Once he had recovered from this flurry of emotions, Xie Yuan returned to his usual composure, proactively pouring wine for Meng Xizhao. There was no resentment, no suggestion of anger over bringing up sensitive topics.
Meng Xizhao picked up a cup filled to eight-tenths, but before it touched his lips, he set it down again.
“I was too forward just now, saying things I shouldn’t have. How about this: ten days from now, on my day off, I’ll host a meal at Bu Xiantian for you, as an apology.”
Xie Yuan: “……”
The meal isn’t even finished yet, and he’s already planning the next one?
Xie Yuan instinctively wanted to refuse: “No need for such trouble; I don’t mind—”
Meng Xizhao nodded firmly: “Then it’s settled.”
Xie Yuan: “…………”
＊
When he returned home, Meng Xizhao told Meng Jiaojiao about the matter. She listened, blushing and smiling shyly. “You really didn’t have to do this, Second Brother. Mother—she would have…”
Meng Xizhao interjected, “There’s not a single capable woman in the Xie household. Even your mother couldn’t handle this. You can’t have father step in—he has no ties with the Xies. If he raised the matter, anyone could see it was wrong. In any case, don’t worry about it. Ten days from now, you’ll stay at Bu Xiantian. Just peek quietly. There’s no denying that Xie Yuan is good-looking. Now that your mind is set on marrying him, seeing him won’t change your feelings.”
Perhaps it would even make them stronger.
Meng Jiaojiao’s face turned red. “It’s not that exaggerated. I’m not the type to only care about appearances.”
Meng Xizhao: “……”
The same girl who had been completely captivated by Prince Linjiang before.
Shaking his head, Meng Xizhao didn’t want to expose her. Having received her reply, he left.
……
After his sister’s little scheme, Meng Xizhao’s mind was filled with both regret and worry for several days, unable to focus.
Those in the government office, seeing him so distracted, assumed it was the usual trouble with the Three Offices, and each tensed, fearing they would become targets for the Yamen chief’s temper.
After all, this Magistrate Meng could even scold the Three Offices directly. If he decided to report to the palace, he did so without hesitation. Ordinary officials didn’t dare defy him.
So it was better to stay on the safe side. Even the previous scribe had suffered sixty blows, barely survived, and yet Meng Xizhao didn’t truly intend to kill him. He had stopped the guards, called a doctor to tend the injuries, and then relieved him of duty, leaving him to fend for himself at home.
But as the Magistrate of the prefecture, he could not go without any secretaries, so Meng Xizhao promoted two from the office and also called Jia Renliang over.
From a clerk to a secretary of the Yingtian Prefecture office, Jia Renliang was positively brimming with pride. Within less than a month, he had moved out of his rented room, settled himself in a small courtyard in the outer city, furnished it with all the necessities, and—nearing thirty—still had no woman at home. Soon, matchmakers began seeking him out, eager to introduce brides.
Jia Renliang’s life seemed finally on track. But the other man, his second uncle Wang Sili—Lord Wang—had fallen completely silent.
……
Wang Sili had assumed he too would be placed in the Yingtian Prefecture office, or at the very least receive some minor post. After all, he had shared battlefield camaraderie with Meng Xizhao—they were no longer mortal enemies.
Yet, who could have foreseen that Jia Renliang would become secretary for half a month, and Meng Xizhao wouldn’t even mention him once? Uneasy, Wang Sili feared Meng Xizhao still held a grudge for past matters. He gathered some silver, prepared gifts, and even planned to visit Meng Xizhao in person.
But he never saw Meng Xizhao himself. Instead, it was his servant who came out to speak for him: stay home and be at ease; when Meng Xizhao needed him, he would come for him.
Still suspicious, Wang Sili had no choice but to return home. The longer he waited, the more anxious he became; the longer he waited, the thinner his hair grew.
……
What he did not realize was that he wasn’t the only one anxious—Meng Xizhao was too.
Time was indeed running short. Ever since Emperor Tianshou had stripped Qiu Suming of his Grand Minister position, Qiu Suming seemed to have realized that he and Meng Jiuyu were at a stalemate: neither could defeat the other, and continued conflict could only lead to mutual ruin.
At first, Qiu Suming had acted out of anger, carrying out a series of retaliations. Now, however, he had cooled down and recognized that it was not worth it.
Additionally, Shandong required his attention. Several letters arrived from Jizhou Prefecture asking when he would return. Meng Xizhao estimated that in just a few days, once Emperor Tianshou’s temper had cooled, he would go to the palace to apply for another departure from the capital.
