Chapter 982

The two locked eyes for a long moment, then both smiled brightly, all understood without a word.

Before dawn the next day, light footsteps sounded outside the house.

Pan Yun had just completed one circuit of Qi circulation; hearing the sound, she ended her practice and opened her eyes.

She turned to glance at Chun Lian lying beside her, quietly lifted the quilt, stepped down, and slipped on her shoes before walking soundlessly to the window to look out.

The peasant family had no extra rooms, so last night Pan Yun and Chun Lian had slept together, Xue Shao and Xi Jin had slept in Chun Wang’s room, and Chun Wang had slept with his parents.

Outside the window, the old man bent over, carrying a bundle of rice straw to untie and spread for the three horses tied in the yard; he affectionately stroked the horses’ necks, then took up his sickle from the corner and stepped out.

Soon after he left, the young couple rose one after the other—one carrying a hoe out the door, the other grabbing a sickle to chase after her father-in-law.

Pan Yun stood quietly for a while, until she heard movement from the next room, then turned back to put on her clothes and stepped out.

She deliberately changed into arrow-sleeved attire: a top and trousers, neat and practical.

Xue Shao also shed his robe, donning coarse hemp clothing—same top and trousers, hair tightly bound with a cloth towel, dressed as a farmer.

Both opened their doors simultaneously and stepped out, exchanged a glance, and couldn’t help smiling.

In a peasant household, even a sickle had no spare; fortunately, Da Quan hadn’t taken the sickle today, and Chun Lian had her own.

Without disturbing anyone, they found their sickles and slipped into the darkness toward the fields.

Xue Shao had spent half a day working in the fields yesterday with the old man’s family and had learned the village’s layout; naturally, he knew where their land lay.

He led Pan Yun toward that plot.

The night before dawn was pitch-black—so dark that only the faint outlines of those beside you were visible—but at this hour, daylight came swiftly.

After passing the darkest stretch, morning light broke suddenly; the sky turned pale, and in the blink of an eye, as if clouds and mist had parted, figures emerged faintly from the misty fields.

Few households in the village, like the old man’s, had replanted seedlings, yet at this hour, many laborers already worked in the fields.

They wielded hoes, or one pulled the plow like an ox while the other guided it, turning the soil.

Pan Yun slowed her steps; Xue Shao stopped to wait for her.

Since entering officialdom, two-thirds of his time had been spent on inspection tours, and by chance, all had been in Jiangnan and southward regions—he had seen this countless times, yet each time, his heart still trembled.

He was glad the peasants worked so diligently, yet grieved that they needed to toil so hard.

Pan Yun suddenly remembered: “Aren’t you the Jiangnan Inspection Censor? How is Quanzhou also under your jurisdiction?”

Xue Shao: “Last year, the capital’s officials suffered heavy losses; nearly half the Censorate’s censors died in the imperial campaign. With manpower scarce, His Majesty ordered me, while inspecting Jiangnan, to extend my route and cover the entire southeast, including Guangdong.”

Pan Yun raised an eyebrow: “You alone inspect Jiangnan, the southeast, and half of Lingnan? Doesn’t His Majesty fear you’ll abuse power?”

Xue Shao: “I thought His Majesty would only worry I’d die an untimely death.”

Pan Yun burst into laughter, then fell into thought—His Majesty trusted her more than she’d realized.

Xue Shao added: “His Majesty’s trust is a blessing, yet also a curse.”

His deep faith in and reliance on Pan Yun could, one day, become grounds for accusation.

And Xue Shao himself would be one such charge.

Pan Yun said: “Indecisiveness is not my nature. If reform succeeds and he refuses to abolish it, then if he wants me dead, I’ll die just to prove it to him.”

Xue Shao’s eyebrows twitched; he glared at her unhappily. Though he knew she spoke of feigned death, he still said: “There are prophecies in this world—be more cautious.”

Xue Shao paused, then said: “The outcome of reform depends on the successor. If no one carries it forward, even current success will be but a fleeting bloom.”

Pan Yun’s gaze flickered: “Consort Hang is five months pregnant; by timing, she’ll give birth around February next year.”

Xue Shao glanced at her in surprise: “The Emperor and Empress are deeply devoted—shouldn’t the Crown Prince come from Empress Wang?”

Pan Yun replied calmly: “Empress Wang has no son.”

Xue Shao was astonished.

Though Zhu Jianji arrived two years later than in the other timeline, he still came. Before leaving the palace, she had seen Consort Hang in Empress Wang’s quarters—this child was a boy, just as in the other timeline, Zhu Qiyu’s firstborn.

She wondered what name Zhu Qiyu would give his first son this lifetime.

