Chapter 986

If the Gu family is like this, what about other families?

The hidden fields and hidden households out there are only more, never fewer.

Now the Gu family is cooperating fully with the land survey: not only have they returned all leased lands to their original owners, but they’ve also registered all land acquired through purchase or reclamation that was never previously recorded, securing official deeds. Other families, nervous and hesitant, could only stand by their fields as the government office runners arrived with the village head to measure them.

As they saw the registered acreage growing larger, they couldn’t help but slip money to the village head.

The village head pushed it back and whispered, “I’m not refusing to help—you know the county magistrate has already returned all the money collected. This won’t fly. Don’t drag me into this.”

“Village head, please plead for us one more time. If we go on like this, none of us can survive.”

“How can you not survive? Those with only a few mu of land are managing just fine,” the village head whispered. “Don’t be excessive. This is the Emperor’s new policy. The magistrate returned the money—that means it’s forbidden. It can’t be done!”

“The Emperor is far away—he probably doesn’t even know where Dehua County is. Isn’t the magistrate just old and timid?”

Another landowner joined in from the side, pressing a silver ingot into the village head’s hand and whispering, “Please plead for us again. This kind of thing—bold men thrive, timid ones starve. The magistrate will serve here for years. Are you going to live on his meager salary for the rest of your life?”

The village head shook off their hands angrily. “How can you be so unreasonable? If you keep causing trouble, you can be the village head yourselves!”

The two fell silent.

The village head took a deep breath. “The Emperor may be far, but there are censors and the Embroidered Uniform Guard! Besides, this is just a land survey—it doesn’t ask you to pay back arrears. How many mu of land do each of you have registered under your names? Three or five hundred? And hidden? At least another fifty or a hundred! You’re all complaining—what about the poor farmers with only two or three mu who must pay double or triple the tax? Are they supposed to starve?”

“Village head, we’re not the only ones doing this. Your family has hidden land too, and you have a Provincial Graduate—you’re the ones receiving leased land. The extra taxes paid by the poor go straight to your family and the Gu family. We won’t bear that karma!”

“That’s right—we won’t bear it!”

“Fine, don’t bear it,” the village head snapped. “I’ll say this once: you will measure this land, whether you like it or not. And as for the land you’ve registered under my name—come collect your deeds later.”

The two families were speechless.

But they no longer feared the village head.

They flattered him only because his family had a Provincial Graduate who could receive leased land and avoid taxes.

Without that benefit, who would even bother with them?

The three parted on bad terms. In Dehua County, such situations were far from rare.

The land survey in Dehua County was in full swing, and news quickly spread to neighboring Yongtai County and Quanzhou City.

County magistrates competed with each other.

If Dehua’s magistrate reported unusually high land totals while others merely went through the motions, the report would look terrible.

Moreover, rumors whispered that Censor Xue Shao was traveling incognito, and no one knew where he might be watching them right now.

Xue Shao was anything but straightforward—he differed from other censors who followed procedure. He traveled without guards, notified no local offices, and wandered alone with only a page boy.

He never revealed himself; no one knew where he had vanished.

Last time, he disguised himself as a martial artist and infiltrated a group of bandit-hunting heroes—only when they returned from Japan did they learn he had joined the Martial Alliance and the Celestial Masters’ joint campaign.

Last time, he was captured by bandits and forced to work as their accountant—until he led the band’s second and fourth leaders into the city and into prison, dismantling the entire nest. Only then did they realize the censor had infiltrated the gang, becoming its fifth leader in less than a month.

And last time, only when the Prefect of Jiujiang was arrested by the Embroidered Uniform Guard and his home ransacked did they learn the foreign student the prefect’s eldest son had forced to write essays and do homework was Xue Shao. Had the Guard not arrived in time, he would have taken the prefect’s son’s place in this year’s imperial examination.

Besides that, there was another time.

To local officials, Xue Shao was a dragon whose head appeared but whose tail vanished—sometimes even the Embroidered Uniform Guard couldn’t find him.

At least half the time, they could only locate him when he chose to contact them.

Precisely because of this, the Embroidered Uniform Guard had recently resolved to improve their civilian intelligence network.

A single censor, assigned a defined area and always operating in cooperation with them, still managed to slip away.

