Meng Xizhao’s words only heightened everyone’s astonishment, making their kneeling even more devout.
The people kowtowed without care for themselves, while Zang Chen remained indifferent, enjoying the moment as if it were rightfully his. After all, even if he didn’t feel completely justified, any attempt to brandish his whisk at the citizens would immediately expose the trick.
Zang Chen handed the golden bowl to Meng Xizhao. In truth, the bowl only had a thin layer of grain stuck to the surface; the inside was filled with Xuan paper to create the illusion of abundance and reduce weight, allowing the bottom to flip quickly—a common modern sleight of hand, now transformed into what seemed like miraculous divine power.
Meng Xizhao accepted the bowl with great respect and continued to lower his head, receiving Zang Chen’s guidance.
Following their rehearsed script, Zang Chen said evenly, “This item was lent to this humble Daoist by the Supreme Pure Ones and is now to be handed to Prefect Meng. Prefect Meng must thank the Supreme Pure Ones, not me. Also, the Supreme Pure Ones have decreed that the crisis in Longxing Prefecture will last no more than three months. After that, this vessel will vanish of its own accord, for it is meant for divine use. For mortals to use it for two months is already extraordinary.”
Meng Xizhao was stunned. “Three months? That’s exactly the timeframe I discussed with Vice-Prefect Xie! Before arriving at Longxing Prefecture, I brought a master agriculturist from Yingtian Prefecture. He spent decades developing fertilizer capable of increasing yields by forty percent. Though he spoke of it, I have yet to see the results myself. If it works, in three months, the harvest will be evident… Could it be that the Supreme Pure Ones foresaw this success in advance?”
Zang Chen stroked his beard but remained silent, mysterious as ever. Yet everyone understood this tacit approval; revealing heavenly secrets would invite lightning strikes.
Good fortune followed good fortune: first came the inexhaustible golden bowl, now a three-month hope. The citizens were ecstatic but restrained their voices, their eyes fixed eagerly on Meng Xizhao.
At that moment, a stir came from the crowd. Looking back, they saw a few soldiers carrying a stretcher.
Xie Yuan could have walked with a cane, but Meng Xizhao insisted he be carried to better elicit sympathy from the people.
So, Xie Yuan lay quietly on the stretcher, enduring one of the most humiliating moments of his life.
When he finally faced the crowd, he straightened a bit. Meng Xizhao had scripted numerous lines and expressions for him, but Xie Yuan could only press his lips together, nervously observing the people.
Ironically, the citizens were most impressed by this subdued, restrained performance. Compared with exaggerated theatrics, the modest display restored the distinction between officials and commoners, deepening their respect.
The stretcher was brought before Meng Xizhao. Xie Yuan looked at him, then at Zang Chen, then back at Meng Xizhao. He held his breath, managing to utter only one word: “Meng—”
Meng Xizhao, touched, half-squatted and grasped his hand. “Vice-Prefect Xie, your injury isn’t healed; you shouldn’t be out here. Have you heard that Longxing Prefecture is saved? It’s true! Grain is sufficient, and with the Supreme Pure Ones’ prophecy, three months from now, we shall see a great harvest! No one will go hungry again!”
Xie Yuan: “…………”
He stared stiffly at Meng Xizhao, who, as if reading the answer, nodded firmly, released his hand, and rose. With a resolute gaze, he addressed the citizens, waving his hand and proclaiming, “I, the Prefect, decree that from today, the granaries shall be opened!”
Finally hearing the words they longed for, the people, previously standing, all fell to their knees again, shouting thanks to the just heavens.
Seeing their joy, Meng Xizhao pressed his advantage, announcing that after distributing the grain, he would arrange for this year’s sowing. Seeds would be available for free from the prefecture office, and the master agriculturist would teach people from all counties the new methods within ten days—methods so effective even the Supreme Pure Ones would approve.
The cheering swelled.
A leader blending in with the crowd, however, remained solemn, watching Meng Xizhao closely. After a moment, he silently turned and left.
The citizens were here for grain, and now that the granaries were to be opened, they had no intention of leaving, preparing to line up and be among the first to take grain home. The leader’s quiet defiance stood out.
