The stark contrast in Zhao Chengli’s behavior stemmed from his state of mind at the time. After the city fell, he lost his job, yet he had managed to save some wealth, carefully hidden, and so survived without ever truly going hungry.
His friends and brothers, however, were not so fortunate. In the half-year since the fall, some had died, some had been wounded, and because everyone lived under the shadow of Nanzhao’s fear, they had no energy to dwell on resentment—they were focused on survival.
That fragile balance was shattered when Ding Chun’s forces entered the city. Nanzhao forces were gone, and Hongzhou returned to the Great Qi’s territory. There was no longer the fear of being dragged off as laborers. This should have been cause for celebration, yet barely a few days passed before they realized their circumstances had not improved at all.
Ding Chun’s army continued onward. The remaining officials and soldiers hurried about, leaving the prefectural hall empty, bloodstains at the gates unwashed. Anyone emerging appeared busy and ignored the growing number of refugees.
The people of Longxing Prefecture felt abandoned. The city was important, but they were not. Their lives and deaths mattered to no official.
Initially, everyone had stored some surplus grain. But as supplies dwindled, one person suffered first, then ten, then a hundred, then a thousand…
Zhao Chengli, meanwhile, drew attention. His natural disposition—rushing to aid others—made him act. With no more fear of Nanzhao, he returned to work at the dock while also trying to help those in need.
Yet one man alone could not help so many, especially as the numbers increased day by day. Zhao Chengli’s heart churned like boiling water.
When pressed, a person’s temperament became most impatient. If someone nearby suggested that the suffering of the people was due to official inaction, that the authorities hoarded grain to starve people for convenience, it only fueled his anger further.
The previous vice-prefect, do you remember? When Nanzhao invaded, he hid in his cellar for half a year while outside people suffered, living comfortably and untouched.
Now, a new Prefect was appointed—Meng Jiuyu’s son, the child of the first notorious minister. What good could come of that? He sent a Deputy in his stead, reluctant to take office himself. With such an attitude, who could expect him to release grain? By the time the Prefect arrived, the people feared they would be left without even the slightest chance to survive.
“I’ve also heard that the new Deputy is just the Prefect’s lackey,” someone whispered to Zhao Chengli. “Most likely, he was sent ahead by Meng Xizhao to scout how many people and how much land we have. Once the Prefect arrives, taxes will rise immediately, and all able-bodied men will be drafted into labor. Oh, and there’s something you probably don’t know—those devices that burned and blew up the farmland outside the city? That so-called ‘fire/weapon’ was supposedly developed under Meng Xizhao’s orders.”
Hearing this, Zhao Chengli’s blood boiled. He turned it over in his mind for days, growing angrier by the hour. Then, a fellow worker mentioned that the Deputy had gone to inspect the granary. “Could it be he’s going to open it and give us food?”
The same person who had been planting ideas in Zhao Chengli’s mind shook his head. “Impossible. If he were going to release grain, it would’ve happened the day he arrived. Most likely, he’s just checking how much is left—to see if it’s enough for themselves.”
Fueled by relentless urging from others, Zhao Chengli strode straight to Xie Yuan. When Xie Yuan simply told him to wait, Zhao Chengli immediately assumed that Xie Yuan had no intention of distributing the grain.
The townspeople were right—his reaction had been impulsive.
Once imprisoned, Zhao Chengli quickly regretted his actions. He couldn’t understand why he had been so blind, striking the newly arrived Deputy. In the cell, he reflected daily on his mistakes, but only on his own behavior—he never realized that he had been deliberately provoked, word by word, by others.
…
The rebel forces in Jiangzhou were a bit like a pyramid scheme.
They were a disorganized lot, with little real skill or connection to one another. Yet a particularly cunning leader kept recruiting followers, teaching them the subtle power of words. Just a few phrases could achieve the desired effect effortlessly.
The few who came to Longxing Prefecture were trusted lieutenants of that leader, the most experienced in manipulation. Their original plan: start fires throughout the city, whether effective or not. Spread chaos widely, and sooner or later, a few unsuspecting fools would fall for it.
As the city descended into disorder, they could quietly step back. The official-citizen conflict would have reached a boiling point, inevitably causing serious trouble. That was when they would consolidate their forces.