If he slipped away… the next steps would become extremely difficult.
Meng Xizhao even began contemplating whether to take the risk and handle it personally. At that very moment, his savior, his morning star, Jin Zhu, finally returned.
Hearing that Jin Zhu had come back, Meng Xizhao leapt from his bed like a hawk and rushed outside to meet her. Jin Zhu was travel-worn and sun-darkened from the journey, less delicate than before, yet somehow looking even more vibrant.
As soon as she entered the courtyard and saw Meng Xizhao, she smiled and gave the formal greeting: “My lord, your servant has returned.”
Meng Xizhao took two hurried steps and stopped abruptly in front of her. “You’re back, you’re back! How is it? Did you find them?”
Jin Zhu smiled faintly and nodded. “Yes. Once we announced we were going to the capital to file complaints, they didn’t even pack—they were ready to leave with me immediately.”
This was different from Meng Xizhao’s initial expectation. He had assumed that the officials had treated these people so harshly that they would never trust the government again, which was why he had prepared a large sum of silver for Jin Zhu to win them back.
Meng Xizhao paused, puzzled. “Then why did you return so late?”
He had thought that Jin Zhu had been persuading them all these days.
Jin Zhu sighed. “After what happened back then, only the old, weak, and sick remained in the village. They decided to petition the government, but several households disappeared entirely. The remaining villagers, fearful of revenge from the Qiu family, retreated into the mountains, determined never to return. I hired some local porters and entered the mountains to find them, searching for over ten days before encountering a hunter who had ventured out.”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
No war had occurred, yet they had been driven into the mountains—preferring the life of wild people over that of subjects.
Meng Xizhao was silent for a moment, then asked, “After all that, would they even trust you?”
Jin Zhu paused, then replied, “My lord, you’ll see when you meet them yourself.”
……
When Meng Xizhao followed Jin Zhu out of the city and saw the dozen or so men, women, and children she had arranged to stay in an inn in the outer city, he immediately understood her meaning.
The older ones were in their forties or fifties; the youngest were no older than fifteen. Most of the adults were women, all weathered and hardened.
Yet, regardless of age or gender, they shared certain characteristics: skin stretched over bones, hair dry and yellowed, eyes unusually prominent yet clouded. The elderly were stooped, their skin like crumpled paper; the children were timid, sticking close to adults, nervously licking their lips. Some already had white hair.
In short, they no longer looked fully human.
Was life really so good in the mountains? Anyone with a chance at survival outside would not retreat there. The Peach Blossom Spring exists only in imagination. In reality, life in the mountains reduced people to this state: scarce resources, no salt, barely enough food, clothes that barely covered them. Every day was like living as wild people.
Worse, there were no strong adults. Whether farming or hunting, the yield could not sustain such numbers.
Yet, when they saw Jin Zhu—clad in fine silks, employing many porters, offering food and clothing, promising to petition the government—they followed without hesitation.
For staying behind meant death.
For over a decade, it seemed Heaven itself had cursed them: every decision they made went wrong. Petitioning the government had cost several families their lives; hiding in the mountains had left the rest in this pitiful state.
They were farmers stealing from heaven itself, unversed in high principles, unable to blame anyone, only confused—profoundly confused—why surviving was so unbearably difficult.
The reason Jin Zhu had placed them in the outer city, in such a decrepit inn, was practical: their appearances were so shocking that anyone seeing them might mistake them for vagrants.
According to Jin Zhu, when she found this group, only thirty or forty people remained from the original village. Those who didn’t come either physically could not travel, feared for their lives, or stayed behind to guard the homes—mountain life was perilous, with wild animals lurking, someone had to remain behind.
Years in the mountains had taken their toll. The terrain around Zhen Ding Prefecture was northern, barren compared to the south or northeast. Though there were mulberry and flax trees, they were scarce. Clothes wore out easily; when Jin Zhu first saw them, nearly everyone’s garments were tattered, some children running around bare-bottomed.
Now, Jin Zhu had bought them new clothing, one set per person. Yet the garments were too new; even ordinary ready-made clothes looked awkward on them, as if they didn’t belong. They sensed this themselves, standing stiffly, hands carefully away from their own bodies.
It was impossible to imagine: these were subjects of the Great Qi, while in Yingtian Prefecture, nightly revelries continued, and these people suffered in the mountains, unclothed and starving.
Meng Xizhao fell into complete silence. He didn’t know what to say. Staring at a dark-faced child, his own expression slowly shifted toward the same somberness.
