Chapter 315: Su Dashan

"One month of labor duty," the station chief said. "If you break the rules again, it won't just be more labor duty."

Su Dashan's face was filled with sorrow, nearly on the verge of tears, begging: "My lord, I've been delivering official documents for forty-two consecutive days. Have mercy—let me be reassigned."

The station chief's face darkened. "How dare you! Reassignment is decided by our superiors. You're just a lowly courier—obey orders. How dare you command your superiors?"

Su Dashan dared not beg again. He could only accept the one-month labor punishment with a bitter expression.

The other couriers slowly organized letters and official documents, watching Su Dashan's misfortune with amusement.

Su Dashan was desperate, but dared not urge them to hurry.

He had urged them before—and they had slowed down even more.

They always waited until just before the station closed to hand him the letters and documents, forcing him to deliver them to the next station—each time arriving late.

This vicious cycle continued: even when he stayed up all night, traveling nonstop, the same thing happened again next time—until one day his body gave out and he was late.

Whenever he was late, whichever station it was, they recorded it against him. After accumulating enough offenses, he was punished with labor duty.

Su Dashan stared blankly as they distributed the letters, his heart utterly numb. He had a premonition—he was going to die.

Only his death would end this endless labor. Only then could he and his family escape this torment.

Su Dashan's stiff mind slowly turned. How could he die without dragging his family down with him?

Die of exhaustion?

Or freeze or starve to death while delivering mail?

It would be better if he encountered bandits.

Su Dashan imagined: when the bandits came, he would let them cut him down—clean, painless, and without blame falling on his family. He would clutch the imperial court's documents tightly, not a single one lost…

Su Dashan numbly imagined his own death, until a searing heat at his waist snapped him back to reality.

He barely pulled himself out of that mindset, touched his burning waist, and pulled out two folded yellow talismans. One was already slightly charred and hot; the other burned so fiercely he nearly dropped it.

Though his mind told him to throw them away because they were hot, his hand instinctively clenched them tight, holding them in his palm.

Who put these on him?

Not his wife or parents—they had no time to seek talismans, and no money for them.

Su Dashan's mind flashed with the faces of Pan Yun and Seeing Miao Zhen. Could it be those three young Daoists?

Su Dashan stared blankly, then tucked the talismans he'd clenched into his robe.

He'd felt heat at his waist during the beating—was it not only because the officer had held back, but because of these two talismans, that he hadn't felt much pain?

A warm current seemed to flow through Su Dashan's heart, and he no longer wanted to die so badly.

While he was lost in thought, the station chief noticed him slumped motionless, head bowed, and grew annoyed. "Su Dashan, what are you standing there for? Grab a broom and sweep the floor. Tell me, what can you even do…?"

"You're always late delivering mail. Your time at the station is already short. Can't you even see the floor is filthy?"

Su Dashan stiffly lifted his head, expression blank, and went to fetch the broom.

Seeing him sweep, the other couriers delayed handing him the letters and documents. They piled them aside, waiting until he had swept the entire station, just before closing time, then called out: "The letters are sorted. Sign and seal them and take them."

Su Dashan walked forward blankly, took up the brush, and tried to mark the form—but the ink was dry, and he couldn't make a mark.

One courier finally couldn't bear it. He stepped forward, poured a little water into the inkstone, stirred it, and whispered: "You must first count the letters. Missing even one is an offense. If you accidentally lose official documents, it's not an offense—it's a crime."

Su Dashan shuddered, snapped back to awareness, and went to count the letters and documents.

He was out of sorts today. He checked twice and still couldn't match them. The waiting couriers grew impatient. "Hurry up! Everyone's waiting to go home. How long are you going to take?"

Su Dashan, drenched in sweat, said: "I can't match them."

The letters and documents must be counted and verified; only after Su Dashan signed and sealed them could they leave the station. As long as he didn't sign, neither the couriers nor the station chief could leave.

If something went wrong, it was the station chief's responsibility.

Of course, if Su Dashan lost the documents outside the station, the station chief still bore responsibility—but the main blame fell on Su Dashan. But if the documents didn't match inside the station, the main responsibility lay with the station supervisor and the station chief.

The station chief grew frustrated, urged twice more. Seeing Su Dashan refused to sign until everything was perfectly counted, he pointed to one man: "You help him count. Can't even count properly—what good are you?"

The man was a new labor courier, but he could read and write, and had quickly learned station procedures. Even the station chief dared not treat him harshly.

It was he who had just advised Su Dashan to count the letters and documents.

The new courier stepped forward, began counting the official documents, matching each item against the list with Su Dashan. After confirming everything was correct, he moved to the letters.

The letters were numerous, but simple—just count the total.

The new courier counted them twice with Su Dashan, confirmed the numbers were correct, then handed the form to him.

Su Dashan picked up the brush again to seal his mark—when the station supervisor returned, face grim.

Seeing Su Dashan about to sign, his expression darkened further. He called out: "Today's documents and letters will not be delivered by Su Dashan. Reassignment—"

His gaze swept the room, then landed on the new courier beside Su Dashan. "Song Ying, you will deliver them today."

Su Dashan: …

Song Ying: … Su Dashan stared in shock, filled with guilt and worry as he looked at Song Ying.

Song Ying didn't even turn his head. He faced the station supervisor directly. "My lord, the official hours have passed. I do not take assignments now."