Amid the chaos, they would gather those willing to follow, train them near the Jiangzhou–Longxing border, and wait for their leader’s signal to coordinate an assault on Jiangzhou.
The refugees were already desperate. No special inducements were needed—just a promise of food, and they would eagerly follow and fight for survival.
Unfortunately, there were few places like Longxing Prefecture, or their influence could have grown faster.
As for how they would feed so many refugees… that didn’t matter. Once the people followed them, a few deaths would serve as warnings, and no one would dare protest.
The plan was simple and crude—but in this era and this place, it worked.
Without Meng Xizhao’s intervention, Jiangzhou would have fallen. Even a ragtag force with no proper soldiers could, fueled by the refugees’ desperation, push on to Tanzhou, Yuezhou, and even Ezhou.
A disorganized mob, lacking strategy, living for pleasure, resorting to violence at every slight, could never seize high office. Even without Zhan Buxiu’s simultaneous rebellion, they could survive at most two or three years before being crushed by imperial forces.
But those two or three years would be disastrous.
In the historical records, Ezhou’s magistrate Xie Yuan was publicly executed by the rebel army, drawing righteous fury from Zhan Buxiu and his men. Yet the countless ordinary people slain during the city’s fall received no mention.
Meng Xizhao didn’t want to wait for the rebel leader to act before dealing with him. While intervening later could have earned him credit, he refused to let the people of Jiangzhou continue to suffer for months.
He didn’t know exactly how many informants Longxing Prefecture had, but likely not many. Just a few had already overfilled the local jail. So imagine Jiangzhou…
He didn’t know the Jiangzhou Prefect personally. But historically, Jiangzhou had long been a dumping ground for demoted officials. The Prefect reportedly excelled in poetry, producing new works almost every month, all reflecting his sense of underappreciated talent.
…
Naturally, such a man would be self-absorbed. Even if Jiangzhou descended into chaos, he would never suspect deliberate agitation, thinking it simply the way Jiangzhou always was.
By openly trying Zhao Chengli, Meng Xizhao intended to flush out the “rats” in Longxing Prefecture and, following the trail, capture the pyramid scheme leader as well.
At this moment, Zhao Chengli realized he might have been used as a pawn. Sweat poured from his brow as he tried to recall who had whispered slanders against Xie Yuan and Meng Xizhao. Yet he hesitated.
After all, he was a man of honor—a hero. How could a hero betray his friends?
Seeing his hesitation, Meng Xizhao’s frustration flared. “Zhao Chengli, do you not yet realize how dangerous this situation is?”
Zhao Chengli stared at him, stunned. “Huh?”
“Dangerous? Even if they intended to trap me, that would only affect me, right?” Zhao Chengli said, still not fully grasping the gravity of the situation.
Meng Xizhao’s voice was calm but firm, carrying the weight of reason as well as warning: “Inciting conflict between officials and citizens—on the small scale, it’s a plot to get you killed. On a larger scale, it’s deliberate provocation, meant to lure the authorities into suppressing the people, branding all of you as rebellious troublemakers!”
His words weren’t just for Zhao Chengli—they were also aimed at the citizens outside the hall. “Do you know who Deputy Xie really is? He is the late Empress Xie’s nephew. Should news of this reach Yingtian Prefecture and, eventually, the Emperor’s ears, His Majesty will be furious. Don’t think only of your own life—this could doom the entire Longxing Prefecture. When the Emperor sends troops to quell the unrest, the city may again be bathed in blood!”
Zhao Chengli froze.
For someone like him, whose ancestors had lived in Longxing Prefecture for generations, the largest authority he had ever confronted had first been Xie Yuan, and now it was Meng Xizhao himself.
While the movements of Yingtian Prefecture were known nationwide, details of the Emperor’s court and the inner workings of the harem were matters of speculation. People assumed the late Empress was still highly respected and that her nephew would inherit power in the future.
Zhao Chengli had thought he had attacked a mere bureaucrat.
Now, he realized the official he struck was imperial kin—a nephew to the current Emperor and future cousin of the throne.
No wonder Meng Xizhao had mentioned that even “exterminating three generations” would not be too severe. Indeed, striking a member of the imperial family meant that no matter how clever one was, ten heads would not suffice to settle the matter.
