As long as construction at Guangxia Quarter could continue moving forward, the pressure on the Bureau of Works would ease considerably.

Zhang Zhixu returned to his office, originally intending to tally up the losses from Guangxia Quarter, when he received a freshly delivered letter of censure.

Letters of censure were mostly used by superior yamen offices to report on subordinates, and simply by handling the envelope, he already had a fair sense of its contents.

He opened it and read — sure enough: Patrol Camp Commander Lu Shouhuai was censuring the Military Officers’ Yamen’s Chen Baoxiang for unauthorized deployment of troops, resulting in the delayed response to the fire at Xuanhe Quarter, five residential buildings burned to the ground, and seven civilians killed.

Zhang Zhixu furrowed his brows.

So many things had happened in the span of just a few short hours — he hadn’t anticipated it, and naturally neither had Chen Baoxiang.

Chen Baoxiang was in the middle of turning away some overeager idle men: “I really can’t take in any more mouths to feed — I’ve already got over two hundred people packed into that big courtyard of mine.”

“The Military Officers’ Yamen is still hiring, why don’t you all go give it a try?”

Just as she was saying this, Fan Tian came running over, looking extremely agitated: “Chen Baoxiang, you’ve gotten yourself into trouble again!”

“Huh?” She stood up with a bewildered look on her face. “I’ve been right here the whole time, haven’t moved an inch.”

“That’s exactly the problem.” He braced his hands on his knees, catching his breath. “Who told you to stay here? There was a fire over at Xuanhe Quarter, the Patrol Camp was short-handed, you received the dispatch order and never showed up — people have died over there!”

Her heart jolted. Chen Baoxiang immediately drew her blade and strode outside.

The fire suppression team had already doused the remaining flames. The street was blanketed in white smoke and charred timber, and surviving residents knelt weeping at the roadside.

Xuanhe Quarter sat beside the lake — there hadn’t been a fire here in decades. Under normal circumstances, ten or so patrol officers was more than enough. Who could have anticipated that today, even though she had already sent fifty men over in advance, it still wasn’t enough to prevent the disaster.

“Chief, this fire was deliberate.”

“What?”

“A few of us searched the surrounding area and found three or four torches. In the backyard of one of the houses we managed to save, there was a half-bucket of oil lying on its side.” Zhao Huaizhu said furiously. “What accident? This was murder in broad daylight!”

Chen Baoxiang looked at the physical evidence they had brought over, her expression growing progressively darker.

In an ordinary vendetta killing, someone wouldn’t burn down an entire block of residences — who could possibly have enemies with so many households at once? Nor would they use something as expensive as oil to douse the houses; the common folk were already poor enough that they wouldn’t throw money around so carelessly.

But if you considered this alongside what had happened at Guangxia Quarter today —

It looked exactly like a trap: either to ensnare Zhang Zhixu, or to destroy her outright.

“Keep the evidence safe and find an opportunity to deliver it into Xie Lanting’s hands at the Court of Judicial Review.” She seemed to sense something and looked toward the street entrance. “This is bad — I’m afraid I’m in for some suffering again.”

As if in response to her words, two squadrons of patrol soldiers surged out from the street entrance, grabbed her without ceremony, and began dragging her in the direction of the yamen — no explanations given.

Chen Baoxiang remained relatively composed, thinking that the worst they could pin on her officially was a beating with a plank or a whipping — punishments that came through proper channels wouldn’t actually cost her her life.

But what she hadn’t expected was that after entering the yamen, no one came to interrogate her, and no one came to carry out any punishment. She stood there for a while, and the yamen runner beside her even helpfully brought over a stool for her to sit on, telling her to wait patiently for now.

The treatment was far too generous — Chen Baoxiang could hardly believe it.

Wasn’t the usual procedure to get beaten the moment you walked in the door?

Even more absurd: after waiting a brief while, a presiding official arrived, and before she could even rise to her feet, he had her sit back down and placed a plate of fruit beside her. “Official Chen, your reputation precedes you. Rest assured — this is merely a formality. Once word comes from above, you’ll be free to go.”

She stared at him blankly. “Is Magistrate Xie so capable then? I haven’t even sent him the evidence yet, and he already knows I’ve been wronged?”

“Magistrate Xie?” The presiding official smiled. “It is Magistrate Zhang’s keen discernment you should be thanking.”

Magistrate Zhang? Zhang Zhixu?

