The wheat had been examined, the questions had been asked, and the excitement had run its course.

The Emperor ordered the Council of State to study the matter carefully and produce a plan.

The Emperor himself could be said to have only a passing familiarity with farming, but in handing the task off to Wang Yunhe and Shi Kun, he disappointed neither of them — indeed, they were rather reassured. An Emperor who understood that “farming is hard,” who grasped that an increase in yield would benefit him, was perfectly adequate in the eyes of his ministers. That he could entrust the Council of State and capable local officials to draw up a plan, rather than making an impulsive decision then and there to order the whole country planted with wheat — that was deeply satisfying to the Council of State.

Shi Kun and Wang Yunhe said together, “We respectfully obey Your Majesty’s command.”

The Emperor glanced again at Zhù Ying. “Tell the two Chief Ministers in detail what difficulties exist — hold nothing back.”

Zhù Ying said, “Yes.”

The Emperor said, “The wheat stays here. You may all withdraw.”

The group performed their farewell courtesies. Zhù Ying had already completed hers when she added one more: “Your Majesty — might I make one request?”

The Emperor had lifted one foot to leave, then set it back down. “What?”

“It is already into the fourth month. When I return, the autumn harvest will not be far off, and after the harvest it will be time to plant the winter wheat again — yet the seed stock in hand is truly insufficient. Could some be allocated to me?”

The Emperor pointed to Shi Kun and Wang Yunhe. “Take that up with them — have them give it to you.”

Zhù Ying said, “As Your Majesty commands.”

Much of the afternoon had already passed. Everyone except Zhù Ying knew the Emperor’s habits, and together they took their leave of him, returning the time to him for rest and entertainment.

Liu Songnian accompanied them out of the Diligent Governance Hall and said, “I have to hear about this — what is this young creature up to now? Oh — you didn’t write any more unflattering things about me, did you?”

Zhù Ying said, “How could I? I’m already indebted to you beyond what I can repay.”

“Hmph!”

Liu Songnian did not manage to squeeze himself into the Council of State to listen — the Council of State was the space for Chief Ministers to deliberate, and even with his heart itching for information, he remained outside. He thought: you wait — I’ll get it out of you yet.

Zhù Ying followed quietly in the wake of the two Chief Ministers back to the Council of State.

Today, because of her business, both men had accumulated a backlog of their own affairs. Extending the cultivation of rice and wheat to two harvests per year across the southern regions was not something that could be resolved in a few sentences, nor in a single day’s delay of all other matters.

Shi Kun said, “You’ll stay here in the capital for a few more days. There are things we need to ask you about. The Court of Judicial Review and the Censorate — we’ll coordinate with them ourselves.”

Zhù Ying said, “Yes.”

Wang Yunhe asked, “When you go back, write—” He stopped. “Or have you already written something?”

The question seemed to come from nowhere, but Zhù Ying received it with perfect understanding and produced from her other sleeve a thick sheaf of tens of thousands of characters. “This is a summary I have compiled of the situation in Fulu County — all of it drawn from my own experience, or personally verified.”

Shi Kun and Wang Yunhe exchanged a glance, then both smiled. “You really did write something?”

Zhù Ying smiled wryly. “You were going to ask me about a case, and I had no idea what had actually transpired — I had to prepare whatever I could, didn’t I?”

Shi Kun no longer mentioned her lack of a beard. He said, “Leave these things here, and stop worrying.”

“Yes.”

Wang Yunhe said, “For the next two days, don’t go wandering about. Someone will escort you to the Court of Judicial Review and the Censorate to give your accounts.”

“Yes.”

Zhù Ying saw that they had no further instructions. She tucked the documents she had shown them back into her two sleeves and prepared to take her leave. Wang Yunhe said, “Hold on — leave the trial cultivation records, and take the rest with you.”

Zhù Ying handed over the trial cultivation records to Wang Yunhe, and then departed the Council of State.

Outside the door, Sun Yidan stepped forward. “Lord Zhù, I’ll see you out.”

Zhù Ying said, “Thank you.”

Lan Liangzhi sidled up as well, smiling. “The Court of Judicial Review and the Censorate have both been notified. Lord Zhù may rest easy — tomorrow we’ll come to your residence and escort you to see them. I promise it will go smoothly.”

Zhù Ying smiled. “I’ve put you both to trouble.”

“Not at all — it’s our duty.”

Who wouldn’t want to watch this particular kind of drama — a seemingly powerless little figure on the verge of tumbling into the mud, only to turn everything around and walk away unscathed? The two of them certainly enjoyed it.

The three walked out together, making conversation along the way. Zhù Ying didn’t ask about anyone else first — she led with: “Has our Deputy Chief Leng been keeping well lately?”

Sun Yidan, remembering Leng Yun’s behavior earlier, laughed. “When has that gentleman ever not been keeping well?”