If this were only about him, Zhao Chengli might have refused to betray anyone. But now it involved not just himself—his family, neighbors, and even distant villagers could suffer for his single moment of folly.
The townspeople outside were equally shocked. They had not known Deputy Xie’s background and worried that the Emperor might punish Longxing Prefecture for the injury. They began clamoring: “Brother Zhao, tell us who it is!”
“Yes, yes, tell us! If you do, Lord Meng will spare your life!”
“Speak up—don’t hold back!”
The ringleader hidden among the crowd grew tense.
He had not personally spoken to Zhao Chengli—only one of his men had—but if Zhao Chengli confessed, it would reveal their plot, rendering future plans impossible. The leader’s violent temper made him unpredictable: if work went well, he praised; if not, he beat, and sometimes he killed.
Cold sweat ran down the ringleader’s back. He realized he couldn’t stay here any longer and turned to leave, planning to reconsider the Jiangzhou operation—or perhaps never return there at all.
Suddenly, two solid men formed a wall behind him.
Startled, he looked at them; their faces were fierce, their eyes hostile. “What are you staring at? Turn around!”
The ringleader, used to bullying the weak and fearing the strong, obeyed instantly and faced the hall again.
…
Nearby, Yinliu smiled slightly at the ringleader’s stiff posture.
By now, Zhao Chengli, terrified, had named three people he had often spoken with about the government. Meng Xizhao did not immediately have the guards seize them. Instead, he interrogated Zhao carefully, asking which of the three had spoken the most and how long he had known each.
The first was a coworker of nearly ten years. The second, a local youth from his village whom he had known since childhood. The third was another coworker, but a newcomer to the dock, from a village in eastern Longxing Prefecture, whose family had been too poor to eat. All others were from the western side of town, unfamiliar to him.
The citizens outside worried as they watched Meng Xizhao furrow his brow. They feared that the first two, being locals with many connections, would also be taken.
Meng Xizhao paused, then shook his head. “Given Longxing Prefecture’s past, I understand citizens venting anger with a few harsh words. I believe the local people are not that foolish. But that one person you don’t know—are you sure he’s even from Longxing Prefecture?”
Zhao Chengli stiffened, then his face twitched in realization. “N…No! My lord, I remember now—his speech isn’t the Longxing accent. Occasionally, he slips a phrase in a foreign dialect!”
Anger flared in Zhao Chengli. He had doubted Meng Xizhao at first, thinking this man had only been manipulating him because of his own frustration with the authorities. But now, realizing the man was not even from Longxing Prefecture, Zhao understood there was no personal grievance—he had been used to provoke him into risking his life.
As a victim, Zhao Chengli felt righteous anger. The citizens, hearing Meng Xizhao’s explanation, were moved.
Truly a good magistrate! Protecting the people, shielding the innocent—it was admirable!
…
Memories resurface when people reflect. Daily life often ignores small details, but when something seems off, countless details emerge, revealing the cracks that had always existed.
Zhao Chengli, abandoning his prior despair, transferred his hatred entirely onto this outsider. Meng Xizhao observed him and said: “He falsified his origin to blend in. The names he gave you may also be false. While identifying him by name may be difficult, identify him by face—he cannot escape.”
Meng Xizhao waved his hand, signaling the court attendants to fetch some charcoal: “You speak, and I will draw. Such a villain cannot be allowed to roam freely in the city. Once we catch him, I can rest assured.”
The townspeople were overjoyed, feeling Meng Xizhao’s concern for their safety. At the same time, they craned their necks, curious to see what kind of portrait he would produce.
Previously, when authorities issued wanted posters, they were already pre-drawn and simply posted. No one had witnessed the creation process in person.
Everyone gathered around in curiosity. Zhao Chengli, consumed by hatred, could recall the man’s features vividly without closing his eyes.
“Small eyes, wide nose bridge, very dark eyebrows, a full beard, thick lips…” Zhao Chengli described, while Meng Xizhao quickly sketched. The townspeople remained silent, not wanting to disturb the magistrate at work. The ringleader stood solemnly among the crowd.
It was too late to turn back now. Fortunately, the subordinate he had sent to interact with Zhao Chengli did not know much, so after the court session, while the guards arrested his men, he could slip away from Longxing Prefecture.