Yin Liu observed him carefully, noting his build and features. She had considered following him, but remembering Meng Xizhao’s previous instruction forbidding independent action, she pressed her lips together and stayed among the crowd.
Opening the granaries didn’t require Meng Xizhao to personally oversee the distribution. He could just have the drill commander and the soldiers manage the headcounts. Even with the population reduced, Longxing Prefecture still had plenty of people, so some would inevitably try to claim extra rations or sneak a bit more. But there was no real way around that—the authorities simply couldn’t prevent every small act of mischief.
Fortunately, such incidents were rare. And if anyone was caught, they would be beaten ten strokes on the spot, with the line of people hearing every cry. Even those tempted would hesitate before acting.
Today’s grand performance only released a tiny amount of grain—just enough for each family to last two days, and only half-full meals at that. Smart observers would naturally question it. Weren’t the supplies supposed to be inexhaustible? How could it be so little?
Meng Xizhao didn’t bother responding to such remarks.
He was a prefect, not a suggestion-box clerk, sitting around to answer questions from the populace daily. The play today wasn’t meant to fool the citizens into believing there was truly no shortage. Its real purpose was to promote Shi Dazhuang’s fertilizer and subtly address the unscrupulous elements in the city.
The snakes, bugs, and rats of corruption were too many for one man to catch. He had to act at the source, stabilizing them with a set timeframe. Whether it succeeded or failed, they would know in three months. If it failed, they would be desperate, and any rebellious acts could still be managed later.
As for Zang Chen, after offering the golden bowl, he returned to Yuqing Temple to seclude himself, claiming he had expended too much magical power and needed forty-nine days of seclusion.
When the citizens went to the temple and saw how modest it was, they were even more convinced of Zang Chen’s powers. Even if the temple had collected incense for three centuries, it couldn’t possibly produce such a finely crafted, sturdy golden bowl.
The people respectfully offered incense and even donated their savings to the temple. Meng Xizhao couldn’t help but marvel. The greatest wisdom always lies among the common folk.
When the three commissioners of Zhending Prefecture scoured the streets like lice on a comb, the citizens still found ways to donate to officials in Yingtian Prefecture. And when the Nanzhao forces ransacked Longxing Prefecture, taking all valuables home, once the crisis passed, trade resumed. Missing or broken goods were quickly replaced, and any surplus was offered to temples for spiritual nourishment.
Ordinary people are skilled at saving, and those already wealthy are even more resourceful.
Back at the prefecture office, Meng Xizhao personally helped Xie Yuan to his bed. Xie Yuan thanked him but didn’t lie down immediately, sitting on the edge of the bed with a worried look. “All the prefecture’s silver has been used to buy seeds from Jiangzhou. What will we do if we need money later?”
Meng Xizhao replied, “What choice do we have? Without seeds, no farming can be done. This grain distribution is a bottomless pit—we have to use the prefecture’s silver for now. Don’t worry: Yingtian Prefecture won’t give us grain, but they will deliver seeds. We can reserve some and sell some to offset the deficit.”
Xie Yuan sighed. “…………”
He was distressed. “But it will take at least half a month for the seeds to arrive.”
Administrative hurdles existed in every era. Even with Meng Xizhao’s strong connections, letters had to be approved for three or four days, then a courier dispatched, who had to watch for highway robbers. All told, it would take at least ten days.
Xie Yuan worried about what might go wrong in the meantime, especially since Longxing Prefecture was still in shambles. The city gates hadn’t even been repaired.
He considered paying out of his own pocket, but he only had two thousand taels with him—most of the family’s savings. His family had always been scholarly and frugal, supplementing the palace when his aunt became empress. They weren’t wealthy in liquid assets.
By contrast, the Meng family was extremely rich. From Meng Madam’s marriage celebrations to Meng Dalang’s recent wedding to the county lord’s daughter, their wealth and gifts flooded the entire capital—few could compare.
Xie Yuan suddenly looked up at Meng Xizhao, his eyes brightening.
Meng Xizhao tensed. “Stop! Don’t entertain dangerous ideas. I’m here as prefect, not to be a cash cow. Relying solely on my family’s wealth won’t help the office after I leave. Teaching a man to fish is better than giving him fish.”
Xie Yuan remained silent. Planning that far ahead—three years into the future—was beyond him.