At that moment, an elderly man stepped forward, more composed than the others: “My lord, your humble servant greets you.”
Meng Xizhao looked at him, hearing him speak in refined language. “You can speak the refined tongue?”
The man bowed slightly. “Yes, my lord. I went to the prefectural city and passed the civil examination as a xiucai, so I can speak a few words in refined language.”
No wonder.
Ordinary farmers wouldn’t think to petition the authorities—they lacked the will, and even if willing, how would they know where to go? The people who had previously entered Yingtian Prefecture, heading straight to the Dengweng Drum Bureau, must have had guidance.
Moreover, only those with foresight and courage could evade disaster by decisively retreating into the mountains. Without depth of mind, no one could make such a choice. This time, their willingness to follow Jin Zhu immediately likely owed to the old xiucai’s influence.
……
Time was short, and sympathy was not what these people needed most. They had endured in their tattered bodies just to reach Yingtian Prefecture—they hadn’t come seeking Meng Xizhao’s pity.
Meng Xizhao arranged for the others to stay and rest while taking the old xiucai aside for a private discussion. His action immediately made the remaining men, women, and children anxious. In the past, those who left never returned; the old xiucai was their anchor, their leader. Without him, the morale of those remaining would collapse. The old man hesitated, but Meng Xizhao, resolute, still brought him along.
He needed to understand the events of the past, to learn some details, some of which he did not wish to ask in front of children.
An hour later, the old xiucai was returned. Meng Xizhao made no promises, only instructing the innkeeper to fetch paper and brushes so the old xiucai could copy the petition from back then. Each person pressed their handprint onto it.
The old xiucai remembered every character perfectly, trembling as he wrote. The others pressed their hands onto the paper in turn. Meng Xizhao carefully collected it, then left the inn.
On the carriage back, he leaned against the rear, lost in thought.
Jin Zhu glanced at him. “My lord, won’t you let them submit the petition?”
After all, Meng Xizhao had asked her to bring these people precisely so they could go to the Dengweng Drum Bureau and present themselves before Emperor Tianshou.
Meng Xizhao shook his head. “They cannot go.”
Jin Zhu frowned. “Why not?”
After a pause, he said, “Because of their appearances—they are too terrible.”
Jin Zhu froze. Realizing his meaning, a sense of absurdity welled up in her: these people, reduced to barely resembling humans, would not inspire sympathy in the emperor. His first reaction would not be pity, but revulsion at their disfigured appearances. No matter what they said, the emperor would not take them seriously; he might even dismiss them outright.
Anger and helplessness surged in Jin Zhu. But he was the emperor—the emperor…
After a moment, she calmly asked, “Then what will we do? Will you deliver the petition yourself?”
Meng Xizhao: “I cannot. If I go, Qiu Suming will claim I acted in revenge, fabricating this story. If I act first, few in court will respond. During your absence, the Meng and Qiu families have already become sworn enemies. Others won’t get involved, so someone else must submit it—preferably a high-ranking official. Only then can a domino effect occur.”
Jin Zhu could not comprehend who he meant. Then Meng Xizhao added, “Once we return, have Wang Yizheng come see me.”
“Wang Yizheng?”
Meng Xizhao: “Formerly Wang Sili, the one who opposed me before.”
Jin Zhu: “……”
Wang Sili—no, now Wang Yizheng, for his previous post had already been replaced.
Upon hearing that Meng Xizhao wished to see him, Wang Yizheng had nearly rushed to the Secretariat in tears of excitement. Along the way, he wondered whether he might run into Meng’s attendants—well, never mind the attendants, he hadn’t even seen a maid or a housekeeper.
Finally standing before Meng Xizhao, Wang Yizheng bowed deeply, voice quivering with emotion: “Prefect, you’ve finally remembered me!”
Meng Xizhao: “……”
“The Prefect has always been mindful of you,” Wang continued, “but I feared you might still hold thoughts for someone else. So, I wanted to give you a choice: whether to join me, or return to your former master.”
The words hit Wang like a thunderclap.
He stared blankly at Meng Xizhao, who was sipping tea at a leisurely pace, clearly not joking. Wang almost burst into tears. “Lord Meng, what former master?”
Meng Xizhao let out a soft laugh. “No former master? No former master? On the very first day I arrived, you dared oppose me? No former master, yet as a mere steward you had the audacity to disregard Xie Yuan? If no one was backing you, you’d have to be incredibly foolish to think your position allowed you to trample both me and Xie Yuan. So either you were foolish, or you had a former master—pick one.”