“Oh — speaking ill of someone while they’re right in front of you,” Zhù Ying said suddenly. Lan and Sun both followed her gaze and saw, in the distance, a figure picking listlessly at his fingers — who else but Leng Yun? Both men burst out laughing.

Zhù Ying said, “I’m afraid he’s going to lecture me. I mustn’t delay you both — please go on ahead. I’ll be at home tomorrow waiting for your arrival.” She gave them her address. Sun Yidan repeated it back, saying, “I’ve got it. I’ll be at your residence first thing tomorrow morning.”

The three parted. Zhù Ying walked quickly to meet Leng Yun. Leng Yun looked her up and down and said with exaggerated surprise, “Well, well — all limbs intact. So you passed?”

Zhù Ying said, “That’s a bit of an unkind thing to say, Deputy Chief. Is it so impossible that I might be fine?”

Neither of them was genuinely angry. Leng Yun said, “Come on — I’ll take you home.”

“I’m perfectly safe — and the Council of State still has more to ask me. They’re not about to send me off to some dungeon.”

“Bah! Perish the thought.” Leng Yun said. “Also — you haven’t finished with the case yet, so hold off on going to the Zheng residence for now.”

“What’s that about?”

Leng Yun tilted his head and thought for a moment. “Nothing specific — just appearances.”

Zhù Ying said, “You’re still the Deputy Chief of the Court of Judicial Review — is avoiding appearances still something you need to worry about?”

Leng Yun said, “Me? No one needs to avoid appearances around me.”

The two of them continued talking as they left the imperial city. Zhù Ying said, “I really do need to go home — the house hasn’t been put in order yet. Once I’ve tidied up all the bothersome business, I’ll come pay my respects at your door.”

“Ha — you’ll need to bring a pig’s head as an offering.”

Zhù Ying smiled. “Gladly — I’ll bring two.”

By the time they reached the gate, most of the earlier spectators had drifted away. Wen Yue and Captain Li and others were still there. Zhù Ying went up and cupped her hands: “I’ve imposed on everyone today — and I’m afraid I’ll be imposing again tomorrow. Unfortunately, being away so long, I need to get home and settle in. Once everything is sorted I’ll find a time to catch up properly with everyone.”

Wen Yue said, “Go home! Oh — right, you’ll have some expenses in the capital, won’t you? I’ve been holding on to your two years of house rental income. I’ll find a moment to bring it over.”

“Much appreciated.”

Captain Li said, “What kind of relationship do we have? It can wait — get your official business done first. By the look of you, have you passed?”

Zhù Ying said, “Hard to say at this point. But things seem unlikely to go badly. I’ll be back tomorrow to give more accounts.”

“Then get home already.”

Cao Chang was still waiting outside. Gan Ze and Lu Chao, who had both been standing guard outside for Zheng Xi, had been chatting with him for half the afternoon. When Gan Ze and Lu Chao saw Zhù Ying, both said, “Sanlang — you’re finally back.” Gan Ze even complained: “Honestly — if you’d told me clearly what you were planning, I could have gone back and given the Seventh Master a proper account.”

Zhù Ying said, “I had no guarantee of getting results — how was I supposed to tell you? If I’d made a big claim and come back empty-handed, wouldn’t that have been embarrassing? As it is — how has Lord Zheng been lately?”

Lu Chao, a naturally talkative person, forcibly swallowed the words that came to his lips.

Zhù Ying deliberately prolonged the conversation with them a little — did that oil cake stall they used to eat at still operate, had any restaurants gotten new chefs worth trying?

Lu Chao asked, “Gan Da says the food at your place is good?” Zhù Ying said, “What good food? Nothing compared to the capital. There are some seasonal fruits — but they spoil easily, hard to transport. It’s a pity he came at the wrong time and didn’t get to eat as much as he might have.”

They were making conversation on purpose — waiting for Zheng Xi to emerge. Zheng Xi had told her she didn’t need to visit the Marquis’s residence first, but Zhù Ying felt it was not quite right. Even empty-handed, she ought to see Zheng Xi before seeing anyone else. Going to the imperial city was official business — that didn’t count. Outside of official business, she could not afford to be neglectful.

So she had devised this middle path: a “chance encounter,” watching to see how Zheng Xi appeared when they met at the imperial city gate. If necessary, she would go home, finish the official business, and then go to see Zheng Xi. If his manner indicated it was less urgently required, she would go kneel at his door even in the middle of the night if she had to.

Zheng Xi came out of the imperial city on schedule. Spotting Zhù Ying still outside, he said, “Why are you still standing here? Who put you in detention?”

Zhù Ying noticed that Zheng Xi had aged a little compared to two years before, and had grown a proper beard — he was undeniably now the sort of fine figure of a man who would befit any respectable household. She offered him a bow. “Lord Zheng.” When she straightened, she said she had been running into old acquaintances and asking after where to eat well.

Zheng Xi let out a brief, light laugh. Zhù Ying glanced at him. He waved his hand. “Go home. Don’t break the curfew.”

