The night mountain air was cool, and as Minglan’s monthly indisposition had not yet fully passed, she curled into a ball in her sleep. Gu Tingye wrapped around her like a great mountain, keeping her hands and feet warm through the whole night. Her chilled body pressed against his, which radiated warmth like a small furnace, and she was instantly much more comfortable.

That night the man slept contentedly. Recalling how he had pressed Minglan with questions before sleep — how she had flushed crimson like a plump little steamed octopus, biting down stubbornly with her small white teeth, and how she had finally been unable to hold out and had nearly squirmed out the window in mortification — even in his dreams the man could not suppress a laugh. Minglan would respond by furiously pounding his chest with her fist.

The next morning before daybreak, Gu Tingye led Xie Ang and the rest of his personal guard away on horseback toward the Western Suburban military camp.

“If you’re busy, don’t hurry back in the night,” Minglan mumbled sleepily. “With so many guards here, you can rest easy.”

“Understood. If anything comes up, use your own judgment.” Gu Tingye kissed her warm cheek before departing the manor.

As Minglan had expected, with Tuo Long’s fearsome scarred face on display — and two rows of powerfully built guards flanking him — every estate manager and head farmer at Black Mountain Manor was on exceptionally good behavior. Minglan sat far behind a screen and issued her instructions directly.

Estate managers of Ba Laofu’s sort — those who oversaw the entire manor — knew perfectly well what to say and do when the mistress arrived to inspect. He had come early that morning with a group of sub-managers and head farmers to pay their respects to Minglan, all faces arranged in broad smiles, a stockpile of prepared remarks ready to deliver. But Minglan asked none of the things he expected. She only exchanged a few idle words with Ba Laofu here and there.

Ba Laofu and the others were quite at a loss, and could only answer whatever she asked.

“Madam, they are all here.” At this point, Quan Zhu’s wife came in and reported, eyes modestly lowered.

From behind the screen, Minglan’s clear, pleasant voice was perfectly amiable: “Have them come in one by one, in the order of the register.”

Danju picked up the register Ba Laofu had just presented, from the table surface, and began to read aloud. The managers still did not understand what was happening — but then they saw Gongsun Meng directing several servants to carry in a large wicker basket, nearly a man’s height.

It landed with a heavy clang of copper and iron and was set down hard on the floor of the main hall. Everyone turned to look — and nearly leapt out of their skins. It was a basket full, brimming over, with copper coins; wound in thick red rope in coil after coil, catching the morning light, they glinted with a bright blue-grey sheen that made everyone’s eyes blur.

Minglan said lightly: “They have worked hard all year long. Now that this manor bears the Gu name and I’ve come for the first time, I thought I’d give out a little gift — something to gladden everyone’s hearts.”

“Madam, this…” Ba Laofu had a faint sense that something was wrong.

Before the managers could quite understand what was happening, Quan Zhu’s wife had already begun calling out names in a loud, clear voice. Each tenant farmer who came in received one string of coins; then she asked whether there was anyone sixty years of age or older in the household — for each such elderly person, an extra sum was added. After disbursing each amount, Danju would mark off a line in the accounts and a name on the register. The tenant farmer, cradling the heavy string of coins, was still dazed as he walked out of the main hall on unsteady legs.

The first few farming families to come in were either listless or trembling with nerves; but by the time five or six had been paid out, those waiting in the courtyard had heard the news that the mistress was giving out coins for free today. Like salt thrown into a pot of hot oil, the front courtyard erupted in a commotion. They entered with ruddy, glowing faces and left with expressions of pure delight, mouths full of happy words of thanks and good wishes.

The head farmers and managers looked at one another in confusion, unable to fathom Minglan’s intentions. Some wore expressions of suppressed grievance; others turned to loudly flatter Minglan’s generosity. But sweat was gathering at Ba Laofu’s hairline.

With all those wide-eyed head farmers watching closely from the side, Minglan had little fear that the tenant farmers would lie about how many elderly people they had at home.

Black Mountain Manor had sixty-two hectares of land recorded in the register, and ten tenant farming households with documented records. Including the elderly members of each family, by midmorning Minglan had distributed some six or seven thousand copper coins in all — the basket was nearly empty.

A small incident occurred partway through. Several additional tenant farming families appeared, drawn by the news that coins were being given out. They all insisted they too were tenants of Black Mountain Manor — but their names appeared nowhere in the register. Sweat poured from Ba Laofu in large drops.

Minglan showed no sign of anger, only smiled and gave these newly arrived families their coins as well. Before Ba Laofu could think of any explanation, Minglan had already instructed the two Cui brothers — Cui Ping and Cui An — to take a few head farmers and a team of guards, and go out to measure the land.