The station supervisor's face darkened. "This is official duty. You refuse? If these documents and letters are not delivered to the next station before tomorrow's opening, I hold you solely responsible!"

Song Ying said: "Then dismiss me from the station. The official hours are over—I will not deliver."

The station supervisor's face turned livid. "How dare you!"

Song Ying lifted his eyes, gazing at him lightly. "What do I dare not do, my lord? I have not signed or sealed anything. These documents and letters remain inside the station. The delay is your responsibility. Even as subordinates, we all bear some blame—but the greatest responsibility lies with you, the station supervisor, does it not?"

He added: "If you can't stand it, expel me from the station."

Su Dashan stared at Song Ying in utter shock—he had never imagined anyone would dare challenge the station supervisor like this.

The station chief and the other couriers were equally stunned. Silence fell.

Song Ying looked at the station supervisor with faint hope—as if he truly wished to be expelled.

Does anyone think being a courier is a good job?

!.

It was already hard work, and they bullied the newcomers, singling out the new and the honest ones, making an already bad job even harder to do.

Better to go be a night watchman than a relay-station courier — at least that's hard work too, but with a bit of freedom.

Roaming around at night, and at least you can sleep during the day.

There are so many kinds of service jobs, but delivering mail is the hardest, and the punishments are heavy.

But the relay-station magistrate… he really didn't have the authority to chase Song Ying away.

At most he could pile more work on him, make him slip up and then punish him — but what if Song Ying simply didn't slip up?

The relay-station magistrate's gaze turned to the courier chief, his face dark. "Then today's letters and dispatches — you deliver them."

The courier chief's face changed. "My lord…"

The relay-station magistrate said, his face dark as iron: "By the rules, you should have sorted and counted the letters and dispatches by the wei hour and handed them over to the courier soldiers. Instead you dawdled for two whole hours. If you can't handle the sorting, then let someone else do it."

The courier chief and the courier soldiers aren't the same — half of the courier soldiers are labor conscripts, half are hired workers, but the courier chief is always a hired worker. The pay is meager, but in the Great Ming it's a steady, respectable job.

The relay-station magistrate had no right to chase off a conscripted laborer, but he did have the right to replace the courier chief.

He didn't dare offend the relay-station magistrate, and lowered his head to agree.

Having settled that matter, the relay-station magistrate finally turned to look at Su Dashan, who was standing dazed to one side. His expression was still unpleasant, but he forced out a smile and said: "Su Dashan, your service period is over, you can go home now."

Su Dashan was stunned, and so was everyone else.

Seeing that Su Dashan hadn't reacted for a long while, the relay-station magistrate couldn't help frowning. "What, you have some other objection?"

Su Dashan came back to himself and hurriedly shook his head, wanting to speak, but his throat was so dry that even Song Ying, standing beside him, couldn't hear what he said.

The relay-station magistrate frowned slightly, and tried as hard as he could to soften his tone: "The previous rotation arrangements were indeed somewhat unreasonable, and you got the short end. How about this — those three months of labor you were punished with won't count as punishment, but as employment. I'll pay you at the courier soldier's wage."

A courier soldier's monthly wage was three hundred and eighty wen.

In the Great Ming, that kind of income was lower-middle, but still a bit better than a farmer working his fields.

The relay-station magistrate had someone fetch a string of cash plus another hundred and forty wen and give it to him. "Three months' wages, one thousand one hundred and forty wen. Count it."

Su Dashan didn't dare count it — and the key thing was, he couldn't count it clearly either.

It was Song Ying, standing beside him, who took the money and said: "I'll count it for you."

The relay-station magistrate twitched the corner of his mouth, and confirmed it: this one was a troublemaker, hard to manage.

How on earth did the conscription office draft someone like this into the relay station?

Song Ying counted out the money for Su Dashan, then gave him a push, chiming in with the occasional remark at his side. And so Su Dashan not only got his service-completion certificate, but also received an award from the relay station — called "Most Diligent Courier Soldier."

Su Dashan was dazed through the whole thing, but Song Ying, during the busy process, pieced together a few things from the conversation between the relay-station magistrate and the courier chief.

He personally saw Su Dashan out of the relay station, and said in a low voice: "Brother Su, I did some asking for you. Someone spoke up for you in front of the county magistrate — do you know the Daoist Priests of Mount Sanqing?"

Su Dashan came back to himself, and looked at Song Ying with a face full of gratitude. "Song Ying, thank you. The Daoist Priests of Mount Sanqing… when I came to the county town to deliver mail today I took a tumble, and it was three young Daoist masters from Mount Sanqing who helped me. Was it — was it they who mentioned me to the county magistrate?"

Song Ying smiled and nodded. "Most likely. From what the relay-station magistrate said, the Daoist masters and the county magistrate are quite close. Brother Su, could you introduce me? I'd like to ask for a talisman."

"Then just go straight to Mount Sanqing, or the Mountain God Temple will do too. The Daoist masters at the abbey and the temple are all especially kind — whatever talisman you ask for, they'll give it to you."

Song Ying: "…All right, I'll go try in a bit."

Su Dashan walked stiff-backed forward a few steps, made sure Song Ying had also turned to leave, and only then dropped to his knees with a thud, kowtowed toward the direction of Mount Sanqing, and when he raised his head again, his face was streaming with tears.

He understood what Song Ying meant, but he didn't want to trouble the young Daoist masters — they had already helped him so much.

(End of chapter)