By the end of the second month, the Dancheng case had become a major scandal known throughout Qudu. Pan Lin had been held in the joint tribunal for half a month with no progress. Students in the streets debated it endlessly, placing their hopes on Xue Xiuzhuo, while memorials impeaching Pan Xiangjie grew more numerous by the day.
When the snow stopped, a caravan from Juexi also arrived in Qudu.
Xiao Wu was bundled up like a rice dumpling, yet still nimble. He kicked off from the carriage and jumped down, chatting and laughing with the tax clerk at the checkpoint. Behind him, the curtain lifted, and Ge Qingqing—now sporting a short beard—stepped down.
Ge Qingqing flicked a copper coin with his thumb and caught it smoothly, smiling at the clerk. “We’ve been trading back and forth for a long time. Tonight, I’d like to invite you, sir, to join us on Donglong Street. Last year, my younger brother received your care—I owe you proper thanks.”
The clerk, holding the tax register, knew this man was a merchant from Juexi. Last year, Xiao Wu had transported goods through here and paid a small fortune in silver. Though this was his first time meeting Ge Qingqing, they spoke as if they were old brothers.
The clerk exclaimed and jumped down from the cart, bowing repeatedly with a grin. “I’m just a mud-slogging scribe—how could I deserve to be called ‘sir’ by you, Master Ge? You’re the one deserving of that title!”
Returning to Qudu after a year, Ge Qingqing saw inspections everywhere at the city gates—travel permits and registries for every caravan were being thoroughly checked. Without showing it, he said to the clerk, “In weather this cold, how long do you have to stand here? Looks like there’s still a long line behind.”
The clerk accepted the tobacco Ge Qingqing handed him. Having received plenty of “winter gifts” from him before, he was more than willing to chat. Half complaining, half joking, he said, “Until the gates close! If I had any other skills, who’d want to stand here? You wouldn’t believe it—hundreds of caravans come and go every day. Plenty try to cheat the taxes.”
“That’s disgraceful,” Ge Qingqing replied smoothly. “Aren’t they just making things harder for you?”
“You understand!” the clerk said, meeting his gaze with approval. “Out of everyone I’ve seen collecting taxes here, Master Ge, you’re the most honorable.”
Ge Qingqing patted his shoulder, offering a few more words of comfort.
The clerk asked, “What brings you here in person this time? Must be a big deal.”
Ge Qingqing took a pull from his pipe. Back when he served in the Embroidered Uniform Guard, he hadn’t smoked, but in Juexi it had become unavoidable. He exhaled and said, “Business isn’t easy these days. Inspections are strict everywhere. If we don’t go through Chuancheng, we have to go through Dicheng—the transit taxes on large shipments are too high. I’ve long given up on getting rich.” Then he added with a sigh, “Better to be like you—working under the court. That’s real prestige.”
“You don’t come often enough,” the clerk said, puffing on his pipe. “Some bastards, just because they’ve got money, think they’re above everyone else. They treat us like dirt at the checkpoints.”
His words were only half true. Tax collection was a lucrative post, dealing daily with merchants and backed by the prestige of the imperial capital. Most merchants knew better than to offend them and would offer gifts willingly. Those who worked at the checkpoints usually had powerful backing—but occasionally they encountered families like the Xi clan, whom no one dared provoke.
“You all work hard,” Ge Qingqing said, signaling Xiao Wu to move the goods inside. “Then it’s settled. I’ll host a banquet at Donglong Yanyu Tower tonight. Once you’re off duty, come straight over—we’ll have a proper drink.”
“You’re too generous, Master Ge!” the clerk replied. “Then we’ll gladly accept!”
Ge Qingqing smiled and entered the city with the caravan. Xiao Wu led the horse around and asked, “Brother Qing, why invite them? They’re just greedy little rats!”
“The master said to fish,” Ge Qingqing replied, tossing him the coin. “How do you catch anything without bait?”
The gate taxes were managed directly by the Ministry of Revenue’s Qudu Tax Office. Clerks like these held no real rank and relied entirely on the officials behind them. They skimmed silver, but only in moderation—on shipments like Ge Qingqing’s last year, worth thousands of taels in illicit taxes, no clerk would dare pocket the bulk. They only took small cuts; the larger share went to their “patrons” above.
Ge Qingqing had returned to the capital under Shen Zechuan’s orders—to fish out those patrons.
“Come on,” Ge Qingqing said, looking at the green tiles dusted with fresh snow as he slapped Xiao Wu’s back. “Let’s reclaim our ‘old residence’ first.”
Yao Wenyu’s illness showed no improvement. Several bowls of medicine had done nothing. That day, taking advantage of the Embroidered Uniform Guard’s horse trials, he came outside for some air. Fei Sheng, ever attentive, had already set up screens and placed braziers beneath the canopy to keep him warm.
Shen Zechuan saw Xiao Chiye standing at the front, speaking with Hairigu. Without moving his gaze, he tilted his head slightly and said to Yao Wenyu, “Ge Qingqing has stayed in Juexi too long—he misses home. He’s from Qudu, after all; he still has family here.”
The Prefect’s earlobe was pale and luminous, the agate bead swaying gently against the fur collar, strikingly vivid. He suited red—white furs softened his features too much, making him seem overly approachable. Only red could bring out his sharpness. It was a process of honing; the higher he rose, the more those hidden edges emerged.