Meng Xizhao patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry. Grain will be available, and silver too. You just handle the distribution. Leave the finances to me.”
Xie Yuan could only sigh in agreement.
Meng Xizhao, meanwhile, didn’t idle after leaving him. Back in his office, he instructed Qingfu, “Go fetch Jia Renliang.”
Before half a cup of tea had passed, Jia Renliang arrived, even more obsequious than the day before. “What does my lord require?”
Meng Xizhao asked, “Tell me how many wealthy households remain in the city.”
Jia Renliang froze, then chuckled nervously. “My lord, why do you ask? What is your plan?”
Meng Xizhao shot him a glance. “None of your concern. Just answer.”
Jia Renliang: “…………”
Well, alright.
In truth, he wanted to gauge Meng Xizhao’s intentions. If he was like other prefects who immediately targeted wealthy households, Jia Renliang could warn them in advance, giving them time to prepare.
After all, he was a local, so his network leaned toward his fellow townsfolk. But Meng Xizhao was tight-lipped—he said nothing. Jia Renliang could only relay what he knew about some wealthy households, and even then added that these were only former rich families; after the Nanzhao forces came through, everyone had become poor.
Meng Xizhao smiled faintly, unconvinced. He instructed Jia Renliang, “Don’t worry. I have no intention of harming these people. I have a favor to ask of them. Since you are familiar with them, select ten families—those with good character and well-behaved children—and bring them here to meet me.”
Jia Renliang was startled and shook his head repeatedly, insisting he didn’t want to. Meng Xizhao, uninterested in arguing, waved him off to find the families. Reluctantly, Jia Renliang bowed and left.
By the afternoon, the ten selected household heads arrived. Some were middle-aged, some older, and all stood nervously in the hall, unsure why the new prefect had summoned them. The more pessimistic had already thought through escape routes for their families in case things went badly.
When Meng Xizhao appeared, he greeted them with warm smiles. “Thank you all for coming despite your busy schedules. It is spring planting season, and I know you have many household matters, so I won’t waste time on formalities.”
“This gathering is to give you all a chance to show loyalty to His Majesty.”
The ten wealthy men exchanged bewildered glances.
Meng Xizhao’s smile grew gentler. He gestured for them to sit and slowly explained his intent.
In short, it was simple.
The prefecture was short on funds and needed financial support. But fear not—the money collected from citizens would be used for city repairs: gates, streets, farmland, damaged houses, and so on. This wasn’t their direct concern; why should they pay for city gates? Meng Xizhao knew they would be reluctant, so he cast the first bait.
Once the funds were collected, he planned to do something beyond repairs: erect a commemorative monument at the city gate.
First, to honor the citizens and soldiers who died in the recent disaster. Second, to praise His Majesty’s achievements—particularly raising Hongzhou to Longxing Prefecture. Hongzhou had become history, but history shouldn’t be forgotten. Good or bad, all should be recorded on this monument.
For these ten families, the key was this: beneath the praise of the emperor, the monument would record the names of those who contributed to the city’s reconstruction. Officials in the back, selfless citizens in the front.
Summary: donate money, and your name will be engraved on the monument. As long as the Qi dynasty lasts, your name will remain.
The eyes of the ten families lit up immediately.
In this era, the only way to secure a place in history was through the imperial exams. Even a successful scholar might not be recorded; ordinary citizens had no chance. Wealth could not buy posthumous fame. But if Meng Xizhao erected a monument at the city gate, everyone entering and leaving would see their names. Four seasons and thousands of people would know of them.
Some with commercial acumen realized this could serve as a living advertisement. In business dealings, they could proudly claim, “I am a benefactor of Longxing Prefecture,” and partnerships would follow. Reputation meant everything; a single name could make countless people willingly support you.
The ten were tempted, but Meng Xizhao wasn’t finished. He cast a second bait.
His Majesty had always cared for Longxing Prefecture. During the New Year, impatient, he elevated Hongzhou to Longxing Prefecture and sent Meng Xizhao as prefect. “What? You don’t know me? Haven’t heard of Meng Jiuyu? He is a Councillor of State, my father. I also have a mentor, Yan Shunyin, our Right Prime Minister. Then there’s Xie Yuan, the relative of the late Empress—you know him? He’s the emperor’s own nephew. Think carefully: His Majesty sends me and his own nephew here. Could this be perfunctory? No, this is great attention—great, indeed!”