The two of them looked at each other, and Zhù Ying understood. She could go home, sleep soundly, and tomorrow take care of official business with a composed mind.

Cao Chang brought the horses. Zhù Ying said, “Let’s go — home. Don’t break the curfew.”

Cao Chang’s voice was full of happiness. “Yes!”

Cao Chang’s parents were presently looking after the Zhù house. Coming along with Zhù Ying meant he had come home and could see his parents.

Master and servant, both familiar with the roads, set off from the imperial city toward the Zhù residence. The scenery along the way had not changed much — many buildings still looked as they had when Zhù Ying left; the old shops were still open. Zhù Ying stopped to buy some meat and pastries along the way. A shopkeeper recognized her: “Oh! Little Lord Zhù! Back, are you? How is the Madam? How is Master Zhù?”

Zhù Ying said, “They didn’t come back with me — I’m here to report on my posting. I’ll be going back in a couple of days.”

“Oh my, what a hard journey.” The shopkeeper wrapped up an extra package of sliced meat for her. “This is my way of welcoming Little Lord Zhù back. Please accept it.”

Zhù Ying was in her official robes; she let Cao Chang carry everything, while she pressed a handful of coins into the shopkeeper’s hand and went home with a smile.

They were home in no time. When the old couple heard the knock at the door, they wondered if they had imagined it — then on listening carefully confirmed it was truly their own son. Cao’s father opened the door. “How did you come back again? Has the Master sent you on new business? The Master?!”

Zhù Ying said, “Yes, it’s me.”

Cao’s father immediately called to his wife, “Quickly! The Master is back.”

There was a flurry of activity. Cao Chang handed the horse to his father to tie at the manger, gave the food to his mother to prepare for the evening meal, and himself went to open the study for Zhù Ying, tidying it up to invite her to wait.

Zhù Ying thought to clean the bedroom herself, but the main gate was knocked again. Cao Chang ran to open it and found Jin Liang’s whole family and Wen Yue had all arrived.

Jin Liang’s wife came in with her maids and said to Zhù Ying immediately, “I knew it — you’ve come back again without anyone to look after your daily life.”

With her there, food and everything else would be taken care of.

Zhù Ying said, “I can see the dust isn’t too thick — Cao’s mother must have been sweeping regularly. A good dusting and it’ll be livable.”

Jin Liang’s wife said, “Of course she sweeps at New Year and festivals. How many months has it been since the last festival? You need a proper cleaning. Is there anything in your rooms that shouldn’t be seen?”

Zhù Ying laughed helplessly. “What could I possibly have to hide?”

Jin Liang’s wife thereupon led her maids off to tidy the bedroom and set out the dinner. Seeing this, Cao’s father quickly told his son to help tidy up the front reception hall.

Jin Liang had come along to accompany his wife. Wen Yue had come to bring Zhù Ying the money from the rental income.

Zhù Ying said, “I haven’t even gone to see either of you yet, and you’ve come first with gifts. I’m the one who should be distributing local produce.”

Jin Liang said, “You traveled all that way and still remembered us at New Year — why be so ceremonious now? Everyone knows how much you have on your plate.”

Wen Yue said, “Never mind the polite formalities — they drain your energy.”

The hall was quickly cleaned and set in order, lamps and candles lit, and dishes laid out on the table. Jin Liang said, “No need for you to wait on us — all of you go about your business. Let’s eat and drink at ease.”

Zhù Ying drank tea with them. Wen Yue poured for Jin Liang. The three of them spoke of events in the capital over the past two years. Zhù Ying said, “Lord Zheng’s name has appeared in the court gazette less often these past two years.”

Jin Liang said, “That’s a good thing — when his name does appear in the gazette, it’s usually for taking criticism. His Majesty doesn’t quite —”

Wen Yue said, “His Majesty has high expectations of the Crown Prince, and the Seventh Master is both Steward of the Eastern Palace and his nephew — the standards are naturally demanding.”

“And the Lu Prince?” Zhù Ying asked.

Jin Liang said, “All parents favor the youngest.”

Zhù Ying could tell from their manner that they had some inkling of the situation without fully understanding the mechanism — and she pressed no further. Jin Liang also asked about her case, asking how things had gone that day. Zhù Ying said, “I’ve seen the two Chief Ministers and the Emperor. The Chief Ministers asked about the case, and tomorrow they’re sending someone to escort me to the Court of Judicial Review and the Censorate. It shouldn’t be a major problem. I was just caught up by someone else’s actions.”

Jin Liang and Wen Yue nodded. Wen Yue asked, “What was in those sacks?”

Zhù Ying said, “I won’t say just yet — you’ll probably know in a little while. Grain I grew in Fulu County.”

“Ah — bringing that was the right move.”

They spoke more about Jin Liang, noting that Jin Biao had grown a bit and was now of an age for consideration. Being a military official’s son wasn’t enough to grant him a post directly through hereditary privilege.