Wang Yizheng: “…………”
He now had a clearer sense of Meng Xizhao’s character. Meng never did things without benefit, nor did he waste time on meaningless matters. If he truly intended to punish Wang, he wouldn’t have summoned him personally—he’d simply handle it through subordinates. Now, calling him here and suddenly reviewing the past suggested some other purpose.
Thinking this through, Wang finally realized and wiped his face, speaking honestly:
“My lord, since you see through everything, I will not hide the truth. I… truly have no former master. Back when I served in the Ministry of Personnel, Assistant Minister Zong selected me to go to Longxing Prefecture. He promised me certain benefits and said that if I performed well, I could eventually be promoted back to Yingtian Prefecture. He wanted me to watch over you and report any illegal acts. But I never did, because I knew he was deceiving me. I had no connections, no wealth—there was no reason for him to go to such lengths on my behalf. Moreover, as a steward for ten years, by the time the decade passed, he might be gone; how could he remember me?”
Lowering his voice, Wang added, “As for opposing you… I was blinded by ambition. I thought, since I could not return, I should work at Longxing Prefecture and gain status. Later I realized I was not suited for it, and I refocused. My lord, I speak the truth—Assistant Minister Zong was never my former master!”
Meng Xizhao glanced at him and believed him. After all, he had stayed home quietly since returning. Assistant Minister Zong hadn’t sought him out—either forgetting him or unaware he had come back. No one paid attention to a lowly steward; all eyes were on the captured Meng Xizhao, or occasionally Xie Yuan.
Meng Xizhao frowned slightly: “Why would Assistant Minister Zong specifically send you to watch me if we had no prior dealings?”
Wang Yizheng lowered his voice: “My lord, you forgot—Assistant Minister Zong and Scholar Lin are brothers-in-law.”
Lin Scholar?
Lin Qin?
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
It seemed everyone in court was somehow related. Meng had long forgotten Lin Qin, who had since been targeted by Emperor Tianshou twice and had claimed illness for over half a year. Soon he might retire on the pretense of illness.
Meng Xizhao was speechless, unsure whether it was Zong’s idea or Lin Qin’s.
In truth, Zong’s action was rather gentlemanly: he hadn’t plotted to harm Meng; he merely intended that if Meng ever erred, he could report it happily to Emperor Tianshou.
Shrugging, Meng Xizhao set the tea aside. His earlier irritation melted into satisfaction. “Well, from what I know, Assistant Minister Zong is a senior official of three reigns, quite experienced. I heard he studied at Qingshan Academy?”
Three-reign seniority was common; many older officials had served three or four reigns—after all, the Cui emperors died young.
Wang Yizheng hesitated, unsure how Meng could laugh at such a situation, but he answered: “Yes, Qingshan Academy is well-known. I also studied there for a year.”
That brief connection was enough for Zong to notice him and send him to Longxing Prefecture as a spy.
Meng Xizhao perked up: “Grand Secretary Yan also studied at Qingshan Academy, right?”
Wang Yizheng nodded; everyone knew that. The academy still used Grand Secretary Yan for promotion.
Meng Xizhao nodded as well, whispering: “It all connects. No wonder Scholar Lin once aligned with Grand Secretary Yan—likely following his brother-in-law’s path.”
He chuckled softly and turned to Wang Yizheng. “Enough chatter. I’ll ask directly: do you truly wish to serve me, Meng Xizhao, as a loyal confidant? If you do, I will have my father appoint you as magistrate of a prosperous county. Serve there for three years, return to report, and I will place you at my side.”
Wang Yizheng froze.
A magistrate was a seventh-rank official—slightly above a steward, but now with real rank, a name presented before the emperor. He was finally on the proper path in the bureaucracy.
Overcome with emotion, Wang Yizheng exclaimed: “My lord, I will!”
Meng Xizhao saw his trembling excitement and smiled in satisfaction.
Actually, Meng Xizhao had planned to set Wang Yizheng up this way from the start. Even if Wang didn’t pledge loyalty, he would still receive such an appointment—but there was no need to tell him that.
Once the carrot was dangled, Meng Xizhao made his request: “Words alone are unreliable. After all, you were sent to me by someone else; I cannot fully trust you. So I need you to offer a token of your loyalty.”
Wang Yizheng: “……”
Those who had offended Meng Xizhao had no privileges at all. Look at Jia Renliang—Meng had never demanded a token from him.
Biting back his frustration, Wang carefully asked, “My lord, what would you have me do?”
Meng Xizhao smiled faintly, beckoning him closer.