He continued: any donations would be recorded in the imperial report and could earn them imperial rewards. Whether the emperor approved was not a worry; upon hearing they saved the imperiled Longxing Prefecture, the rewards would arrive immediately.
As for the rewards… Meng Xizhao pondered, “It depends on your loyalty. If the donation is modest, you’ll still receive imperial gifts. Give more, and perhaps His Majesty’s calligraphy too.”
Imagine receiving the emperor’s four characters, “House of Benevolence,” hanging in your main hall. This would be equivalent to gilding your home with gold. Even I would bow upon entering, let alone others. Future prefects would not dare neglect the household, as they were recognized by His Majesty as great benefactors.
Meng Xizhao painted an immense vision, making the ten families imagine it so vividly they nearly swooned. He added reassuringly: even small donations could earn a place on the monument. Even one or two coins would be engraved.
If Meng Xizhao had only mentioned the monument, these ten might have clung to the idea of getting off lightly—donating a few hundred taels, gaining prestige without much effort. But after he revealed the full plan, that thought vanished. No, they had to give generously. How prosperous their family would be, whether they could rise from merchants to respected gentry—that hinged entirely on this moment.
When Meng Xizhao finished speaking, he did not collect the money immediately. He stood, smiling, and told them to think it over and come back when ready. He lived in the prefectural hall, always present, day or night. Naturally, they would come individually, not as a group.
The ten exchanged glances, no longer unified in thought, each worried that others might donate more than they would. Watching them depart with their varied thoughts, Meng Xizhao felt a thrill of satisfaction.
By auctioning off the worthless calligraphy of Emperor Tianshou, he could resolve the financial shortage. As for the monument, he had no intention of relying solely on these ten; they were wealthy and reputable, so they received imperial benefits. For the monument itself, anyone who donated could have their name engraved—one or two taels, whatever the sum. Multiple stones could line the city gates, making a striking display.
Meng Xizhao knew that most people had yet to understand the power of collective funding. Soon, others would follow suit, as ordinary citizens were not foolish—they would not part with money without tangible benefit. In the years ahead, similar monuments would appear in every city, perhaps even replacing the later “Chastity Arches,” becoming a new type of landmark—but that would be beyond Meng Xizhao’s concern.
After sending the ten wealthy households away, Meng Xizhao sat down to write a memorial to Emperor Tianshou. He painted Longxing Prefecture as destitute, highlighting every point that could elicit sympathy, then proposed his solution—no need for funds or grain from Yingtian Prefecture. The only request was that the emperor provide a small reward, perhaps a calligraphy piece, as a symbolic gesture.
He praised the ten households’ excitement upon hearing of the emperor’s rewards, showing the benevolence of Emperor Tianshou even to citizens in distant Longxing Prefecture.
When the memorial reached Yingtian, the emperor’s mood oscillated. At first, he frowned, thinking Meng Xizhao was demanding money. By the middle, he realized it was only a request for rewards, and he relaxed—after all, giving a few items to untrained citizens was trivial. Regarding the calligraphy, a single four-character piece was easy enough.
By the end, seeing the citizens’ devotion, Emperor Tianshou’s memory—like a fish’s—forgot his earlier annoyance, replaced by pride. That pride, however, would be interrupted the next day at court.
He presented the memorial, praising Meng Xizhao before the officials: a loyal minister who solved difficulties independently without asking the emperor for money. “If all officials acted as he does, what would I have to worry about?”
The ministers sat silently. Indeed, who would not want a gain without labor?
The emperor used Meng Xizhao’s example to admonish others before discussing business. The Left Chancellor proposed dispatching officials to Xiongnu to formalize the discounted trade agreements and handle this year’s trade.
Upon hearing this, all officials became alert; this was guaranteed merit. Meng Xizhao had laid the foundation, built the walls—once the beams were set, the achievement would be complete. Those who could participate were eager to claim a share. The once-feared Xiongnu now became a prize opportunity.
Before anyone else could speak, an unexpected voice arose: the Crown Prince, usually silent in court, stood and said, “Father, I wish to go.”
