The reason Shen Zechuan spoke with such confidence was because Teazhou was not a place that could be subdued by sheer military force. During the Yongyi era, the Dun and Duan prefectures in Zhongbo were the wealthiest, and even under the command of Shen Wei, no amount of money or troops could completely eradicate the bandit problem in Teazhou. Before Shen Zechuan arrived, Zhou Gui and the advisors in Cizhou had already submitted detailed reports on Teazhou, all concluding that the only viable approach was one of strategy and cunning rather than brute force.
Indeed, Cai Yu was not like Lei Changming. The main difference between Teazhou bandits and those of Luoshan was that in Teazhou, they were still mere bandits, whereas in Luoshan, factions had coalesced into territories with expansionist ambitions. Lei Jingzhe, who stood behind Lei Changming, had clearly outgrown the role of a mere bandit; he harbored ambitions of transforming himself entirely. Cai Yu, however, had not. Thus, for Luoshan, one fought; for Teazhou, one schemed.
Luomu, while perhaps not as diligent or people-focused as Zhou Gui, was evidently indispensable—Shen Zechuan’s tacit approval of Kong Ling’s visit was proof of this. Luomu had served in Teazhou’s prefectural office for over a decade, and no one knew Teazhou’s internal situation better than him.
“You, during the Yongyi era, were assigned to Teazhou and had notable achievements, having once urged Shen Wei to suppress the bandits,” Shen Zechuan said, mentioning Shen Wei without so much as a blink. “I have observed that your approach to governance began to change from that time onward.”
Luomu waved his hand. “Notable achievements? That was the courtesy of a superior. After arriving in Teazhou, I had no real accomplishments to speak of. Even in the Yongyi era, Teazhou was infamous for its banditry. When the Qu capital assigned officials, I was placed alongside others in the same category. I came here with ambition, but it was far too difficult.”
His expression gradually darkened. “For the first two years, I focused on revitalizing the garrison. Although Shen Wei did not approve, he did not prevent me either. The Ministry of War deemed it feasible, so my memorials were approved, and the garrison’s funding increased. I was fully committed to suppressing the bandits. Yet once the fighting began, it became clear it was impossible. Teazhou’s bandits dated back to before the garrison was established. Originally, the merchants traveling this route were wealthy traders from the thirteen cities of Juexi, and the bandits thrived by preying on them. By the time the court took notice, the bandits had already rooted themselves and developed into multiple factions.”
This made Teazhou’s people fierce and ungovernable. Registering households in the census was nearly impossible; about half the families had bandit pasts. The Eastern Palace advisors, attempting to integrate these people into regular troops with lands and salaries, overlooked local realities. While some complied, they quickly resumed banditry under the guise of official operations. Local officials could barely resist the entrenched bandits, and Luomu suffered repeated setbacks.
Moreover, later figures like Cai Yu emerged. These bandit leaders combined chivalrous ideals with generous support for allies, earning far greater prestige than rigid bureaucrats. The prefectural government was effectively powerless.
As Luomu spoke, Shen Zechuan gradually understood why Shen Wei had hesitated to deploy troops—he simply did not dare. Though titled King of Jianxing, Shen Wei was essentially an outsider like Luomu. Initially, he neither supported nor opposed Luomu’s proposals, waiting to see the outcome. Success would allow him to emulate it; failure would allow him to avoid blame. He could not afford to offend Teazhou’s de facto rulers—Cai Yu and the like.
“But times have changed,” Shen Zechuan said, his throat slightly hoarse as he coughed. “Cai Yu now profits from Yan’s patronage, wealth earned from the blood and tears of others. These established bandits issue grievances for survival. The people inside Teazhou have plenty to eat and wear, while outside, the land lies in famine. Over time, even ordinary villagers will grow resentful.”
“Without concealing anything, sir,” Luomu said cautiously, weighing his words, “after Zhongbo’s defeat, Teazhou’s grain stores shrank drastically. Originally, the central government reclaimed the granaries under the guise of famine relief, which should have been documented with Zhongbo. But with Shen Wei gone and no official sent to oversee the matter, the six prefectures were left to manage themselves. Survival alone was a struggle; there was neither the will nor the means to pursue these debts. In recent years, more well-born families, desperate for survival, fell into banditry. At first, Cai Yu helped the poor, but Yan’s family soon joined forces, using Cai Yu’s influence to corner the Xi family in grain trade. They profited greatly. Cai Yu, now older and fond of flattery, gradually abandoned his earlier chivalry, dismantled his soup kitchens and granaries, and became Teazhou’s uncontested bandit lord. Resentment spread everywhere; he was no longer what he once was.”
Yet even a weakened camel is still larger than a horse. Cai Yu’s influence in southern Zhongbo and across Hezhou persisted; the honorific “Ah Ye” from Yan He Ru still carried weight. Luomu’s small factions, supported in secret, could not rival him, leaving him frustrated at Teazhou’s ongoing hardship.