But no matter the name, Empress Wang was fated to bear only two daughters—she could not change that.

And Pan Yun had no intention of meddling in such matters.

Yet Zhu Jianji…

Pan Yun fell into thought—she’d have to wait until his birth to see his facial features; would he still die young this lifetime?

The next emperor must be nurtured early—she couldn’t let him be corrupted by others.

The two soon reached the field, where the old man and his daughter-in-law each worked one side, harvesting.

The old man looked up, saw them, and hurried to stop them: “You’re our guests—how could you do such labor?”

Pan Yun smiled: “It’s but a small favor—we’ll be stealing breakfast from you later anyway.”

Da Quan had gone to hoe the fields—that was heavier work.

Pan Yun and Xue Shao helped harvest for over an hour; as the sun rose slowly from the mountain peak, by the time it reached the hour of Si, the light grew fierce, and they finished cutting the rice.

Xiu Niang smiled shyly at them, squatted down, tied two bundles of yesterday’s harvested grain, stuck a pole through them, and turned them into a shoulder load.

As she rose from squatting, her waist ached, and she couldn’t stand.

Pan Yun saw this, stepped forward quickly, and took the load: “Let me.”

“No, no—it’s already wrong enough to make you work in the field; how could we let you carry this?”

Pan Yun laughed: “Carrying a load is easier for me than cutting rice.”

She lifted the two bundles with one hand and set them aside, then told her to tie three more.

Xue Shao smiled: “Sister-in-law, just listen to her—she’s a martial artist, very strong.”

Xiu Niang: “Still, she’s a girl—she should be cherished.”

Pan Yun smiled, carrying four bundles on her shoulders and one in hand, walking lightly back home.

The old man and Xiu Niang gaped, then hurried after her, grabbing their sickles.

They couldn’t catch up.

The old man slowed his pace, waiting until Xue Shao caught up, then sighed: “This young man is truly formidable.”

Xue Shao smiled. The old man turned and asked: “Are you and the young lady old acquaintances?”

Xue Shao paused slightly: “Why do you ask?”

The old man chuckled: “Last night I sensed you knew each other, but since you didn’t say, I pretended not to notice. But this morning, seeing you two come together, I could tell your relationship isn’t strained.”

Xue Shao smiled: “Yes, we know each other.”

The old man didn’t press further, only smiled knowingly.

Pan Yun returned ahead of them, only to find a guest already in the courtyard.

She pushed open the gate, set down the rice she carried on her shoulders and in her hands, and raised an eyebrow at the young man standing there.

The young man stared at her in surprise—wasn’t this the girl who’d followed their carriage yesterday and fallen off her horse?

Gu Young Master looked at the rice she’d set down, hesitated, then asked: “Miss, are you a relative of Uncle Fu?”

Pan Yun glanced at Chun Lian beside her; Chun Lian quickly said: “Cousin, these are our guests, passing through and staying temporarily.”

“Staying temporarily?” Gu Young Master sized up Pan Yun: “Wasn’t it said the guest was a young gentleman, accompanied by a servant?”

“I am!” Xi Jin, helping bake pancakes in the kitchen, poked his head out: “I’m the servant.”

Chun Lian laughed: “Cousin, they’re two separate groups—not one.”

The way she said it made it sound as if they were involved in something illicit.

Pan Yun cleared her throat, brushed rice husks from her shoulder, and bowed: “I am of the Pan family. May I ask your name, sir?”

Gu Young Master quickly returned the bow: “I am Gu Qingyan. May I ask, Miss, where are you from, and where are you headed?”

Pan Yun was hesitating between lying and telling the truth when her ears twitched—she heard their footsteps returning—and smiled: “The person you’re waiting for has arrived.”

She stepped forward to wash her hands, then took off her shoes and washed her feet—the field was still damp, so they’d removed their shoes when entering.

The ditch beside the path had no water, so she couldn’t wash her feet there; she’d dragged her muddy shoes all the way back.

She washed the shoes too.

She’d need to buy two pairs of straw sandals to keep on hand.

As Pan Yun scrubbed the mud off her shoes, Gu Qingyan caught sight of her pale feet and immediately looked away.

Pan Yun paid no mind; neither did Chun Lian.

They weren’t daughters of wealthy landowners—peasant girls worked in the fields and washed clothes by the river; exposing their feet wasn’t improper.

Chun Lian even lent Pan Yun a pair of her own straw sandals and helped hang them to dry.

As soon as Grandpa returned, she rushed to open the gate: “Grandpa, Cousin Gu is here to see you.”

The old man, startled then delighted, hurriedly invited Gu Qingyan to sit, ordered Chun Lian to call Da Quan back, and told Xiu Niang to buy meat and wine.