Meng Xizhao’s brush moved swiftly. As Zhao Chengli finished his description, the portrait was complete.
Studying the finished work, Meng Xizhao nodded and handed it to an attendant: “Let Zhao Chengli see if it resembles the man.”
The attendant hesitated briefly at the incredibly lifelike sketch, then descended to show Zhao. Meng Xizhao added: “Also show it to the townspeople outside. Let them remember this person and be cautious.”
The attendant complied, presenting the drawing to Zhao Chengli.
Zhao Chengli was initially struck by its realism. Then, a strange expression crossed his face. The magistrate’s skill was remarkable—the likeness almost real—but… it looked nothing like the man he had described!
Because Zhao Chengli was kneeling while the attendant held up the paper, the front row of townspeople had a clear view of the sketch.
When Zhao had described the man earlier, no one had paid much attention; they had been waiting to see the drawing. Now that they did, the question of likeness gave way to exclamations:
“So realistic!”
“Master Magistrate’s artistry is truly impressive!”
“And he drew it so quickly!”
“Wait… I feel like I’ve seen this person before…”
Among the praise, one voice stood out. Everyone turned: “You’ve seen him before?”
The man scratched his head: “Yes, I believe not long ago.”
Suddenly, others chimed in: “Yes, he does look familiar.”
Several people confirmed the familiarity. Then one man, astonished, twisted to look at the ringleader behind him.
One glance at the leader, then at the sketch… it was identical.
Accustomed to staying low, the ringleader hadn’t been at the front. At first, he didn’t realize, but as people shook their heads and repeated their recognition, his expression grew increasingly alarmed. A bad premonition settled over him.
Even the attendant, holding the sketch, approached with suspicion. Finally, the ringleader saw—it was himself on the paper.
He instinctively tried to run, but the crowd had encircled him. Some screamed, some blocked his escape, pointing toward the attendant: “There! That’s him!”
The ringleader froze.
Zhao Chengli, hearing the commotion, looked over—astonished. The portrait might not have resembled the man, but somehow it matched perfectly.
Soon, the ringleader was bound and thrown beside Zhao Chengli.
Frantically, he protested: “Unjust! My lord, I do not even know this person!”
Zhao Chengli was speechless. He did not know him either, but shock left him dumbfounded, unable to speak.
The ringleader fumed: “You mute fool! Quickly tell the magistrate—the one who manipulated you was not me!”
Meng Xizhao raised an eyebrow and struck the gavel: “How bold! To speak so recklessly in open court!”
“The portrait is here—how can you still deny it?”
The ringleader had nowhere to argue. “My lord, it’s really not me! The man Zhao Chengli described… how did it end up like this?”
Meng Xizhao squinted: “Are you suggesting I drew it incorrectly?”
Grimacing, the ringleader had to respond: “Yes… Zhao Chengli’s description doesn’t match me at all.”
Meng Xizhao asked: “Then what does he look like?”
The ringleader repeated Zhao Chengli’s description exactly: “Small eyes, wide nose bridge, black eyebrows…”
Meng Xizhao chuckled: “Even I, the one drawing, could not remember every detail Zhao Chengli mentioned—how do you recall it so precisely?”
The ringleader twisted his hands behind his back, thinking quickly: “I am deeply concerned with this case, my lord, so I listened carefully.”
Meng Xizhao nodded thoughtfully: “Then tell me again—the danger inherent in this case.”
The ringleader froze. He had no recollection; at the time, he had been entirely preoccupied with his next move, not the details of Meng Xizhao’s words.
Seeing that he couldn’t answer, even Zhao Chengli’s gaze toward him began to shift.
The spring chill bit at the air, yet sweat poured down the ringleader’s head.
Meng Xizhao let out a cold laugh: “So this is how concerned you claim to be about the case? Let me tell you the truth. A few days ago, I had already learned your background. You and your accomplices stirred trouble throughout Longxing Prefecture, exploiting the townspeople’s goodwill and urgency. I secretly had people investigate, and it turned out—more than just Zhao Chengli, even those who stole government grain were incited by you to take desperate action! Tell me, can you still call yourselves human?!”
The townspeople outside gaped in shock.