A brief silence fell in the room. Rain-dampened air mingled with the fragrance of jiu li xiang spilling through the half-open window. Time was pressing; Luomu could not linger.
Even with the window open, Shen Zechuan felt stifled. The tea before him had cooled, yet he spoke, seeming to contradict his earlier words: “If Cai Yu remains wary, he must understand that the so-called grievances flooding the streets are merely tricks by other factions. As your brother-in-law, you can hint at this to him.”
Luomu blinked in surprise, unsure what he meant.
Shen Zechuan tapped the pristine tea lid. “Lei Changming is dead. Cai Yu now stands as Teazhou’s most famed bandit. This is his prime moment. He will brook no interference, whether in Teazhou or from the Yan family. Moreover, men fear decline in their later years. If he believes current unrest is the work of petty factions, he will ruthlessly suppress them.”
Luomu finally understood, inwardly noting Shen Zechuan’s cunning.
Shen Zechuan intended for Cai Yu to mistake public resentment for internal strife. Once Cai Yu believed this, he would clamp down harder on the small bandits. As resentment grew, minor dissatisfaction would become full-blown, making reconciliation nearly impossible.
“The minor factions you’ve covertly aided can now play their role. Once they are struck hard by Cai Yu, you intervene with generous grain supplies, letting them rally and form brotherhoods through adversity,” Shen Zechuan said, signaling Qiao Tianya to pour more tea. “Small groups, once clustered, naturally gain strength. This is like a pack of jackals hunting; our role is not to confront directly, but to stir the waves.”
A chill ran down Luomu’s spine. By merely hinting to Cai Yu, he could engineer Cai Yu’s self-destruction. Though an old tactic of sowing discord, Shen Zechuan had learned Teazhou’s landscape after just one night, reminding Luomu of his former status—as a member of the Embroidered Guard.
“Once Cai Yu is removed, we can discuss grain trade between the two prefectures in detail,” Shen Zechuan continued calmly. “Your endurance through these trials will become a celebrated story in Teazhou. Feeding the people will be your most remarkable achievement. Even if your reputation is taken to another prefecture, it will still inspire admiration. Farewell, Luomu.”
Not long after Luomu departed, rain began to fall again.
Shen Zechuan returned to the courtyard. Seeing Qiao Tianya with a cloak draped over his arm, he remarked, “It’s July; it’s warm enough. Why are you wearing this?”
Qiao Tianya, holding an umbrella, said, “I forgot. It was a special instruction from master.”
Shen Zechuan entered the gate. This courtyard had been purchased by Ge Qingqing in Juexi under the guise of business. It was small and old; water pooled on the front porch, and few flowers or plants were cultivated inside.
“I delayed after arriving in Zhongbo, worrying my master. When I return, do not mention illness again,” Shen Zechuan said, glancing back at Kong Ling. “And thanks to Chengfeng for accompanying me all the way.”
Kong Ling quickly said he dared not accept the credit.
“Earlier, while sitting inside, I saw the jiu li xiang outside the window glisten after the rain,” Shen Zechuan said casually. “Plant some in your residence when you return.”
They had just reached the steps when Fei Sheng came forward to greet him. Dutiful and earnest, he said, “Master has finally returned.”
Shen Zechuan asked, “Is there good news to report?”
“Master is wise,” Fei Sheng said, lifting a curtain for him. “Before I left, I received something sent by the Marquis’ men. Knowing it was urgent, I hurried without pause to deliver it.”
Fei Sheng’s obsequiousness made Qiao Tianya chuckle behind them, teasing, “Fei old eleven’s always amusing.”
Shen Zechuan removed his loose outer robe. “Let me see.”
Fei Sheng ignored Qiao Tianya, handing the item to Shen Zechuan. Touching the leather pouch, he found it still cold.
“The Marquis instructed it be iced for delivery. Our house has no ice, so we borrowed some from Lady Zhou. Unfortunately, it melted en route,” Fei Sheng explained.
Shen Zechuan’s curiosity stirred, but he showed no reaction in front of others. He pinched the pouch—liquid inside. Opening it, a sour, rancid smell hit immediately.
Qiao Tianya, nearby, sniffed and said, “Isn’t this just milk?”
“Impossible,” Fei Sheng said, puzzled. “Why would the Marquis send milk from so far? You can’t drink it overnight.”
They looked at Shen Zechuan, who merely raised a corner of his lips, aware of their gaze. “Why?” No one dared reply.
Shen Zechuan closed the lid, opening another box, revealing coarse tea. He paused, letting out a soft sigh, impressed by how well Xiao Chiye knew him.
Milk is the same to others, but for Xiao Chiye, the milk from Libei was unique. No substitute could replace it. He had saved a portion for Shen Zechuan, knowing it might still be drinkable. All the best food and drink, he believed, should be shared.
Xiao Chiye thought this way; others might not understand, but Shen Zechuan did.