Qiuyang County had no close relatives nearby, and neither husband was particularly sociable, so visits and social obligations were minimal. This winter, with the cold and rainy weather, they seldom left the house.
Around the Spring Festival, gifts began arriving from Luoxia County: produce from their family lands, and New Year goods from the Qin relatives. These arrived in the early days of the new year.
“Snow was heavy in Luoxia County this year. Roads iced and thick with snow made travel difficult. I’m afraid your New Year gifts were delayed by two days. Once you left Luoxia County, the rainy weather here made travel even worse,” the visitors apologized.
When they had first arrived in Qiuyang County, supplies had been sparse. Luoxia had everything prepared, and the neighboring county was not far. They sent goods in advance, saving the local family the expense of buying anew.
By now, they had been in Qiuyang for two or three years; everything was settled, and waiting for gifts from home was no longer necessary. Still, sending New Year gifts remained a gesture of familial care.
This year, Qin Xiaoman and Du Heng had prepared gifts well in advance, including the county’s newly harvested cotton and sesame. They planned to send these back with the homebound caravan, saving both sides unnecessary effort.
Yet, that year, they had to wait through the New Year celebrations before seeing the convoy from Luoxia arrive.
“Good to know you’ve arrived safely. I hope the journey hasn’t been too tiring, even during the New Year.”
“It’s only due to my slow pace, not tiring at all,” came the reply.
Du Heng and Xiaoman quickly loaded the prepared gifts onto the convoy so they could reach home before the New Year, allowing the family there to celebrate together.
The rainy season had kept the couple indoors, but the day had cleared at last. Hearing that the main road out of Qiuyang was difficult, they hitched the horses and accompanied the convoy out of the county, taking the opportunity to see the countryside.
By morning, the sun had come out. People were out in greater numbers, and as the carriage neared the county gate, the street entrance was a mess of muddy tracks. The stone pavement was no longer visible beneath the mud, smoothed flat by countless feet and wheels. Along the way, merchants had cleaned the front of their shops, but traces of travel still marked the path.
The main streets of the county were paved with stone slabs, worn smooth by years of constant traffic. Rain or shine, travel through the town itself was manageable, but beyond the city walls, the roads received no such care.
It was only after Du Heng and Qin Xiaoman’s carriage had left the city that they realized just how bad the county roads had become after all the recent rainfall.
The mud was trampled and thick—sometimes a foot or more—with deep potholes and puddles scattered everywhere. Within just a few li of leaving the city, their carriage wheels were caked in thick mud, stuck fast in a rut. No matter how much they whipped the horses, the wheels wouldn’t budge.
“Stop. If we keep whipping, the horses might panic,” Du Heng said.
Both he and Qin Xiaoman stepped down to inspect. They saw they weren’t the only ones trapped—another carriage nearby was mired in the mud as well.
“I told you to take the detour. You insisted on passing through Qiuyang County. Now, even if we’d taken the longer route, we’d still be stuck here for a while,” Qin Xiaoman muttered.
“Merchants are already coming through Qiuyang. They want to see if it’s viable for trade. This cold weather, constant rain, and snow—any merchant moves slowly. Complaining about it won’t help; better to put the weather to work pushing the carriage!”
“It’s a real torment! Even with reduced tariffs, this road is so bad—who would dare haul goods in to do business? Everyone gets stuck.”
Du Heng watched two men approaching, arguing loudly while pushing a carriage stuck in the mud.
“Sir Du, are you heading out of town?” villagers called out warmly.
“Ah, just taking a little trip now that it’s sunny,” Du Heng replied.
“But the carriage is stuck in the mud?”
“Yes, indeed.”
The villagers rolled up their sleeves. Four of them quickly went to work: two digging mud, two pushing from behind. With a concerted effort, the carriage was freed from the rut in no time.
“This road in town is usually fine when dry. But after so many days of rain, the mud gets thick and the wheels easily stuck. With the New Year, there are more people traveling, so it’s even worse,” one villager explained.
“Sir, make sure the driver takes it slow—two days ago, a carriage fell into a ditch. Stuck wheels are common now.”
The villagers spoke quickly, concerned for Du Heng and Qin Xiaoman.
Du Heng noticed their legs were splattered with mud since they had no carriages or shoes to protect them. He pressed his lips together, pointing ahead. “Go help the carriage up there—it’s been stuck a while.”
“Alright!” they chorused, moving forward with practiced ease from years of helping other stuck carriages.