But soon, that shock turned into righteous anger.
Every family had relatives among the imprisoned; some of these prisoners had ties to them. Stealing government grain was a capital crime, and it was already assumed these people would never return. Now to learn that it had all been incited by this one man, they wished they could storm in and kill him on the spot.
The ringleader felt as though he might vomit blood. Yes, they had incited many, but not everyone! They had only arrived in Longxing Prefecture after the Lantern Festival, whereas many imprisoned had been there for years!
He had been shouting his innocence, but now no one believed him.
At the same time, the townspeople were awestruck by Meng Xizhao’s brilliance. The magistrate had known who the true mastermind was from the start, staged this entire court scene, and caught the villain in the act—a perfect trap. Zhao Chengli’s life had never truly been at risk; he had only been a lure to flush out the real culprit.
Longxing Prefecture lacked money, grain, and manpower. Zhao Chengli was the backbone of his family; had he died, his entire household might have perished too. The common people naturally hoped to avoid needless death—and now, even the magistrate shared that concern.
Some of the more sensitive townsfolk even felt like crying.
Longxing Prefecture had finally seen relief. Meng Xizhao, wise and compassionate, would surely govern it ever more effectively.
Meng Xizhao ordered the ringleader escorted away, then descended himself and bowed to the townspeople outside.
“This man did not come alone. He has accomplices—many of them. Currently, the guards are repairing farmland and reclaiming land, and the attendants are busy with the streets. On capturing these criminals, we need the help of all townspeople. Should you notice any unfamiliar outsiders acting suspiciously, please report them to the prefecture. If verified, the informer will receive five hundred wen as a reward, as encouragement.”
Though not a large sum, any money was welcome. The townspeople immediately promised to watch for strangers carefully.
Meng Xizhao smiled, then grew serious: “I have discussed with Tongzhi Xie. Since stealing government grain and assaulting officials were incited by these criminals, they shall be treated as accomplices. While the death penalty is waived, punishment remains unavoidable.
“Soon, city repairs will commence. These offenders, having been misled and almost endangering Longxing Prefecture, shall be assigned labor. In this way, the prefecture will no longer require conscription. As for the prisoners, there is no wage due them, but three meals a day will be provided—they will not be left hungry while working.”
The townspeople were too shocked to speak.
To have the death penalty waived was already a tremendous relief. To also avoid conscription? Unheard of!
They cared about their relatives’ survival, but most of all, they cared about their own. Grain had been distributed; the city was secure; and even conscription had been officially lifted by the magistrate’s word.
Those previously on the verge of tears now truly wept, some kneeling, sobbing silently.
Meng Xizhao, observing this, felt almost overwhelmed, and soon slipped away. When the people finally lifted their heads, the magistrate was gone.
The townsfolk, undeterred, resolved to later set up a longevity tablet at home for Magistrate Meng, wishing him safety and hoping he would remain in Longxing Prefecture for many years—ideally a lifetime.
The townspeople dispersed contentedly, while Zhao Chengli was pulled up by the attendants to return to the prison.
He kept glancing back at the court, silently thinking:
Magistrate Meng, Tongzhi Xie… I will never act so foolishly again. I will repay your kindness someday.
＊
Later, Meng Xizhao visited Xie Yuan. Taking advantage of a free moment, he recounted the day’s events in full. Though not strictly necessary to report, it was only proper to inform the aggrieved party, Xie Yuan, since the case involved him.
Xie Yuan listened and nodded: “Very well. Though I am not particularly angered about being struck, he did not merely assault me, but also the office of Longxing Prefecture’s Tongzhi. Having him perform labor as punishment is appropriate.”
Meng Xizhao agreed: “Those bold enough to steal government grain are tough. A person’s character is not easily judged at first. This one, however, is decent—he can be used to monitor the other prisoners, preventing further trouble.”
Xie Yuan smiled: “Master, your wisdom is clear.”
Meng Xizhao waved his hand: “It is nothing. Using a few petty people to justly avoid the death penalty, I am merely applying the law. Still, I sense something suspicious. Why would a few outsiders stir trouble in Longxing Prefecture? Perhaps they are being directed by someone else. Once they are all captured, I will interrogate them thoroughly. As for the city, Tongzhi Xie, please continue to oversee matters carefully.”