Hereditary privilege depended on the father’s rank — from first rank downward to fifth rank, a son could be granted an official position directly, without needing to pass through other selection. There were generally quotas: at what rank a father could nominate a certain number of sons, and at what grade those nominations would be placed. The best positions allowed privileges to extend even to grandsons. From sixth rank down, the father could not nominate a son directly.

The fifth rank was a threshold — not only for the official’s own career, but for his family.

Jin Liang had been at the sixth rank all these years and was still a full sixth-rank official. By comparison, Zhù Ying’s career had advanced faster with fewer years of service.

Zhù Ying said, “Whether he joins the military or does something else — even working up through years of service, you have to be in the system first. Even if the yield isn’t good, if you never plant anything, you never get a harvest. And it’s not as though you have no connections — send him in and he’ll at least have official standing. What’s the point of leaving him hanging on the outside?”

Jin Liang said, “You know what he’s like — neither his writing nor his martial arts amount to much.”

Wen Yue said, “I think Little Zhù is right — good or bad, get him an official posting first and let him put in the years. Do you expect to wait until you reach the fifth rank?”

Jin Liang said, “I’ll think it over some more. I’m not sure where would be a good fit for him. He’s a bit simple.”

Zhù Ying said, “You’re calling him simple?”

Jin Liang made as if to strike her, and the three of them dissolved into laughter. They ate and drank a while longer. Jin Liang’s wife said, “All done.”

Zhù Ying said, “Sister-in-law, come sit — you’ve worked hard.”

With Jin Liang’s wife joining them, they left the serious matters behind and talked of ordinary things. The party broke up before much longer — Wen Yue was not on duty the next day, but the curfew was in effect, and they soon scattered.

Cao Chang rolled up his bedding and went off to the gatehouse. The old Cao couple stayed in the servants’ quarters at the front of the courtyard as before.

Zhù Ying lay on her bed and thought: much as the capital is good, getting away quickly would be best.

The next morning, when Zhù Ying rose, Cao’s old parents had already been up, swept the front courtyard all over again, and seen to the horse.

Zhù Ying said, “Never mind all that for now — just get some food ready.”

Cao’s mother said, “The porridge is done. There are boiled eggs, cut pickled vegetables, and some meat dishes left from yesterday…”

Zhù Ying smiled. “That’s good — but we’ll have visitors today.” She took out some money and sent Cao Chang to buy extra breakfast outside — pointing him toward a slightly more expensive stall nearby. Cao Chang came back with a large basket.

Just as he returned, Sun Yidan and Lan Liangzhi arrived at the door.

Zhù Ying said, “Perfect timing — sit down and eat together.”

Both protested: “We’ve eaten at home. We’ll wait while you finish, My Lord. We have time — those above us still need to attend morning court, and business only starts once they’re back.”

Zhù Ying said, “Then you won’t rush me. Eat a little more — you’ve made this trip, which counts for something.” She had specifically asked for the more expensive breakfast items in the capital, where cost of living was high and neither Sun nor Lan could indulge this way every day. When they saw the spread, they stopped declining and sat down to eat a second breakfast. The three of them ate together, the sun rose, and then they all went to the imperial city.

Before leaving the house, Zhù Ying gave each of them a red envelope. Both tried to refuse. Zhù Ying said, “You’re not the ones questioning me, are you? So it’s not irregular. I’ve been away two years and I want to catch up on news — take it for tea.”

Both accepted with smiles.

This morning there was much less of an audience. Zhù Ying arrived first at the Court of Judicial Review, where acquaintances were everywhere, and people called out with suppressed excitement: “Little Lord Zhù.” “Little Zhù is back?”

Lan Liangzhi said quietly to Sun Yidan, “It seems there really is something behind all this.”

The two of them resumed their air of composed dignity once outside the Council of State.

Dou Peng, Pei Qing, and Leng Yun came down from morning court. Hearing that Zhù Ying had arrived, Dou Peng said, “Please show her in.” The word “please” — Pei Qing’s ear twitched slightly at that phrasing.

Zhù Ying arrived with Lan and Sun at the entrance to the main hall. She knew this hall well. She walked in calmly and at a measured pace, Lan and Sun behind her. All three paid their respects to the three officials seated above. Leng Yun asked, “Why have you two turned up?”

Dou Peng looked at them — their faces were vaguely familiar. “Are there instructions from the Chief Ministers?”

Lan Liangzhi bowed and said with a smile, “The Chief Ministers asked us to escort Lord Zhù first to the Court of Judicial Review, then to the Censorate. The Council of State is not involved in this case — but once the case is resolved, the Chief Ministers have other questions for Lord Zhù, so they have sent us to accompany her.”

Dou Peng said, “Understood.”

Zhù Ying said, “What would you like to ask of me, sir?”