Immediately, the Chongzheng Hall fell silent. Ministers were stunned; even Emperor Tianshou froze in surprise.
Meng Xizhao, unaware of these developments, received donations from the ten households. Seeing the sums, he was astonished; so was Xie Yuan, who leapt from his bed in shock.
Together, the ten had contributed 140,000 taels. One elder alone donated 60,000 taels.
Xie Yuan felt the same mix of awe and disbelief as Meng Xizhao had in earlier days.
Quickly, he had the clerks move the funds into the treasury—after all, having money made everything possible.
Originally, Meng Xizhao had appointed Xie Yuan as chief steward of the prefecture. He handled all minutiae: compiling records of widows and orphans, promptly disbursing salaries owed to clerks, overseeing city gate construction… Every task kept Xie Yuan busy to the point of wishing his leg would heal instantly. To prevent overwork, Meng Xizhao also assigned Clerk Wu to assist—a suitable role for secretarial duties.
Wu, the clerk, had his reservations—after all, a clerk was supposed to serve the Prefect, not the Deputy—but he kept quiet. Upon arrival, he realized that most of the important work was actually in Xie Yuan’s hands. That left him puzzled: if Xie Yuan was handling the critical affairs, what was Prefect Meng occupied with?
At that moment, Meng Xizhao sat in the council hall, listening to his second assistant, Yinliu, report: “My lord, since you forbade me to follow, I’ve been wandering around the prefecture for days. Yet I haven’t seen the person we were looking for. Perhaps he rarely goes out, or his residence is extremely remote, or maybe I’ve been looking in the wrong place.”
Meng Xizhao shook his head. “Those who keep tabs on the populace rarely isolate themselves completely. Most likely, my little ‘performance’ the other day made them cautious; they’ve been holding back.”
Yinliu looked confused. “So what should we do next?”
Meng Xizhao hummed. “Did you get a good look at how many of them there were?”
Yinliu shook her head. “I only saw one, not sure if he has accomplices.”
Muttering to himself, Meng Xizhao said, “One person alone couldn’t possibly pull this off. Even if he could, someone with that ability wouldn’t have been sent to Longxing Prefecture; he’d be kept in Jiangzhou’s inner circle.”
Yinliu leaned closer. “My lord, what did you say?”
Meng Xizhao smiled faintly. “Nothing. You’ve worked hard these past few days. Now rest. Wisteria is in charge of the rear of the prefectural hall—go find her; she can make you something to eat.”
Yinliu pursed her lips, smiling. “Her cooking isn’t great, though.”
Still, she left to find Wisteria.
Shortly after, Meng Xizhao departed as well, heading to the prefectural prison, now overflowing with people arrested for raiding the granary. Some were despondent, others still flaunting their bravado, acting as if eighteen years had passed and they were heroes reborn. Meng Xizhao ignored them and followed the jailer to a small cell.
Inside sat the man who had assaulted Xie Yuan. Crouched on the straw, he looked mournful, clearly aware of his wrongdoing. The fact that he could feel remorse suggested he was not beyond redemption and that perhaps he had been manipulated into his actions.
Meng Xizhao observed silently, then signaled the jailer.
“Sir, what is it?” the jailer whispered cautiously.
Meng Xizhao asked, “Do you know this man?”
The jailer shook his head. “No, sir. I’m from Peach Blossom Village; he’s from Lotus Village. Two mountains separate us.”
Meng Xizhao nodded; not personally acquainted, yet the jailer seemed familiar with him.
“Have you heard of him before?”
The jailer nodded. “Zhao Chengli from Lotus Village. He was a small dock worker. Known for his loyalty, he had many friends. If someone needed help and the issue wasn’t too serious, he would assist. When he was first captured, some tried to reason with him, but no one comes now—they’re all busy farming.”
Meng Xizhao thought to himself: indeed, a man of honor. Someone with a good reputation and local influence is naturally watched closely. Nodding with approval, he left. The jailer, watching him, was left bewildered.
The next day, Meng Xizhao announced that he would hold court to try the man who had assaulted Xie Yuan. Though declared in the morning, the hearing was scheduled for the afternoon—his reason: he was busy. Once the announcement spread, everyone with even a bit of free time rushed to the prefectural hall. Zhao Chengli’s reputation alone drew interest; everyone also wanted to witness the spectacle.