Xie Yuan: “…………”
Ah, well. Even if Meng Xizhao didn’t say it, these matters would naturally fall upon him anyway.
Xie Yuan, feeling weary, nodded, and when Meng Xizhao saw his agreement, he happily rose and returned to his own quarters.
Entering his bedroom, Meng Xizhao stretched, then seated himself at his desk, contemplating the tasks ahead.
So far, only one culprit had been apprehended. Once his accomplices were caught, Meng Xizhao planned to lead them to Jiangzhou, to root out that band of rabble at its source.
He also had to consider ways to generate revenue for Longxing Prefecture. He couldn’t keep begging wealthy households for donations every time funds ran low—that would be far too shameless.
The prefecture’s geographic position was another concern. It was perilously close to Nanzhao; should Nanzhao act recklessly, Longxing Prefecture would be in trouble. If only there were a way to make Nanzhao wary of Longxing Prefecture.
The more he thought, the longer his to-do list grew. After some silent reflection, Meng Xizhao shook his head, deciding to give himself a half-day reprieve; the more difficult matters could wait until tomorrow.
For now, he spread out a sheet of rice paper and picked up his brush, preparing to write several letters to his family in Yingtian Prefecture.
The letter to his parents would share observations of Longxing Prefecture’s customs and scenery, and describe his current well-settled situation to reassure them.
For his elder brother, a separate letter would recount the challenges he had faced and overcome, urging him: “Brother, you will soon assume office. Look at the difficulties of an assignment elsewhere. I can manage on my own, but if you are posted away, you cannot let the county magistrate suffer alongside you. Better to remain in Yingtian Prefecture in a more leisurely post.”
A leisurely post carried little real power, making corruption difficult.
…
Next was a letter to Meng Jiaojiao. Similar to the one for his elder brother, it described his hardships, but he also advised: “When choosing a husband, find someone like me—able to endure, responsible, and virtuous.”
Regardless of how exasperated she might feel upon reading it, he sealed the letter and prepared another.
This one was meant for the Crown Prince.
Yet, facing a blank page, he hesitated, unable to find the right words. His hand unconsciously touched the jade pendant, and he recalled the Crown Prince’s feelings when bidding him farewell. Meng Xizhao sighed and set down his brush.
Since arriving in Longxing Prefecture, he had been relentlessly busy, managing affairs from dawn till dusk. He hadn’t even had time to eat out, nor had anyone to accompany him.
Thinking of this, he looked at the blank paper with a tinge of melancholy.
Yet this melancholy brought with it a desire to pour out his thoughts. Taking up his brush once more, he began to write with renewed energy.
Meanwhile, in Yingtian Prefecture, the Crown Prince had left the Eastern Palace, sitting alone at Wangjiang Tower, quietly sipping his drink.
Not long ago, he had suddenly expressed a desire to go to the Xiongnu, startling everyone. Emperor Tianshou had observed him long and hard, neither agreeing nor refusing, only saying the matter would be discussed later.
That “later” stretched three days without follow-up. Eventually, Emperor Tianshou directly decreed that the Ministry of Rites’ vice minister and the Honglu Temple minister would go to the Xiongnu, bringing back the contracted items.
The Honglu Temple minister, Lu Fengqiu, had been part of the previous escort, experienced and familiar. Seeing a familiar face, the Xiongnu would likely be pleased.
No matter how it looked, sending these two officials was suitable in rank and experience. Yet the ministers’ eyes kept drifting toward the Crown Prince.
The expedition had a rocky start. They wanted to gauge his mood, but the Crown Prince’s expression remained as calm and delicate as ever, almost artificial.
No one spoke for him; it was as if his previous words had never been uttered. All paid homage to Emperor Tianshou, ignoring the Crown Prince’s oddity, pleasing the emperor.
This was precisely the point. If ministers sided with the Crown Prince, it would oppose the emperor. Wise officials knew what should or should not be done.
…
Perhaps as one ages, overconfidence sets in. One assumes the world has not changed since youth, still revolving around oneself.
Unfortunately, those who think this usually find that the only thing unchanged is themselves.
Indeed, though at the Chongzheng Hall no one supported Cui Ye, merely stepping out for a drink drew attention.