, my lord, thank you, my lord…"

Sun Guisheng stared, dumbfounded, at Su Dashan walking out with the load, showing no signs of injury.

He'd gone easy—but not that easy, had he?

To avoid trouble from Meng Dadong, he'd actually put real force into it—no internal damage, but skin and flesh wounds were unavoidable—how could he walk with the load already?

But Su Dashan felt stronger than ever—not just powerful, but the twisted spot on his waist and the bruised buttocks felt warmly soothing.

Su Dashan walked happily out of the government office, intending to thank Pan Yun and the other two—but they were gone.

He paused, startled only briefly, then hurried off with the packages toward the post station.

The post station received the packages, counted them, and the post supervisor said: "Su Dashan, did you deliver the government office documents late again? By law, you're fined one month of additional service."

Su Dashan's lips trembled: "My lord, I've been serving for half a year already…"

! 。Read

"That's your own fault. Among all post soldiers, you make the most mistakes. If you'd paid more attention, would you be here?"

Meanwhile, Ming Ren summoned the post station chief and asked about Su Dashan: "I see this post soldier has served six months—why so long?"

The post station chief paused, then quickly replied: "His official service period is only three months—the other three are punishment."

Ming Ren asked: "Why was he punished each time?"

There were those who delivered official documents late and accumulated more than three punishments; there were also those who lost letters and parcels and were punished; and there was one case where a courier had collided with a superior officer, argued with the postmaster, and beaten the postmaster.

Mingren asked, "For each late delivery of official documents, what was the reason? How late was each one?"

The postmaster's forehead began to sweat. He reached up to wipe the sweat from his brow, and catching a glimpse of the young Daoist priest sitting to one side in a Daoist robe and wearing a hat, slowly sipping tea, he dared not look long. He racked his memory and said, "The first time he was late was, I think, the eighth day of the seventh month. He was one day late."

Mingren said, "I recall there was a torrential rain from the seventh to the eighth of the seventh month."

The postmaster immediately replied, "Even if knives were falling from the sky, the couriers still had to deliver the documents to the government office, let alone at such an urgent time—they absolutely could not be late."

"Then why was a labor-service courier chosen to deliver the letter? If the documents were urgent, they should have been delivered by the regular couriers of the post station and the urgent dispatch post." Mingren said with a grave face, "I've heard that you kept him out delivering letters for a full month without arranging any rotation for him?"

The sweat on the postmaster's brow increased. Mingren's face was expressionless. He tapped the table lightly with his finger and said, "And the second time? When and why was he late the second time?"

The postmaster lowered his head and said, "It was the fourteenth of the seventh month. He was late by... two shichen, I suppose."

Mingren said, "The urgent dispatch post's document delivery time to the government office was moved up from noon every day to the chen hour?"

"Yes, this was so that my lord could handle the documents in the morning."

Mingren had not expected there was a share of the blame on him in this. He rubbed his forehead and said, "From the previous post station to here, carrying a heavy load, even at the fastest pace it takes two shichen. If the road is bad, it takes even longer—three or four shichen is the least of it. In other words, the work hours you arranged for him were all at night. You expected him to deliver letters along a night road on the Ghost Festival?"

The postmaster wiped the sweat from his brow and said softly, "That day the government office was on holiday, so there shouldn't have been any documents."

At these words, Mingren's anger flared. He slammed the table hard and said, "If there were no documents, then where does the talk of being punished for delivering documents late come from?"

The postmaster hurriedly knelt down. "These were all reported by the postmasters below. I don't know the specifics of the matter. I will go back and investigate this clearly right now."

Pan Yun set down her tea cup and said, "Lord Ming, I believe he truly doesn't know."

The postmaster nodded repeatedly, but Mingren's expression grew even uglier.

Pan Yun said, "No one expected that a minor clerk's power could be so great, and with no one to supervise them, if they wanted to kill a person, destroy a family, it would be so easy—all they would need to do is arrange for him to deliver more letters."

The postmaster looked up at Pan Yun in surprise and hurriedly said, "The young Daoist priest speaks too gravely. Su Dashan merely delivered letters for a few extra days. I will release him from service and send him home right now."

Mingren said with a grave face, "Report the labor service levied by the post station over the past two years—the service periods and the number of people. I want to check the registers. Apart from the post station, every other office must also report the number of people in service, the dates, and so on, one by one."

The postmaster's legs trembled slightly, and with a thump he dropped to his knees on the ground. This investigation was going to ruin a great many people.

Mingren narrowed his eyes slightly, clenched his fist tight, and coldly barked, "Off with you, now!"

The secretary hesitated, then advised, "My lord, think thrice. Once this investigation begins, it will cause a great uproar. You may be due for promotion next year..."

If trouble were stirred up at this moment, it would only bring harm to Mingren, with no benefit.

Mingren said coldly, "I am still the magistrate of Yushan County."

The secretary sighed and did not press the matter further. He said to the postmaster kneeling on the ground, "Magistrate Zhou, if you please—"

Good night.

(End of chapter)