Word reached those who had been stirring trouble. Previously, Meng Xizhao’s performance had dissipated the crowd’s anger. Now, with a public trial, they feared he might be planning more mischief. The ringleader quickly changed and went to observe Meng Xizhao’s actions.
Upon Yinliu’s report that the man was waiting outside the court, Meng Xizhao swiftly moved to the base of a wall and began to scale it.
Yinliu watched in astonishment. When he finally reached the top, she followed gracefully. She pointed: “That one, in blue.”
Meng Xizhao took his time confirming the man’s identity, observing from behind, then leapt down, quickly changing into official robes.
After a cup of tea, the clerks took their positions, and the crowd quieted. Meng Xizhao stepped out, signaling a clerk. The clerk loudly proclaimed: “Bring forth the prisoner Zhao Chengli!”
The next day, Zhao Chengli appeared even more disheveled—unkempt hair, prison garb, shackles—but he immediately knelt without coercion.
Meng Xizhao asked, “Zhao Chengli, do you know the crime you have committed?”
Lowering his head, Zhao Chengli whispered, “I know.”
Meng Xizhao continued, “Assaulting a government official in front of the prefectural granary—do you understand the consequences of such a crime?”
Zhao Chengli trembled and lowered his head further. “S–Sir, I… I do not know.”
Meng Xizhao’s expression darkened suddenly, fury flashing in his eyes. “Ignorant and foolish! You don’t even know that? According to the laws of the Great Qi, you deserve the noose—execution must be carried out immediately!”
The moment he finished speaking, the clerk beside Zhao Chengli seized him. Zhao Chengli froze in terror, and the crowd outside erupted.
“Your Excellency, spare him! He was just confused!”
“Brother Zhao! W–We beg you, Prefect, don’t kill Brother Zhao!”
“Assaulting an official is wrong, but death? That’s too harsh!”
“You don’t understand—new officials always make a big show at first. Today, it’s his turn to set the example.”
“Setting an example by taking a life?! Is there any justice left?”
Listening to the townspeople, the ringleader felt a deep sense of satisfaction. The man he had chosen was perfect—though assaulting a government official normally demanded death, Zhao Chengli’s reputation for integrity and the people’s dislike for government officials naturally aligned public sympathy with him.
Meng Xizhao used this opportunity to let his gaze briefly flick over the blue-clad ringleader. Then, frowning, he struck the judgment gavel. “Silence!”
The crowd immediately fell quiet.
“My words are not finished. Why are you shouting?”
The townspeople looked at him, displeased. “Huh—he was so kind a few days ago; why so fierce today?”
Meng Xizhao ignored them and focused on Zhao Chengli. “Sentencing you to the noose is already merciful. You assaulted newly arrived Deputy Xie in front of the granary. Such conduct is tantamount to rebellion! I could sentence you to death by dismemberment or even annihilate your entire clan—and none of you would dare protest!”
Upon hearing “annihilate your clan,” Zhao Chengli panicked. “Sir, it was my fault alone! My family has nothing to do with this!”
Meng Xizhao’s expression softened. “Very well. Then name your accomplices. If you truly repent, and given that you were likely manipulated, I may spare both your family and your life.”
Once facing certain death, now there was a chance of survival. Zhao Chengli’s entire body trembled with relief, yet he could only manage an earnest reply: “Sir… I have no accomplices.”
The ringleader’s eyes widened in alarm. Meng Xizhao’s gavel struck again, snapping them back in line.
“No accomplices?!”
Meng Xizhao’s voice cut sharp. “No accomplices? Then how did a mere dock laborer know when Deputy Xie would leave and which granary he would go to? Without accomplices manipulating you, why would you choose to assault him? Deputy Xie is just over twenty, newly appointed to Longxing Prefecture—he has no reputation yet. No guidance, no reason—why attack him? Did you simply take a disliking to his appearance and decide to kill him on sight?!”
Zhao Chengli was stunned. He had no answer—and gradually, he began to question himself. Indeed… why had he attacked Deputy Xie, someone who had been there only a few days?