Fu Yong hadn’t yet recovered from the news of his grandfather’s death when he received suspicious looks from the two men. “You having no knowledge of Minister Fu’s passing is understandable, but you don’t even know who Minister Fu is?”
Fu Yong, his heart silently reciting prayers for forgiveness, wore a confused expression: “I only know that Minister Fu is from the northern Fu clan, also called Secretary, from an illustrious family…”
“Hey, you’ve got it mixed up. They’re not the same person—they’re grandfather and grandson.” The two examination candidates immediately cleared up their doubts. This kind of confusion was common. Many commoners went their whole lives without knowing who the Emperor was. Mixing up a grandfather and grandson was perfectly normal. The two candidates enthusiastically explained: “The Fu Zhi you mentioned was the former Secretary. After the Grand General pacified the Xiongnu, he was appointed Governor of Yongzhou. His grandson Fu Changyu was appointed Minister of Personnel.”
Fu Hong beside them was dying of curiosity, desperately wanting to ask what the Grand General’s surname and given name were.
But everyone seemed to know who the Grand General was, so they didn’t dare ask for the moment. Ah, if only they had stated clearly from the start that they’d just emerged from the mountains and knew nothing—that would have made gathering information much more convenient.
However, Fu Yong felt obtaining this information was sufficient. The rest he could inquire about at the county office.
So he drained the tea in his bowl in one gulp, finding it so bitter he furrowed his brow. How could this tea taste like this? Not even a slice of ginger or scallion added.
He gave Fu Hong and Guan Er a look, immediately picked up the steamed buns and flatbreads, and took his leave from the two candidates.
Returning to the group, they divided the steamed buns and flatbreads among everyone before saying: “This is still our Great Jin. The Xiongnu have been pacified. We’re entering the city right now.”
Everyone cheered upon hearing this and quickly asked: “Did you find out where to buy farming tools?”
Fu Yong: “No, but it doesn’t matter. We’ll go directly to the county office.”
Hearing they were going to the county office made the young men frightened. They asked: “What are we going to the county office for? Brother Fu, we’re just common people now. We should avoid the county office when doing business, shouldn’t we?”
“Could it be the County Magistrate wants to reclaim his position and serve as an official outside?”
As soon as this guess emerged, everyone immediately talked over each other trying to dissuade Fu Yong. “Brother Fu, you should persuade the County Magistrate. Who knows when fighting might break out again outside? How can it compare to the comfort of our mountains?”
“Officials are all cunning. Everyone knows the County Magistrate already did his utmost when Heyin City fell—he’s a good official. But what if the officials outside don’t know and want to punish the County Magistrate?”
“If you leave, what will we do? Only the County Magistrate can manage things in the mountains.”
Fu Yong, surrounded in the middle with everyone talking at once, felt his head swell.
Fu Hong quickly went to rescue him, pulling people aside before shouting: “Stop making noise! The current Minister of Personnel in the court is our eldest cousin. We won’t be in trouble!”
The crowd quieted, then immediately became lively again, asking: “What kind of official is Minister of Personnel? Is it higher than County Magistrate?”
“If he’s really powerful, can he help us get some farming tools and salt?”
“Right, we need salt. There’s almost no salt in the mountains. Nothing we cook tastes good. If we could buy some fabric cheaply, that would be even better.”
Fu Yong expended considerable effort to get them to quiet down, then had them form two lines and carry the bamboo baskets into the city.
The city gate was rather quiet, with only four soldiers standing guard. Seeing a group of farmers approaching with baskets, and the baskets being quite large, the soldiers stopped them and came forward to inspect.
Fu Yong lowered his gaze, clutching five copper coins in his hand, planning to bribe them when searched to try to preserve the grain as much as possible.
He had no intention of revealing his cousin’s identity at this point. As they say, the King of Hell is easy to deal with, but minor devils are troublesome. The Minister of Personnel’s name likely held little deterrent power with these common soldiers.
The soldier came forward and squeezed the hemp sacks in the bamboo baskets. Seeing it was wheat, he waved his hand: “Go on in.”
Fu Yong was slightly surprised. “That’s all?”
The soldier looked at him with a puzzled expression, even pointing the way: “After entering the city, follow the main road straight ahead. When you reach the third intersection, turn left. That area has grain shops. Those selling grain and vegetables are all in that district. Go on.”
Fu Yong lowered his gaze to hide his surprise, smiled his thanks, picked up his bamboo baskets, beckoned to those behind him, and everyone filed into the city.
The young men didn’t dare delay and immediately followed.
Inside the city was a completely different scene.
There weren’t many people in the city either, but it was very peaceful. The streets were very clean, most shops were open, and seeing them pass by, shopkeepers even called out greetings, asking if they wanted to buy fabric or sundries.
Fu Yong shook his head to refuse each one.
As they walked and observed, they encountered people on the road with rolled-up trouser legs, carrying sickles or shouldering hoes. As they passed by, one casually asked: “You’ve finished work too?”
Fu Yong thought they had mistaken them for someone else and was about to explain when he saw a man shouldering a hoe approaching. The person who had just greeted them smiled and asked him: “Your family’s finished work too?”
The man shouldering the hoe immediately replied with a smile: “Finished, finished. Today I burned two acres of land. In a couple days I’ll work the soil, bury all the grass and wood ash in the earth, then plant winter wheat—definitely a great harvest.”
“Since you planted spring wheat this year, you should rotate with beans to nourish the soil. Why plant winter wheat again?”
“My land is fertile. I’ve felt the soil—no problem. After harvesting the wheat next year, I’ll plant beans to nourish it then.”
“Even fertile land needs care. You can’t be careless.”
“It’s fine, it’s fine. I asked the manager at the Agricultural Bureau. They said it’s no problem—just use more fertilizer. I can wait a year before nourishing the land.”
They chatted briefly before parting ways. Fu Yong watched them go, noticing many people on the street were the same. Whether they knew each other or not, they would greet each other upon meeting—either “Have you eaten?” or “Finished work?”
This… was a city completely different from the one in his memory. The smiles on the common people’s faces were genuine. A group of muddy children ran past them, excitedly reciting in unison as they ran: “Cold comes, heat goes, autumn harvest, winter storage, intercalary surplus completes the year, pitch pipes harmonize yang…”
Fu Yong stood dazed, watching them run into the distance.
Fu Hong was also stunned, asking blankly: “Brother, what are they reciting?”
Fu Yong: “It seems to be a text for teaching children basic literacy.”
Fu Hong, who had begun his education at age five, asked dumbly: “Why haven’t I read such a primer?”
Fu Yong didn’t answer. He turned and continued forward. This time his goal was clear—he headed straight for the county office.
There was no need to ask. Following the main road forward, they would inevitably see the county office.
Sure enough, after passing the fourth intersection, he saw an open space. The ground was paved with blue bricks, with a notice wall erected on it, covered front and back with paper. Not far away stood a grand gateway with a plaque above reading “County Office.”
To the left of the county office stood a tall wooden sign—the criticism pillar, used for people to leave messages and submit advice. This thing had actually been re-erected! Fu Yong had lived this long and only seen it in books. Since Emperor Shizu, the court had begun silencing scholars and commoners. Even aristocratic sons had to speak and write using allusions and metaphors. How could they erect criticism pillars?
To the right of the county office sat a reddish stone shaped like a lung—this was called the justice stone.
Those with grievances could strike the justice stone to proclaim their wrongs. Fu Yong was familiar with this—basically every county office had one. Some larger and wealthier county offices used drums instead of justice stones.