Along the way, Du Heng kept glancing out the carriage curtain. Once they were off the carriage, Qin Xiaoman removed his muddy shoes to avoid soiling the interior. Even though the sun had come out, it was still bitterly cold. He playfully pressed his foot against Du Heng’s stomach.
“What are you staring at, your head almost popping out!”
Du Heng pulled his gaze back, rubbing Qin Xiaoman’s cold feet and warming them inside his coat.
“I noticed when coming in and out of town that Qiuyang’s roads are uneven, full of potholes. When it’s sunny, they’re passable, but repairs should have been made long ago. The last two magistrates never sent anyone to manage them,” Du Heng said.
“Last year’s large-scale land reclamation scattered soil and gravel onto the roads, and the rains have made them nearly impassable,” Qin Xiaoman added.
Du Heng leaned against the carriage, recalling the complaints of traveling merchants. If the county intended to attract trade, the roads themselves were a fundamental requirement. Even well-meaning merchants might reconsider if the journey was too treacherous.
Qiuyang’s reputation was finally improving, and with the merchant caravans from Huizhou soon to arrive, any bad word about the roads could undo it. After the Lantern Festival, when the county reopened for business, Du Heng immediately proposed repairing the main roads.
“The main entrance road is the only route into town. It serves not just locals but merchants from outside. In short, the county road is the face of the city. If it’s in poor condition, people will look down on us. Merchants, inspectors, anyone coming in—they judge the city by the roads. A bad impression now, and they’ll detour elsewhere.”
Revenue had increased last year, and the influx of merchants had brought life to the town. The county staff recognized that repairing the road was overdue. No one opposed the idea—after all, the magistrate had a reputation for taking on projects, and there was money and manpower available.
Du Heng, however, wrestled with the choice of materials. Available options included prepared earth, stone, mortar, tiles, and lime.
Prepared earth—firing raw soil—resists moisture, insects, and weeds over years. But it required fine yellow soil carefully compacted, which was labor-intensive.
Stone was common, laid by breaking into smaller pieces and filling gaps with soil. This worked in dry climates, but in a rain-prone area like Qiuyang, the surface soil would wash away, exposing the stones. Pedestrians might manage, but carts and carriages would struggle, risking accidents from the uneven surface.
The weather in Qiuyang County was actually suitable for building roads with stone, but much of the local stone had already been used in constructing irrigation channels and embankments. Procuring a large quantity of stone for road repair was therefore no small task.
As for mortar, structures built with it were strong and durable, highly prized—but the cost was steep. Proper mortar required glutinous rice paste and peach vine sap, which Qiuyang County did not produce locally. Using these materials meant sourcing them from elsewhere, driving up expenses considerably.
Tiles were beautiful and resilient but mostly reserved for palaces; it would be extravagant to pave county roads with them. After weighing the options, Du Heng decided that lime was the most practical choice. The county had limestone quarries, supplying burnt lime year-round. The plan was to mix lime, yellow sand, and crushed bricks to form a sturdy composite soil for the roads.
At the start of the year, Du Heng immersed himself in overseeing the countryside. He supervised the county workers repairing the roads while also coordinating villagers to use leftover sesame cakes as fertilizer for the fields. Last year, sesame and cotton had fetched good prices, and many previously conservative farmers had purchased seeds to plant on newly reclaimed land, hoping to earn more this year. With the county records noting a 50% increase in farmers planting sesame and cotton, the harvest promised to be far greater than last year, ready for the merchant caravans to transport.
Both inside and outside the county, activity was lively. Around this time, the inspectors from higher authorities arrived in Qiuyang County. Local official rotations occurred every five years, with promotions, demotions, and transfers based on performance, while capital officials faced evaluations every three years. These capital inspections were taken seriously, and for this occasion, inspectors from the central government had been sent to oversee local assessments.
Du Heng was no stranger to inspections. Though he didn’t make a spectacle of gathering local gentry at the city gates, he always observed proper etiquette. That morning, as was his custom, he rode out along the road to check on the roadwork and spring planting, spotting the arriving inspection party in the distance.
“Du Heng, long time no see!”
A rider called from afar—it was Prefect Qi Kaisheng himself. Du Heng knew Qi well and respected him; the man was fair and had never caused trouble. Yet this warm reception was unusual.
“Your journey must have been tiring. I hope the road’s roughness doesn’t trouble you,” Du Heng said courteously.