“The Qudu Tax Office is staffed mainly by officials from noble families,” Yao Wenyu said. Though frail, he showed no weakness before others, sitting with a blanket over his knees. “If the Prefect wants Ge Qingqing to start there, he could make use of Xi Hongxuan’s former connections.”
“That won’t do.” Shen Zechuan watched as Hairigu mounted his horse, while the guards did the same. Fei Sheng leaned over to speak with Qiao Tianya. “Most of Xi Hongxuan’s old connections are tied to Xue Xiuzhuo. Back in Xiande, Xi Hongxuan only entered the capital because of Xue’s efforts. That network is a mixed bag—we’d have to sift through it carefully.”
“With Pan Lin dismissed, Liang Cuishan is the most promising piece on the board,” Yao Wenyu said. “If Ge Qingqing tries to open a new path under him, it may be too late for the Dancheng case.”
“We can’t interfere in the Dancheng case,” Shen Zechuan said, glancing down as Hu Nu reached for the tassel of his folding fan. “But no matter who wins that struggle, it won’t benefit me. I sent Ge Qingqing back not to stir trouble—but to wait for the victor.”
Yao Wenyu didn’t notice the cat; his gaze followed Qiao Tianya on the training field.
The recruitment standards for Zhongbo’s Embroidered Uniform Guard were modeled after Qiao Tianya. Dressed in tight-fitting gear, he grabbed the unruly Ding Tao mid-run and tossed him to Gu Jin, then hooked Li Xiong’s collar with a whip and sent him the same way.
“After the farming season ends in May,” Yao Wenyu said, “Libei is still at war. The Prefect is preparing in advance.”
Once farming ended, the Grand Secretariat would have more capacity to focus on conflict with Zhongbo and Libei. Shen Zechuan needed to ensure his supply lines remained intact. This year he had to provide provisions for three fronts, yet had lost the Xi family’s copper mines in Juexi. The Liuzhou port he and Yan Heru planned was still in its infancy. If Qudu constrained him further, the battlefield would become dangerously unstable.
“If Xue Yanqing wins,” Yao Wenyu said, looking at him, “where will you find his weakness?”
“I can’t,” Shen Zechuan said, idly flicking the tassel. “Even back in Qudu, I couldn’t find one. There’s nothing he isn’t willing to abandon. He cut off Xi Hongxuan’s treasury from me, yet still wore worn-out official robes and worked in the field. I respect him.”
A white horse streaked across the field, drawing cheers. Xiao Chiye pulled the reins and smiled at Shen Zechuan from afar.
The chill in Shen Zechuan’s eyes softened. He flipped his fan.
“He handled the Quancheng silk case cleanly too—I can’t catch him… but he’s not alone.”
Xue Xiuyi pressed a cloth to his nose and blew loudly. He fancied himself a refined scholar, yet his manners were crude. His official robe was worn sloppily, the hem dark and wrinkled. While Xue Xiuzhuo now stood at the height of power, Xue Xiuyi held only a trivial post. He had squandered his family wealth long ago and now hesitated even over buying a simple bowl of noodles.
The colleague beside him was annoyed but didn’t show it openly. “You’re sick—rest at home for a couple of days. Why push yourself? I’ll find a doctor for you later.”
Xue Xiuyi felt humiliated. As the legitimate son of a noble family, being treated as if he couldn’t afford a doctor stung. He twisted the cloth and said loudly, “I have a physician at home! When has my household ever lacked one? I’ve just been busy lately and forgot. I’ll call him today.”
Everyone knew he was putting on airs—he was so poor he fought daily with his wife and had sold off even the servants. They humored him vaguely and stopped engaging.
By now it was dark, and people were leaving the office compound. Xue Xiuyi sat by the stove, trying to dry his damp boots, when the candle went out. Raised in luxury, he had always feared the dark. Startled, he hurried outside.
Several colleagues stood in the courtyard, smoking and chatting about going out for drinks. As Xue Xiuyi reached the doorway, he overheard them.
“Isn’t it obvious? I’ve long heard the Xue family treats its illegitimate sons harshly—especially this eldest one,” one said quietly. “Back in Yongyi, the old master only allowed Lord Yanqing to study because this eldest son was useless. Master Changzong said he was rotten wood, beyond teaching!”
Xue Xiuyi’s heart sank. He cared deeply about appearances; shrinking behind the door, he endured the shame and kept listening.
“That’s why Xue Yanqing won’t promote him now,” another said. “Just lets him idle in the office. His salary’s worse than a beggar’s. If his family held a title like the Fei clan, maybe it’d be different—but they don’t.”
“I’ve seen who Xue Yanqing recommends—mostly scholars from the Hanlin Academy, jinshi from recent examinations. Talented men. How could this one be promoted? He doesn’t know a thing. Last time he was told to copy old case files, he got eight characters wrong on a single page.”
They laughed quietly together.
Xue Xiuyi’s hands trembled. Clutching his damp robe, he wanted to rush out and curse these despicable men—but he was no longer who he once was. Without the Xue family’s former prestige, living off this meager salary, he no longer dared speak recklessly as he once had when humiliating Pan Lin.
What is Xue Yanqing, anyway?
Xue Xiuyi stretched his neck forward and spat lightly.
A contemptible bastard son.