Gu Qingyan quickly declined, then turned to Xue Shao, who stood silently to the side, stepped forward two paces, and bowed: “Are you the Inspection Censor, Lord Xue?”

Xue Shao gave Pan Yun a subtle glance—she was still washing her feet, back turned—and nodded: “Lord Gu, your information is swift—I arrived yesterday, and you’re here this morning.”

Gu Qingyan sighed: “Lord Xue arrived yesterday afternoon; the Gu family failed to welcome you properly.”

Gu Qingyan had returned to the village just before Pan Yun, when dusk had already fallen. While learning about the land survey from village elders, someone mentioned that a stranger had entered the village and helped harvest rice near the foot of the mountain. No one knew if he was a passerby or an official sent to investigate.

He’d asked several questions, searched the village for someone who’d seen Xue Shao, and after a long description, learned only that he was a young man with a refined air, clearly a scholar, accompanied by a servant who’d wielded a sickle alongside Xu Fu from the mountain foot.

At once, he guessed it was Xue Shao.

He’d long heard of this Censor.

His grandfather, his uncle, and he himself were all renowned, especially among scholars of the north.

This Censor’s integrity and uprightness matched his uncle Xue Xuan’s, yet Gu Qingyan always felt Xue Shao was more proactive and gentler than Xue Xuan.

Based on this impression, Gu Qingyan wished to speak with him.

Gu Qingyan invited Xue Shao to the Gu estate, where he had prepared a fine meal.

Upon hearing “fine meal,” Pan Yun immediately stopped dawdling, slipped on her straw sandals, stood, and brushed the dirt from her trousers: “I’m coming with you.”

Gu Qingyan was surprised, wondering whether he should refuse, when Xue Shao smiled and nodded: “Alright.”

Gu Qingyan’s mind raced, and he smiled in return: “It is my honor to have been invited by Miss Pan.”

After greeting the old man, Gu Qingyan invited the two to move elsewhere.

Xi Jin hurriedly wiped his hands and stepped out to follow, but Xue Shao shook his head slightly; Xi Jin stopped in place and remained at the Xu household.

At the hour of Si, those who had worked in the fields all morning returned home for breakfast; others, who had slept in, only emerged after breakfast, hoe on shoulder—such people were usually looked down upon by villagers for being lazy.

Thus, the road was filled with villagers coming and going.

Every villager they met greeted Gu Qingyan with a smile, then glanced curiously at Xue Shao and Pan Yun, whose attire was similar but whose demeanor was entirely different.

It was clear the villagers’ affection was genuine; clearly, the Gu family’s reputation here was truly excellent.

Gu Qingyan’s father, Gu Yuan, was the Prefect of Baoning Prefecture, and Gu Qingyan had returned to his hometown to study, preparing to take the imperial examination in the capital next year.

Both the fourth-rank official and Gu Qingyan’s status as a Provincial Graduate entitled them to reduced tax quotas through patronage.

The Gu family clearly did not own this much land, yet Xue Shao had checked the ledgers—almost all the land in this area was registered under the Gu family’s name.

All these villagers were under the Gu family’s protection.

Gu Qingyan clearly knew he could not hide this from Xue Shao; back at the Gu household, once servants brought breakfast, he invited Xue Shao to eat while subtly glancing at Pan Yun.

Xue Shao acted as if he had not noticed, steering the conversation: “Young Master Gu, you rushed back from Quanzhou City—surely you knew the county office was about to survey this land, and returned to deal with it?”

Seeing that Xue Shao had no intention of avoiding Pan Yun, Gu Qingyan composed himself, paused, then said: “Sir Xue, my father and I have indeed accepted and held onto some land from relatives and friends, but we have collected only modest rents. I beg you, Sir Xue, to show leniency. I am willing to surrender all rents collected over these years to the imperial court and return these lands in full.”

Xue Shao asked: “How many mu were accepted?”

Gu Qingyan replied: “Two hundred and eighty-five mu in total.”

Xue Shao said: “That’s neatly rounded, but do you expect me to believe it?”

Gu Qingyan frowned, fell silent for a moment, then said: “Sir Xue, you are an upright official, a good official—you must give the people a way to survive. If we clear out two hundred and eighty-five mu, every household will still have land eligible for regular taxation; beyond that, they cannot survive.”

Xue Shao: “Young Master Gu, having passed the Provincial Examination, you should know that a region’s tax quota is fixed. If your people pay less, others elsewhere must pay more—what of them?”

Gu Qingyan’s heart tightened; after a moment, he said: “I can only protect my hometown’s relatives and friends. As for others, I am powerless now.”

Xue Shao: “I am an imperial official. To the court, all subjects are equal—I cannot favor one region over another.”