Only then did Ba Laofu understand Minglan’s purpose. He went pale with fright. Just as he was trying to find a word in his defense, Minglan languidly waved her hand and dismissed everyone to rest.

The moment she reached the inner room, Xia Zhu could not restrain herself: “The day before yesterday, Madam had the accounts office prepare so many small coins — so that was what they were for.” She dared not say too much, but her face was plainly filled with regret and sorrow; she communicated her feelings to Minglan with her eyes alone.

Xiaotao, by contrast, was entirely unperturbed — she had always felt that whatever Minglan did was right. Danju poured tea and helped Minglan change her outer garments, saying quietly: “Why did Madam not ask any of the managers about the affairs of the manor? These past few days you haven’t questioned any of them much.”

Minglan replied wearily: “What they want me to hear isn’t necessarily what I want to know; and what I want to know, they won’t necessarily tell me honestly.”

“They would dare deceive Madam!” Danju frowned, her chest rising with indignation, then lowered her voice. “Whatever you wish to know, we’ll find out ourselves.”

Minglan took a small sip of warm tea and turned a fine official-kiln thin-glazed polychrome lidded bowl over in her hands: “It’s nothing complicated. I only wanted to know how much land this manor actually has — and how many tenant farmers.”

Beyond these two things, everything else — concealed accounts, embezzled rents, and so forth — could be dealt with behind closed doors at leisure. Besides, every one of the manor’s servants, from managers to head farmers, had their contracts in Minglan’s hands; they had no accumulated seniority or standing behind them. She could handle them however she saw fit.

Minglan’s coins had not been spent in vain.

When the Cui brothers went out to measure the land, the tenant farmers — who had previously been constrained by their fear of the head farmers and managers — became extremely forthcoming. Several among the more sharp-eyed ones had already noticed something was afoot, and the farmers began pointing things out and telling tales, sharing everything that ought and ought not to be said. The frantic managers and head farmers had no recourse under the ferocious glares of the Tuo brothers, and fell silent.

In just two short days, the two Cui brothers had measured out the entire extent of the large estate and recorded the quality of the farmland in careful detail. Gongsun Meng, meanwhile, had dragged along a literate manager and tracked down every tenant farmer not listed in the register.

The faces of the head farmers and managers grew more and more grim.

During these days, Gu Tingye only returned for two nights — the inspection affairs seemed to be growing more demanding. Many of the garrison troops had soldiers on the payroll who existed only on paper, and the inspection of the armory had also yielded troubling results. Whenever he returned to the manor he would ask Minglan whether she had encountered any difficulties. Not wishing to disturb him, Minglan said that all was well, and Gu Tingye, exhausted from his relentless day-and-night efforts, would essentially fall asleep as soon as he lay down.

On the day the survey was complete, the Cui brothers and Meng presented their compiled register. The situation was immediately plain: Black Mountain Manor had six to nine hundred additional acres of good farmland above what was recorded, four or five more tenant farming households than listed, and — thanks to certain “public-spirited informers” — it came to light that Ba Laofu and several of the managers had placed private landholdings in the names of relatives outside the manor.

Ba Laofu and the whole group of managers knelt in a row outside Minglan’s door, sweat streaming down their faces, not daring even to wipe it away.

Minglan sat inside, slowly turning the pages of the register. Her voice was perfectly cool: “You are servants from the household of a convicted official. When Duke Lingguo’s mansion was seized, all those like you were sold off. You came along with the manor as part of the grant. Now that the Duke’s household has been entirely confiscated, and yet you have managed to conceal this much private property — you truly are remarkable servants.”

The words were utterly measured, but the implication was devastating. Everyone kowtowed without ceasing, pleading and begging. Ba Laofu knocked his head against the ground until his forehead swelled purple; then he looked up and said: “We were blinded by our own greed, that is all. We know we were wrong. We beg only that Madam show mercy. We will sell off all the outside landholdings at once and turn over the proceeds…”

“Nonsense! Does Madam covet your few coins?!” Danju rebuked them sharply.

The managers continued to kowtow. Minglan studied them for a while, then relented somewhat: “Very well. You were old retainers of Duke Lingguo’s household. After years of diligent service, having accumulated some savings — that is perhaps understandable—”

The ones below, hearing Minglan’s tone ease, could not help letting their expressions relax slightly. But then Minglan’s words pivoted: “However, concealing the manor’s acreage and harboring undocumented tenant farmers — that is a violation of household rules. If I simply let this pass, and everyone follows suit in future, the Gu household would be thrown into complete disorder. That would be truly difficult to manage…”

The head farmers and managers waited in suspense for Minglan’s judgment. Minglan watched their faces cycle through shades of green and white, then decided it had gone on long enough, and said amicably: “This is how we shall handle it — let us wait until the Master has finished with his official duties, and then discuss it.”