Dou Peng had an impression of Zhù Ying. He smiled and said, “A small matter of verification. I expect you’re already aware — Su Kuang.”

Zhù Ying answered in the same manner she had at the Council of State: “When I left my post, all matters were handed over in full. When Inspectors Ruan and Fan came to Fulu County for the Censorate, I had nothing else to tell them.”

Dou Peng nodded. Zhù Ying could tell from his expression that her reading of the situation had been correct. She had not actually needed to come — everything had already been handed over properly; there was nothing to pursue. And Dou Peng had no intention of letting the Censorate dig into his domain. He was newly arrived, and already having his territory forcibly prodded — no one could stand that.

Dou Peng harbored considerable dissatisfaction with the Censorate as well. Seeing that Zhù Ying was not raising further matters, he said, “When you were here, the Court of Judicial Review ran with strict discipline. Who could have foreseen something like this happening?”

Zhù Ying said, “Each person has their designated duties. If one were to ceaselessly inspect subordinates, would one not be accused of excessive suspicion and insufficient magnanimity?” After Zheng Xi had left the Court of Judicial Review, it was Pei Qing who had been managing things in an acting capacity. If the Vice Director or Su Kuang had done something wrong, it could easily implicate Pei Qing — which was not something Zhù Ying wanted to see.

Dou Peng asked, “What was the situation at the time?”

Zhù Ying did not produce for him the receipt from when she had received the items — instead she presented the receipt from when she had handed them over to the Vice Director. She said, “Would you like a copy made? Otherwise, the Censorate will also want to check against it, and that may become another dispute.”

Dou Peng immediately called clerks forward — one per page, copying rapidly. When the originals were returned to Zhù Ying, she read through the copies, signed them as authentication.

Those copying, those reading — all were quietly astonished. So we once had so much property.

Dou Peng said, “I suspected as much.”

Zhù Ying said, “You are most perceptive, sir.”

Dou Peng looked around and asked Pei Qing and Leng Yun, “Do you have anything further to ask?” Both shook their heads.

Lan and Sun then accompanied Zhù Ying to the Censorate.

The Censorate was not far from the Court of Judicial Review. They arrived quickly. Zhù Ying had an acquaintance inside the Censorate — Senior Censor Yang aside, her acquaintance was Jiang Zhi. To outside observers, she and Jiang Zhi did not seem particularly close, but both in fact had deep ties to Zheng Xi. Su Kuang’s case was not being handled by Jiang Zhi — he had by now been promoted to Investigating Censor, and as they were both in the same boat, stuck at the sixth rank, they caught each other’s eyes in greeting as colleagues before Jiang Zhi went off to attend to his own business.

The Investigating Censor in charge of Su Kuang’s case was named Yan Jianmin — a square-faced middle-aged man with the kind of face that looked exactly as an official should, conveying considerable authority. Yet toward Zhù Ying he was quite courteous: “I am sorry to have put Lord Zhù to so much trouble on this long journey.”

Zhù Ying knew him too — the Censorate borrowed the Court of Judicial Review’s prison, and officials handling cases frequently dealt with Zhù Ying; when female prisoners needed to be taken for questioning, the procedures were even more involved, and they had frequent contact.

Zhù Ying said, “Not at all — when a case touches on me, it is right that I should explain myself.”

Yan Jianmin said, “Then I won’t stand on ceremony — what happened exactly?”

“The events occurred after I left. All I have are the receipts. Shall I ask you to have someone copy them as well?”

Yan Jianmin smiled. “You won’t leave the case evidence with me?”

Zhù Ying said, “You only need to check the accounts against what is recorded — a copy will serve that purpose. This document is evidence of my handover to another party. If you want to keep it, you’ll need to write me a receipt.”

“You really are careful.”

Zhù Ying said, “If I hadn’t been careful and hadn’t kept these documents, I wouldn’t be able to prove my case right now.”

Yan Jianmin let out a sigh. “Very well — I’ll have someone copy it.”

After the copy was made, he asked, “The mutiny at Feng Fort — what happened there?”

Zhù Ying said, “I truly don’t know — it was five hundred li from me. Apparently there was trouble because I was paying my own people, and the soldiers over there took exception — isn’t that laughable?”

Yan Jianmin said, “What is there to laugh about? When a man is trying to feed a family, of course he’d be agitated. Do you have an account for that?”

Zhù Ying produced another ledger. “These are the official accounts of my dealings with Commander Ding. Would you like copies of these as well?”

Yan Jianmin smiled. “Yes.”

He was under orders from the Council of State — he had no interest in provoking unnecessary trouble. He had worked face to face with Zhù Ying for years in the imperial city, and he knew very well what she was like. Unless someone had conspired from top to bottom to frame her, there was genuinely nothing to find fault with.

While the clerk worked on copying, Yan Jianmin walked with his hands clasped behind his back. “I truly don’t understand why you were called back all this way. Such a long road. Oh — will you be returning soon?”

