At dinnertime, Jiuquan arrived with the food box.

Zhang Zhixu raised his head from the case files, glancing at the empty doorway. “Chen Baoxiang still hasn’t finished her shift?”

“In reply, my lord — Lord Chen said she was assigned to an outside errand. She will return somewhat late.”

“An outside errand?” Zhang Zhixu’s brow furrowed. “Was it not decided that she was not to be deployed yet?”

“The office says it was Lord Chen who requested the assignment herself.”

Zhang Zhixu’s heart leapt.

This was the first time Chen Baoxiang had gone out on her own to handle an errand without him nearby.

Back when he had still been in her body, he had already sensed that this person was a magnet for misfortune — always getting injured at the slightest provocation. And her sensitivity to pain was sharper than most people’s, so every mishap meant she suffered tremendously.

When he was there, he could at least help her through it. Now that he wasn’t present — if she ran into trouble again, what would become of her?

Thinking of all those people outside with their various hidden agendas, Zhang Zhixu could no longer sit still. He rose, took his outer robe, and went out to the carriage.

He had barely settled into the carriage when someone outside called out: “Great Immortal!”

Zhang Zhixu looked up in a daze.

Someone came crawling into his carriage on all fours, completely spent — at first glance resembling a female ghost, and upon closer inspection, not entirely unlike one either.

Sweat had soaked through the back of her robes. Her hair was tangled and laced with bits of grime. Her sleeves were covered in mud of a grey-yellow hue. And on her chin was a smudge of something indeterminate.

Chen Baoxiang tilted her face up just like that, and broke into a grin. “Your shift’s over?”

By Lord Zhang’s standards of cleanliness, had anyone else dared crawl into his carriage in such a state, he would have kicked them straight back out.

But looking at Chen Baoxiang, he only furrowed his brow and asked, “Did someone give you a hard time?”

“No, no.” Chen Baoxiang climbed up and settled herself, her eyes glittering with life. “I was out on an assignment.”

“Your assignment involves diving into a mudpit to fish out monkeys?”

“Who would ever give out an assignment like that,” she muttered with a pout, then excitedly pressed a booklet into his arms. “It’s all in here.”

A thick booklet, smelling faintly of soil and ink.

Zhang Zhixu flipped through a couple of pages, his brows lifting slightly. “You went with the Brewing Division to collect grain?”

“It was only me today.” She said. “The Brewing Division said they were still too busy and had me go ahead to scout things out.”

“‘Scout things out’ — they were using you as a pawn, pure and simple.” Zhang Zhixu’s irritation surged. “On an ordinary day, having any recording secretary willing to go is considered decent enough. Instead, they decided you were easy to push around and dumped the entire workload on you.”

“Was that what it was?” Chen Baoxiang slapped her knee. “And here I thought they were being kind and giving me a chance to show my abilities.”

“You flatter yourself.”

Every year, the Brewing Division received a budget allocation from the Ministry of Finance, used to purchase premium grains from An County for the brewing of fine wines served across the realm. Since he had taken charge of the Bureau of Industry, the Brewing Division had been implicated in misconduct no fewer than twenty times — sometimes underpaying farmers for their grain, sometimes coming up short on purchase quantities. He had issued both minor penalties and heavy punishments, and had replaced an entire cohort of officials. Yet to his astonishment, the Brewing Division hadn’t undergone any revival. If anything, it had grown more dispirited and indolent.

This year’s grain had dragged on without being collected, which meant the palace’s fine wines had been running short all along. He suspected quite a few people were waiting to file official accusations against him.

He casually flipped through a couple more pages, and then Zhang Zhixu suddenly paused. “Hm?”

Chen Baoxiang glanced between the words on the page and his face. “What is it?”

“Why are there so many farmers in An County selling off their land?” He turned the pages faster and faster. “Land is the foundation of every farmer’s livelihood. In difficult times, one or two families selling a few acres is understandable — but this record shows over a hundred households in a row, and it’s impossible that every single one of them was in such dire circumstances that they had to sell off a hundred acres or more each.”

“I thought it was strange too.” Chen Baoxiang muttered. “I was afraid there was something more to it, so I went to ask each household individually. They all said they owed money for seeds — and this year there was also a drought. Unable to repay the debt, they had no choice but to sell their land.”

“One year’s seed debt couldn’t possibly drive a farmer to sell off their land.”

“It wasn’t just one year.” She pressed her lips together. “They said it had been going on for several years — poor harvests, debts accumulating year after year. The Xiaohui Moneylender said it too was running short on funds, so it sold off the fields they had pledged as collateral.”

Xiaohui Moneylender?

A flash of the scene at the restaurant, Chen Baoxiang dividing banknotes at the gambling table, crossed his mind. Zhang Zhixu asked abruptly, “The banknotes Lu Qingrong lost to you — have you exchanged them yet?”

“Not yet.” Chen Baoxiang patted her purse. “If you hadn’t mentioned it, I’d have forgotten entirely. I’ve had my people running hard lately. I need to exchange some silver to give them more meat to eat.”

She reached in and pulled out one of the hundred-tael notes.

Zhang Zhixu extended his hand to take it, unfolded it, and checked the name of the moneylender printed on the note against the name recorded in the booklet.

It was precisely this Xiaohui Moneylender.

“Tomorrow, go exchange this note — and while you’re there, take a look at what that moneylender is really up to.” Zhang Zhixu said. “The price paid for the pledged fields, who they were sold to, whether there was any coercion or oppression — find out everything.”

“Not a problem.” Chen Baoxiang patted her chest. “Great Immortal, rest easy. I’ll handle every last bit of it. I will not embarrass you.”

Her eyes shone as she said it — even covered in grime, she radiated energy.

Zhang Zhixu paused, then caught up to his own realization. “You volunteered to go to An County today because you were afraid of embarrassing me?”

“It’s not exactly that — I just felt…” She scratched her head. “They’re paying me so much in monthly salary. I should at least do something worthwhile to earn it.”

Fourteen taels a month — there were no shortage of officials in the realm drawing a far higher salary than she did. And yet none of them took their duties half as seriously as she did.

His lips pressed together slightly. Zhang Zhixu reached out toward the end of her hair, which had been tied in loose loops.

Chen Baoxiang flinched instinctively. “It’s dirty.”

“If it weren’t dirty, why would I be touching it.” He said. “Don’t move.”

She was drawn toward him, and the blades of grass and clumps of mud tangled in her hair were picked out one by one.

Chen Baoxiang felt rather like a little dog who had romped through a mudpit — and the fastidious cat, rather than being disgusted, had given her a gentle swipe of its tail.

Truthfully, she had always cared quite a bit about her appearance. After all, she needed this face of hers to make her way in circles of wealthy and powerful people. No matter how little money she had, Chen Baoxiang always made sure to look polished and presentable on the surface.

But she always seemed to end up looking a mess in front of the Great Immortal — sometimes because she was covered in injuries, sometimes because she had been too exhausted to clean herself up in time.

The Great Immortal would show disdain, but only ever with his words. In the end, he always ended up tidying her up.

Something stirred quietly in her heart. She couldn’t help leaning her head gently against the Great Immortal’s palm.

Zhang Zhixu was caught off guard by the gesture, and his expression softened. “Food is ready at home. Go back and eat, then get some proper rest.”

“Is there meat?”

“As much as you want.”

Chen Baoxiang’s eyes curved into crescents.

Being with the Great Immortal was truly wonderful — she had an official post, a home to return to, and meat to eat.

If only she had met him sooner. Just a little sooner.