Was that reasonable?

So this year, both the Northern and Southern Commanderies strengthened training for the Embroidered Uniform Guard and raised the difficulty of their evaluations.

This directly affected the selection of guards in the capital.

Gu Qingyan had specifically petitioned the Emperor, arguing that the Embroidered Uniform Guard’s recruitment should broaden its channels and introduce more detailed, numerous classifications.

There was no need to require guards to be skilled in martial arts or handsome—those assigned to undercover intelligence work could be ordinary in appearance and ability, but must be sharp and have excellent memories.

Of course, all this was still in the future.

At this moment, fueled by rumors about Xue Shao, Dehua County and surrounding prefectures were on high alert: they enforced the imperial land survey vigorously while carefully managing local relations and dealing with stubborn individuals.

Dehua’s magistrate was lucky—his county’s largest landowner and most powerful official was the Gu family.

The Gu family cooperated willingly, but other counties’ magistrates weren’t so fortunate.

Which great landowner or powerful gentry didn’t have relatives or family members serving in the imperial court?

Those with equal or similar rank were manageable—but those with high authority?

If magistrates pushed hard, they feared offending powerful families and making enemies who would make their lives miserable.

If they were lenient and faked compliance, and Xue Shao caught them, they’d be dismissed before the landowners’ powerful patrons even had a chance to act.

Thus, after endless hesitation, they chose the path most aligned with their immediate interests.

Xue Shao didn’t know his presence in Dehua County had spread so quickly—thanks to Pan Yun, their pace had accelerated.

They rode hard southward, soon passing Zhangzhou and entering Chaozhou.

Xue Shao didn’t stop in every county to investigate thoroughly, for the land survey was urgent. He deliberately focused on major cases while using them to intimidate smaller ones—a classic “kill a chicken to scare the monkeys” approach.

He hoped that by punishing one, the others would take warning, retract their claws, and proceed cautiously.

But before he caught the chicken, he’d already frightened a whole flock of monkeys.

Chaozhou belonged to Guangdong, where fishing was thriving, rivaling Quanzhou.

The trio entered from Zhangzhou and went straight to Haiyang County, the seat of Chaozhou’s administration.

As soon as they entered the city, they sensed a culture utterly different from Quanzhou’s.

It was late autumn, yet many wore short jackets, knee-length shorts, and straw sandals or wooden clogs, and many carried palm-leaf fans.

Along the streets, vendors called out. The two on horseback looked down and saw that most stalls sold fish balls and rice noodles.

The smell was delicious.

Pan Yun’s stomach growled loudly—she immediately decided to eat on the spot.

She glanced at Xue Shao: “Eat here?”

Xue Shao nodded: “Fine.”

They dismounted. Xi Jin immediately followed, leading the horses to a nearby open space, tying them up before rushing over—only to be stopped by a young man: “Wait. Pay to park your horses.”

His Mandarin was imperfect, but understandable.

Xi Jin blinked. “This is open ground.”

“Correct—it’s the open ground I supervise. Two cash per horse. Three horses, six cash.”

Xi Jin had never encountered this before. He stared at the man suspiciously. “I’ve never heard of paying to park horses on open ground.”

“Ah, then you’ve learned something new today. No extra fee for your enlightenment—consider it a discount.”

Xi Jin felt a lump in his chest. He didn’t want to pay—but Xue Shao, seated nearby, called out loudly: “Xi Jin, follow local customs. Pay him.”

Xi Jin muttered under his breath but pulled out his money pouch, counted out six cash, and handed them over.

As they sat at the table and learned a bowl of fish balls cost three cash and rice noodles five, he winced: “Master, that’s enough for a bowl of noodles and three fish balls!”

Xue Shao smiled and pushed the first bowl of noodles toward him. “Enough. I asked the vendor—everyone, locals or outsiders, pays to park carts or horses. We pay two cash for our horses; look over there—a cart costs five. It’s not just us.”

Xi Jin turned and saw a man leaving a tavern, climbing into a cart, and handing five cash to a man standing by the roadside.

He whistled. “They make money too easily here—just mark off some open ground and collect cash.”

Pan Yun shook her head. “Exactly the opposite. Money is hardest to make here. Do you think anyone can just claim land and collect fees in this city?”