Zhù Ying said with a smile, “How could I? My posting still has time remaining. Perhaps I was just brought back to be lectured in person so I wouldn’t get up to mischief.”

Yan Jianmin said, “Not necessarily, not necessarily — I hear you had an audience with the Emperor?”

“Yesterday — I reported on some affairs in the county. I was first questioned thoroughly by the Chief Ministers. That was quite harrowing.”

“You, harrowed?”

The two of them were chatting when the document was finished. Yan Jianmin said, “Done. Have a look — are there any errors in the copies?”

Zhù Ying went through them page by page, added authentication notes to both copies, and signed. Yan Jianmin said, “Little Zhù — impressive.”

Zhù Ying said, “In what sense?”

Fan Lu — whom Yan Jianmin had dispatched — had included personal letters in the official correspondence back to Yan Jianmin, cataloguing Zhù Ying’s uncooperativeness and waffling behavior.

Yan Jianmin thought: not even close. He walked Zhù Ying to the door with great courtesy, and at the threshold said, “This case has nothing to do with you, Little Zhù — we only needed to ask a few questions.”

Zhù Ying said, “I understand.”

After leaving the Censorate, there were no further offices to visit. Lan and Sun escorted Zhù Ying back to the Council of State.

Wang Yunhe was in excellent spirits. Zhù Ying’s presentation before the Emperor had gone extremely well — there were still some rough edges, but the foundation was sound. He had spent considerable effort guiding Zhù Ying through historical texts, and the results exceeded his expectations. She read with her head engaged, could form her own ideas — how could Wang Yunhe not be pleased?

He had stayed up that night to read both thick volumes Zhù Ying had submitted. The trial cultivation records were thorough with complete data. Cross-referencing against what he himself knew, Wang Yunhe confirmed that she had genuinely gone into the fields and farmed. Scholar-officials had a particular bad habit — they spoke of “farming and reading,” but for many of them, the “farming” was largely performative, a gesture of affectation. Missing more seeds in autumn than had been planted in spring was of no consequence — they didn’t depend on farming to eat. Among those who were entirely ignorant of farming from the ground up, there was no shortage.

But what Zhù Ying had written in her two-year summary as a local official went beyond what she had already done — it included plans for the future. Not only for Fulu County, but with two additional pages offering her thoughts on the surrounding area. Of course it also included the rice-and-wheat two-harvest question, and the matter of fruit orchards.

Early that morning, Wang Yunhe had finished morning court and immediately shown it all to Shi Kun. The two of them had taken turns clearing through the regular business.

At midday, Zhù Ying was brought along for lunch. Wang Yunhe said, “Come, eat with us.”

Zhù Ying’s appetite was larger than either of theirs. Both men pointed to dishes on their own tables and urged her to take from them. Zhù Ying said, “Aren’t you eating, Chief Ministers? I’m fine — I didn’t eat lunch when I was on the road.”

“We’re old — can’t eat much.” Shi Kun said with feeling.

Wang Yunhe said, “Eat as much as you can — there’s more if you need it. We’ll watch you eat; it improves our appetites as well.”

The usual prohibition against talking during meals did not apply. While eating they talked. Wang Yunhe asked Zhù Ying various things: “You’ve had your eye on the entire Southern Prefecture?”

Zhù Ying said, “I had to. I want Fulu County to grow prosperous — and to return to that idea of wealth as flowing water. If all the water flows to me, and the neighbors are impoverished, I won’t be able to sleep at night either. Better for all of us to be able to grow two harvests, eat enough, have a little money left over — and then they’ll be able to afford my tangerines. Speaking of which — do you eat tangerines?”

Wang Yunhe smiled. “Old Liu has a board with a white inscription on it.”

“That’s the one. I can charge more, and money flows more easily to me that way. But pulling all the money away from my neighbors doesn’t work — I need them to have money first, so they can buy my things. Besides, the counties around me all produce tangerines in large quantities. How do you distinguish between them? Imitation is easy, price wars are easy. Better for others to have their own livelihoods. And then there’s this: people pursue profit. If growing fruit trees pays off, what happens if they stop growing grain?”

Shi Kun said, “Good point. How did you handle that?”

Zhù Ying took another scoop of meat and vegetables and said, “I’m almost embarrassed to say — whoever plows up good farmland to plant fruit trees, I’ll have them dealt with.”

Shi Kun sprayed a mouthful of rice. He pointed at her with his chopsticks. “People say you’re mischievous — I think you’re…” Wait — this was the person who had killed someone at the gate of the capital’s court. Of course she was fierce.

Shi Kun said, “Still best to issue a proclamation before taking action.”

“Yes — I already scared them into compliance.”

Neither Chief Minister found anything remotely troubling in this approach. Shi Kun asked, “You have a strained relationship with the Lu Prefect?”