Having said that single sentence, she took all the account books and name registers, left behind two managers she had brought from the main house to audit the accounts and a few guards to keep watch, and departed Black Mountain Manor. That evening husband and wife reunited at Ancient Rock Manor, and when Minglan saw that Gu Tingye still had some energy, she told him briefly about what had happened.

“Should the extra land be declared to His Majesty?” Minglan’s expression was entirely earnest — in her childhood, she had always turned in money she found.

The man’s furrowed brow immediately relaxed, and he laughed. “When His Majesty granted this manor, did he ever specify how many acres of land it contained?”

Minglan shook her head.

“We discovered for ourselves that our own servants had been deceiving their superiors. We didn’t seize anyone’s private fields. What is there to be afraid of?”

Minglan felt the logic was sound, and turned her full attention to toweling Gu Tingye’s damp hair. Gu Tingye, seeing the ease and lightness in her expression, raised an eyebrow slightly. “They deceived you like that, and yet you’re not very angry?”

“…Truly not very angry.” Minglan looked up and thought about it. “They were greedy for some silver and land, yes — but they did keep to a certain limit. They never drove the tenant farmers to their deaths.”

Over these past several days of inspection, Minglan had found that most of the tenant farmers at the manor lived tolerably well. No one had been forced to sell children; no one had starved to death. The impression these people at Black Mountain Manor gave her was that while their courage was modest, they collectively had a great enthusiasm for petty pilfering.

It was also perhaps for exactly this reason that these servants had not acquired a reputation for cruelty — and had thus been transferred directly to a merit recipient rather than sold off.

But of course, at the root of it, Minglan simply did not subscribe to the ancient system of servant management.

Those servants whose contracts were held by the household — if they performed service work within the residence, that was one thing. There was a fixed monthly stipend; and if they earned the master’s favor, there might be additional rewards. But placing these servants in charge of managing an estate — that was where things became complicated. The failure of communal labor systems had proven one thing: human beings are creatures of self-interest. For stable, long-term productivity, there must be incentive and consequence alike.

Those managers who handled large quantities of land and money, who through diligent effort made the estate flourish and thrive — yet as servants without personal freedom, they were permitted no property of their own. This was an absolute violation of economic principle and human nature.

The real question was how much Ba Laofu and the others had actually pocketed. If it fell within a certain range, it was not necessarily unforgivable — after all, from these past several days, Black Mountain Manor had been run reasonably well. And furthermore…

Minglan sighed: “We also have too few people around us whom we can truly trust. Why not think whether there are any loyal and long-serving old retainers in the Marquis household? If any are reliable, perhaps we should consider…” She couldn’t believe the old madam’s reach had swept up everyone. What of those generations-long servants of the Ningyuan Marquis household? After all, Gu Tingye was also the legitimate heir.

Gu Tingye was silent for a long while, then gave a slight nod and changed the subject: “As for Black Mountain Manor — if there are problems that can’t be resolved, once you have decided how to deal with them, have Hao Dacheng handle it after we return to the main house.” He paused, then pointed downward at the floor. “This manor is different. Tomorrow I’ll leave you a unit of soldiers.”

Minglan’s hands paused in their work. She tilted her head with a smile: “No need. I have enough people.”

She was currently quite satisfied with the deterrent effect of the Tuo brothers.

Gu Tingye raised a refined eyebrow slightly, smiled, and said nothing. Her mind was sharp and her assessment of situations clear — but she still lacked a certain degree of seasoning.

He reached back to draw Minglan toward him, flipped over and pressed her beneath him, and kissed her rosy lips firmly. Beneath the thin, light garment, her skin was smooth and soft as fine porcelain; he felt an involuntary stirring in his heart. In a low, husky voice he asked: “Are you feeling better?” And as he spoke, his hand began to slide inward through the opening of her collar.

Minglan, kneaded half-senseless, her face flushed all over: “…Still… still still… still still…”

The large hand beneath her garment grew less and less well-behaved. She panicked and quickly said, “You… you you you… you change a horse every day — you’re still busy tomorrow — maybe we shouldn’t… that is to say, do get some proper rest.”

“Little stutterer — what are you flustered about?!” Gu Tingye couldn’t help but smile. He flipped over and lay flat on the bed, drawing Minglan into his arms, his smile contained: “I was only asking. You, it seems, have been letting your imagination run away with you.” His deep, dark eyes performed an expression of injured innocence.

Minglan: …

— She desperately wanted to scratch him to pieces!