Xue Shao handed him chopsticks. “Enough. I know you’re worried about money. Don’t fret—we’ll settle in, and I’ll set up a stall writing essays. Earning won’t be hard.”

Xi Jin recalled his master’s essays were always popular—he relaxed and smiled, returning the bowl. “Master, you eat first?”

“You eat first. You’ve been running around managing everything on this journey—you’ve worked harder than we have.”

Xi Jin offered the bowl to Pan Yun.

Pan Yun said, “You eat first. We barely ate lunch. I and Xue Shao can wait—but you can’t.”

Xi Jin: “Miss, you eat first. I heard your stomach rumble like thunder.”

Pan Yun glared. “Just eat. Why so much talk? That wasn’t hunger—that was craving!”

Xi Jin finally pulled the bowl close and devoured it.

As he slurped the noodles, the aroma filled the air—Pan Yun grew even hungrier.

She pressed her hands against her stomach to silence it.

Xue Shao smiled. Seeing the vendor still slicing noodles but with a large pot of ready fish balls, he called out: “Vendor, bring us three bowls of fish balls first.”

The little girl helping her parents immediately set out three bowls, scooped with a large ladle, and poured—each bowl received exactly ten pearly white fish balls.

A younger boy, even smaller than the girl, carried the bowls over.

Pan Yun turned aside to let him place them on the table, glanced at his bare feet, and smiled. “How old are you?”

The boy’s clothes were clean, his face and fingers washed, but his feet had no sandals—barely slapping against the stone slabs. He looked up at Pan Yun, then turned and chattered rapidly in dialect.

The girl, adding firewood to the stove, replied in imperfect Mandarin: “Miss, my brother is six. He doesn’t speak Mandarin yet.”

In truth, neither the boy nor the parents spoke much Mandarin—the girl had translated their order earlier.

Pan Yun looked at the busy girl with curiosity and warmth, then dipped her spoon into the fish balls.

Their fish balls weren’t pure white—they had flecks of green and red, symmetrically placed on either side.

Intrigued, Pan Yun took a bite.

The fish balls were springy and firm, with no fishy odor—only pure, fresh fish flavor. Best of all, there was a crisp texture inside, as if filled with something.

Pan Yun savored it. Xue Shao tasted one and smiled in delight.

By the time the noodles arrived, they’d finished the first bowl of fish balls and were sipping the broth slowly.

It wasn’t mealtime, so after serving them, the family fell idle.

One bowl of fish balls had eased Pan Yun’s craving—she ate her noodles while chatting: “Your fish balls are delicious—what’s inside them?”

The stall owner and his wife looked troubled, muttering a few words; Pan Yun barely caught the word “scallion.”

The little girl said, “As long as the guest enjoys it, that’s all we care about. Our fish balls are the best on this whole road—some guests say even the ones from Piaoxiang Pavilion can’t match ours. So we must keep our secret recipe, since we plan to make money from it later.”

Pan Yun nodded: “I understand.”

She glanced at her parents, then at the girl, and smiled: “Only you speak Mandarin well—why is that?”

The little girl looked puzzled: “I don’t know either. I just picked it up by listening, but my parents can’t learn it no matter how hard they try.”

Doesn’t she find it frustrating too?

Pan Yun burst out laughing: “Probably because few people here speak Mandarin.”

After eating, Xue Shao paid and asked them about the local school and bookshops.

It was still the little girl who showed them the way.

Xue Shao thought her clever and quick-witted, and said: “If the imperial court opens more community schools, you could go study—you’d not only learn Mandarin, but also learn how to expand your fish ball stall, maybe even open a shop and do bigger business someday.”

The little girl’s eyes lit up: “Can girls go to school too?”

“Of course,” Xue Shao said. “The imperial court opens community schools without restricting boys or girls.”

Pan Yun also liked her wit. After thinking a moment, she folded a Fortune Talisman into a triangle and gave it to her, smiling: “This will bring you good fortune. Work hard, and perhaps your wishes will come true.”

The little girl took it with bright eyes, thought for a moment, then turned and pointed elsewhere: “Mister, Miss, Piaoxiang Pavilion is over there. I’ve heard guests say there’s a poetry gathering there—you’re scholars, aren’t you? Are you going to the poetry gathering?”