Zhù Ying said, “I wouldn’t dare suggest that. I have always respected my elders and superiors. It’s just that Fulu County is rather far from the prefectural seat, and I had so much I wanted to accomplish in Fulu County that I inevitably showed insufficient respect to the Prefect. Fortunately he is broad-minded and did not hold it against me — he gave me free rein to do as I saw fit.”

Shi Kun said to Wang Yunhe, “That tongue of hers.”

After lunch, the three of them continued talking over tea. Wang Yunhe asked Zhù Ying about the Ying people. Zhù Ying described her experience: “I was only there about twenty days in total, counting the journey there and back, so I didn’t see everything. Apart from the language barrier, they were no different from ordinary people — there are clever people everywhere, and one can’t assume that because they are ‘barbarians’ they haven’t got brains.”

She gave examples: the chief of the Asu clan coming down the mountain, curious about the craftsmanship of the lowland artisans; the many small traders who had tried to swindle what they thought was a gullible newcomer — only to be laughed at by the second visit, having been thoroughly found out. “The look on their faces — remarkably sly.”

Both Shi Kun and Wang Yunhe smiled.

Wang Yunhe asked whether the Ying people could be brought within the orbit of civilization. Zhù Ying said, “You’ve seen for yourself — that verse history was written by them. The memorial was written by the clan chief’s nephew.”

Wang Yunhe nodded. “Competently done.”

He asked further about the internal situation of the Ying people, particularly the will of their leadership. Zhù Ying said, “They also wish to be on good terms with the court. I have been urging them toward… submission — specifically, requesting loose tributary status. Is that feasible?”

Wang Yunhe and Shi Kun both asked, “Is it truly workable?”

“I wouldn’t dare boast before the Chief Ministers. I am genuinely working toward persuading them to present their territory map and accept the court’s official investiture. But the difficulty is —”

“What difficulty?” Shi Kun asked.

Zhù Ying said, “Their customs are different, and their products are unlike those of the central plains. Taxation would likely not be straightforward. I was thinking: what if they paid their tax in grain — half a shi per household per year? It may seem little, but…”

Shi Kun said, “You want to collect taxes from them?”

Under normal circumstances, tributary or loosely affiliated peoples were not really expected to pay taxes — making an offering every few years was already considered a courtesy, and the amount was not large. The court’s return gifts were generally quite lavish. The real function of such arrangements was a “buffer” — keeping these peoples quiet so they would not stir up trouble or make war on the surrounding smaller groups.

And here was Zhù Ying, proposing to actually collect taxes from them.

Zhù Ying said, “I think it’s feasible. How about trying it? We start by not collecting taxes — focus first on the formal investiture. Then we teach them to grow wheat, so they have an extra harvest. She ought to give me a percentage of that, right?”

The two Chief Ministers burst out laughing.

Zhù Ying said, “Truly — though there may need to be some bargaining. Chief Ministers — the wheat seed I requested: shouldn’t we discuss that now?”

Both held back laughter. “Go on then — let’s hear your offer.”

Zhù Ying said, “I want to proceed in stages — it’s all written in that document. This autumn I’ll plant all of the public-service farmland, then give seed to some of the more capable gentry households, and as for the ordinary farmers, voluntary participation only. The draft oxen aren’t sufficient either — I’ll still need to rent them out to people. When winter comes there’s also canal work; how to offset the labor for corvée duty against the labor needed for farming — so as not to exhaust the people’s capacity — also needs more testing before it can be settled. Once the winter experiments are done, I’ll continue expanding next year. Over three to five years, I want to get winter wheat planted steadily across the whole county. Given the cultivated land in Fulu County, you need to give me at least one thousand shi of wheat seed this time — not one shi less.”

Wang Yunhe said, “You’re looking at another three to five years?”

Zhù Ying rose to her feet, produced from her sleeve yet another thick formal memorial — properly formatted, not a casual summary. She solemnly extended it forward. “I am petitioning to serve an additional term as County Magistrate of Fulu County — two additional terms would be ideal. One harvest of rice, one harvest of wheat — a year goes by in a flash. What can a single term of office accomplish? A fruit tree needs two or three years to grow before it bears fruit, five years before the yield stabilizes. I haven’t yet eaten from the tangerine trees I planted with my own hands. The water channels and roads I planned are not yet finished. Fulu County has yet to produce a single Presented Scholar. Then there are the Ying people — we’ve only just begun. When I arrived, most of the people could still count themselves not among the worst-off if they owned a patched garment — in the countryside there were still people without enough clothes to cover themselves. I’ve come this far, so I ought to see to it that everyone in the whole county wears a new piece of coarse cloth. I want to go back. I ask that you both grant me this.”

Wang Yunhe and Shi Kun were moved in a way that was rare for them. There were many who could speak beautifully; there were few who were willing to go two thousand seven hundred li and dig in to genuinely govern as a county official. Having done the real work, whatever they said after that would be moving.

Wang Yunhe said, “How long you serve is for His Majesty to decide, and for the court to decide. Go back for now.” His tone was uncommonly gentle.