“Repairing and leveling the road is a good thing,” Qi Kaisheng replied. “The Hanlin scholar and I heard about the county’s sesame and cotton cultivation, so we switched from carriage to horseback to better observe the fields.”
Du Heng quickly saluted the accompanying Hanlin scholar, whom he had not met before but found amicable. He had planned to bring the inspection party back to the county office for rest, but the official instead requested a tour of the town—not mere leisure, but a careful survey of the county’s accomplishments.
Although Qi Kaisheng hadn’t been to Qiuyang in the past two years, he had heard Du Heng’s yearly reports of county governance and had grown increasingly appreciative of his work. Now seeing the improvements firsthand, he was genuinely pleased.
As they toured, Qi Kaisheng pointed out various constructions and cultivated lands, noting which had been established under Du Heng’s tenure. The Hanlin scholar, comparing records and inspecting Du Heng’s two-year reports on land and taxation, also seemed satisfied.
“Last year, the Sixth Prince toured the garrison and reported officials neglecting duties, sparing praise for very few. Qiuyang County was complimented—this inspection confirms it,” Qi Kaisheng remarked.
After completing the formal inspection, Qi Kaisheng and the Hanlin scholar chatted briefly. Qi Kaisheng, smiling, commented on the scholar’s insight and ability to govern, hinting at future visits to the capital.
“Du Heng, the Hanlin scholar is resting,” Qi Kaisheng said, noticing Du Heng guiding servants to deliver tea.
Du Heng followed promptly.
“You’ve done excellent work in the county these past few years,” Qi Kaisheng said once they were alone.
Closing the door, he spared no praise. Du Heng knew the inspection was secure; his consistent performance over the years had left no room for criticism. Yet mindful not to grow complacent, he bowed respectfully.
“Without your guidance, sir, and capable leadership, I could not have accomplished this,” Du Heng replied.
Qi Kaisheng smiled. “You need not be modest. Your achievements are clear and impressive. While many have the degree of jinshi, few have the ability to govern. You are young and talented—your prospects are boundless. Properly managing Qiuyang County will only benefit you.”
“I, your humble servant, will follow your guidance to the letter.”
Qi Kaisheng waved off the formalities and added, “During the Sixth Prince’s inspection tour, he held you in high regard. Should he later take office in the capital, you will have someone to rely on.”
Du Heng replied humbly, “Serving in the capital is every official’s aspiration. I am aware of my own limitations and fear I may fall short of your expectations.”
Qi Kaisheng nodded knowingly. “I understand your concerns. In the past, officialdom heavily favored noble birth. You attained your position through your examination success. In previous dynasties, many scholars barely managed to hold any substantial posts, at most a sub-prefect in a province—but that was the old regime.”
He continued, “Back then, the civil exams were highly esteemed, and scholars were everywhere. Your background alone would not have guaranteed anything. Today, however, His Majesty has reformed the exams. Those with practical ability are valued over those who merely compose flowery essays. You must not belittle yourself.”
Lowering his voice, he said, “I’ve heard that the Emperor plans a southern inspection tour. Nothing has been confirmed yet, but if it happens, it will present many opportunities.”
He spoke sparingly, aware that news of the emperor’s travels was dangerous to disclose carelessly. “Du Heng, you are wise; you understand what I mean.”
Du Heng felt a jolt. Such information could only be shared by someone intending to promote him. He realized that Qi Kaisheng’s term was nearing its end, and this gesture of support likely reflected confidence in Du Heng’s abilities and accomplishments over the years.
Feeling both grateful and impressed by Qi Kaisheng’s foresight, Du Heng bowed deeply. “It is uncertain when I shall next see Your Excellency.”
After the inspection officials left the city, Du Heng watched the carriage fade into the distance, a trace of melancholy settling in. Over the years, from Tianwan Village to Luoxia County, and from graduating the Bairong Academy to serving in Qiuyang County, he had met and parted with countless people. Relatives, old friends, enemies—some reunions brought joy, others complications—but there had never been a pause in this cycle of meeting and parting.
Fortunately, the one constant presence in his life remained steadfast, never leaving his side.
In early March, when the peach blossoms bloomed, Du Heng boldly took the hand of the person beside him.
Qin Xiaoman had wanted to remark that now he could see Qi Kaisheng more often once he assumed a capital post, but words caught in his throat. The warmth through the hand drew his gaze to Du Heng.
“You’re not shy at all, holding my hand in front of your subordinates,” Qin Xiaoman teased.
“No matter. My skin’s thick enough now,” Du Heng replied.