Wang Yizheng, nervous, stepped forward and heard Meng say: “I want you to return to Assistant Minister Zong and show him your loyalty. Give gifts, offer money—whatever it takes to gain his consent to bring you to Grand Secretary Yan.”
Wang Yizheng: “…………”
Could it be that he was being asked to act as a double agent?
The task seemed daunting.
Stammering, he asked, “A-and then?”
Meng Xizhao: “Then, when you meet Grand Secretary Yan, talk to him, have some tea.”
Wang Yizheng: “…And after that?”
Meng Xizhao smiled but did not answer immediately.
Meanwhile, Qiu Suming’s life had not been going well.
His steward had been arrested, leaving the second steward in charge of household affairs. Years of reliance vanished, and everything felt off. But Qiu no longer wished to linger in Yingtian Prefecture, spending money without earning it. The restlessness gnawed at him.
He thought, if the first steward were ever exiled, perhaps he could bribe someone along the way to rescue him. At this moment, Qiu Suming nostalgically recalled when his father-in-law had served as prefect—life then was far simpler.
There had been no unusual palace activity recently. Qiu stayed longer mainly to observe whether Su Ruocun might act recklessly if she suddenly gained influence. But likely he worried in vain—now that she was a concubine, she hadn’t mentioned him. Palace eunuchs reported that Su had no desire for revenge, feeling her father was truly guilty, and even rejected the emperor’s initial pardon out of conscience.
Qiu Suming sneered inwardly. This was the daughter of a scholar, filled with foolish loyalty—her death, in that sense, was hardly unjust.
With no lingering worries, he began preparations to depart, having his household pack up—a process taking at least two or three days given their number. He planned to petition Emperor Tianshou personally.
While pondering what gifts to present the emperor, a young servant rushed in, flustered:
“Master! Someone has struck the Dengwen Drum, claiming to have gathered evidence of your crimes to petition on behalf of the people!”
Qiu Suming: “…???”
What?!
Striking the Dengwen Drum was common. Almost every few days, someone would strike it—sometimes for serious grievances, sometimes for trivial matters. In any case, the drum drew curious onlookers, eager to see who would petition next.
Wang Yizheng had never experienced such attention. Part of him felt awkward, another part exhilarated: See me! I’m petitioning for the people—I am your just magistrate!
Tracing his ancestry, he thought: By my ancestors, Wang Yizheng has finally made it!
Striking the drum did not guarantee an audience with the emperor. The drum court had officials who first examined the case, forwarding most to other departments—Dali Temple, Ministry of Justice, or Yingtian Prefecture. Ninety-nine percent were redirected, leaving only the rarest cases for the emperor.
When the court official saw the petitioner was dressed like any ordinary person, he found it odd. Hearing Wang declare he wished to sue the Three Commissioners of the current reign, the official nearly tripped backward.
Sue… whom?!
Normally, such cases were blocked mid-process. How had one slipped through to the drum court?
The official could neither offend the Commissioners nor Grand Tutor Gan, yet he couldn’t simply let Wang go. He invited Wang in and dispatched subordinates to consult Gan on the proper procedure.
Meanwhile, he tried to seize the petition from Wang, but Wang refused, insisting he would only hand it over to the emperor.
The official stared at him like a fool. As a former official himself, how could he be so oblivious? Wang’s petition reaching the drum court alone was already impressive.
Soon, Gan’s subordinate arrived urgently to escort Wang. Wang explained he was once a steward of a county, intolerant of the suffering of commoners, revealing nothing more—including his name. The official, seeing Wang about to be taken away, was startled when Wang shouted in anger:
“Who dares touch me?! I am a disciple of Grand Secretary Yan!”
The official: “…………”
Damn it.
What day is this?!
If only he’d said so earlier—he wouldn’t have needed to consult Grand Tutor Gan. Gan, he could not offend; and neither could Grand Secretary Yan!
Disaster, disaster—when gods clash, mortals suffer. Today’s chaos was not the result of some foolish official suddenly petitioning for the people, but the collision between the Three Commissioners and Grand Secretary Yan.
What could he do?!
……
Half an hour later.
Yan Shunying was leisurely sipping tea at home, enjoying a rare top-grade Maojian gifted by an old friend—its taste was truly exceptional.
He had just taken a second sip when someone came to report:
“Master! Trouble! A person claiming to be your disciple has filed a petition against the Three Commissioners and has been captured by agents of Grand Tutor Gan!”
“Pfft—”
Tea sprayed from his mouth. Yan Shunying stared at the messenger in disbelief. “What?!”