Zhù Ying said, “Yes.”

She was not greatly worried that her request would be denied. Wang Yunhe was a practical man, and the rice-and-wheat double harvest was something that only she understood at this point in the whole court — they would certainly use her.

Her guess was correct. Barely had she left the Council of State when Shi Kun said, “When I saw her present the white pheasant, I thought she had taken a crooked turn — it turns out she is capable of genuinely solid work.”

Wang Yunhe said, “There are plenty of honest, hardworking people, and plenty of clever ones. A person who has a shortcut before them and still chooses to take the upright path — that is truly rare.”

“Then we grant her request?”

Wang Yunhe gave a nod.

The two men read Zhù Ying’s formal memorial carefully through. Satisfied that it said what she had said in person — in slightly more polished language — with no errors or forbidden phrasing, they submitted it with a brief note: “Shows a degree of persistence — unwilling to leave things half done.”

The Emperor said, “I was just thinking of her. Very good.”

After a moment’s reflection, in addition to approving the request, he issued additional rewards: a gift of one hundred thousand cash and one ceremonial red robe.

Wang Yunhe said, “Is the red robe not going a bit far?”

The gift of one hundred thousand cash — one hundred strings — was not a particularly lavish gesture for an emperor. But the red robe was another matter altogether. The fifth rank was the threshold for wearing red, and Zhù Ying was barely holding on at the sixth. Her various accomplishments had all “just started” — none had reached full fruition. To wear red was premature.

The Emperor said, “What do you mean, going too far? Tell her — this robe is being lent to her. When she has truly served the nation and seen the work through, the robe will be genuinely hers.”

At this moment, Zhù Ying did not know that she had received an award. The matter of the case was settled; she had given her account to the Emperor; she had answered the Chief Ministers’ questions.

She left the imperial city, hurried home to change her clothes, and put together a few things — she needed to make her rounds of thanks without delay.

Zheng Xi, Wang Yunhe, and Liu Songnian all had to be thanked in person. And she needed to thank Yue Huan as well, and Leng Yun, who had been genuinely warm-hearted.

It was fortunate that Wen Yue had brought her the rental money, or she would have found herself rather short.

She was doing her mental calculations when the imperial reward arrived.

Zhù Ying had never received a decree at home before. She had to bring out the incense table used for ancestral offerings, search for some incense and light it. The Cao family — all three of them — understood nothing of the protocol, and knelt to the side with their heads bowed.

Zhù Ying received one hundred strings of cash and one ceremonial red robe, and then had to offer tea to the messenger. The messenger was not a palace eunuch, but a young Hanlin academician designated by the Emperor. Hanlin academicians came in two kinds — those who were there to fill a quota, and those who were the real thing. This one was of the genuine variety — a proper Presented Scholar turned Hanlin, like Lan Zhen.

He was a little curious about Zhù Ying, and so did not decline the invitation to stay for tea. He first conveyed the Emperor’s words, asking Zhù Ying to remember: “Only when you have devoted your heart to the affairs of the nation will this robe truly be yours.”

Then he smiled. “Congratulations, Lord Zhù — purple and red are in reach.”

Zhù Ying said, “I wouldn’t dare assume that. If my ambition is set on the red and purple, then this moment — right now — is the closest I will ever come to a red robe in my life.”

The young Hanlin said, “The remoteness of Fulu County must be a concern… I speak as a young man and perhaps presumptuously — would not a position closer to the capital serve better?”

Zhù Ying said, “I would not dare disappoint the Emperor’s grace. Until the work of my posting is done, I dare not think of anything else.”

“Doing well in one’s posting is itself the path back to the capital — and being near the Son of Heaven is the only way to truly receive the benefit of the imperial light. Take Scholar-Duan in the Bureau of Historiography, for instance — only in proximity to His Majesty can he give full expression to his talents.”

Zhù Ying said, “His situation is not easy. Sand and wind make it difficult even to farm, let alone excel — but his strengths lie elsewhere. The path he has taken suits him. I can still farm a little, which puts me in a better position than he is. I shouldn’t be greedy.”

The young Hanlin inwardly felt more sympathy for Duan Ying, and noted that Zhù Ying had not spoken a single ill word about him. He thought to himself: Is this person a magnanimous gentleman — or someone who conceals envy beneath a mask of broad-mindedness?

He had not found the bottom of her, and could not stay too long in any case. He made a polite exit, and left without accepting any token of thanks.

Cao’s mother asked in a flustered voice, “Master — M-Master — what do we do with all this?”

Zhù Ying said, “Nothing to be done — I’m about to spend it. How wonderful — I was just worrying that I was running short!”

She tucked the robe away in the wardrobe and picked up a string of coins. “Now I have nothing to worry about.”

She drafted a letter of thanks first, to be delivered to the Emperor tomorrow.

Then she packed up her things and set off for the Zheng residence.