The immortal was naturally her guardian star — but a life had been lost today, and she had indeed received a dispatch order she hadn’t followed. No matter how you looked at it, one couldn’t simply pretend nothing had happened.

“Still better not to drag him into this,” she muttered.

The presiding official heard her, rose from his seat and strolled over to her side, lowering his voice: “What dragging-into, what not-dragging-into? For Magistrate Zhang, it’s a matter of a few words — when you see him, I do hope you’ll put in a good word for me.”

Before today, Chen Baoxiang had only heard of Zhang Zhixu’s power and influence — she had never truly witnessed it firsthand.

But now her eyes had been opened. After something this serious, anyone else would at minimum receive thirty lashes of the plank and then be exiled eight hundred li away. Yet here she sat, on a stool, eating fruit, with the presiding official standing beside her offering apologetic smiles.

Before long, she even received a promotion order.

“Congratulations, Official Chen,” the official who delivered it said with great eagerness. “For your meritorious service in quelling the disturbance at Guangxia Quarter today, after deliberation by the Ministry of Personnel above, you are hereby specially promoted to the position of Chief Military Records Officer of the Bureau of Works’ General Directorate, rank of fifth grade, with a salary equal to that of the various camp commanders.”

Chen Baoxiang was so stunned her jaw dropped, and she turned the transfer order over and over in her hands: “And the punishment? The punishment for my dereliction of duty?”

“Official Chen must be so overjoyed she’s confused,” the man said meaningfully. “It is perfectly clear that today you first received the Bureau of Works’ dispatch order and proceeded to Guangxia Quarter as reinforcement. Under the laws of the Great Sheng, a superior official within the same yamen holds priority dispatch authority over subordinates — so what does that later dispatch order from the Patrol Camp have to do with you?”

It could work like that?

Chen Baoxiang held the paper, somewhat dazed.

She was respectfully escorted out of the yamen, and respectfully handed into a carriage.

Evening had fallen, and Bright Pearl Tower had once again lit its lanterns.

The moment Zhang Zhixu stepped through the door, he sensed something was off.

Chen Baoxiang was neither bouncing about nor making a fuss today — she was actually sitting at the table reading his copy of The Great Sheng Legal Code from his bookshelf, her gaze intent and expression focused.

By rights he ought to compliment her on this, but—

He glanced at the spine of the book, which she was holding upside down, and pulled up the stool beside her and sat down. “Something on your mind?”

“Hardly,” she stubbornly turned a page. “I got a promotion today. I’m delighted.”

Did this look like delight?

He studied her for a moment. “Today’s events — do you think it was coincidence, or someone acting with deliberate intent?”

“Obviously Cheng Huaili and Lu Shouhuai and their lot acting with deliberate intent.” Chen Baoxiang brought it up and immediately seethed. “Even if I hadn’t gone to reinforce Guangxia Quarter, they would have kept forcing you to repeatedly dispatch patrol forces there — and then started fires within the patrol’s jurisdiction.”

The Patrol Camp was not under the Bureau of Works’ yamen. Once something went wrong, Zhang Zhixu would also be reported for abusing his dispatch authority.

“Very clever,” he said with a slight smile and a nod. “So then what are you upset about?”

“I’m not upset, I just thought of some old memories… never mind, you probably don’t want to hear about it.”

He pulled over his stool and sat beside her, cradling his teacup. “Tell me.”

Chen Baoxiang composed herself and gestured with her hands: “Back in our Sanxiang village, there was a man who had been blind in one eye since childhood. No one would hire him for work, so there seemed to be no way forward for him — but he was hardworking and enduring, willing to haul slop water in the city, do night watchman rounds, sweep the streets, whatever work there was. By the time he was in his twenties, he had finally scraped together a little money and was planning to return to the village to pay for his mother’s treatment.”

“But at the time, two powerful households had a falling out with each other — one claimed their home had been robbed, the other said their home had caught fire. Both families had considerable influence and couldn’t succeed in suing each other, so the magistrate, wanting to smooth things over, had the night watchman dragged out and beaten with the plank.”

“That beating was severe. Both his legs were left paralyzed. He was delayed in the city for half a month, and so his mother died without being saved — and he himself could only barely drag out his days.”

Chen Baoxiang tilted her head and smiled: “His entire life was ruined, yet it was like a water droplet falling into the sea — it stirred not a single ripple. Shangjing carried on as usual, and the magistrate who ordered his beating was even promoted afterward.”

The knuckles of Zhang Zhixu’s hands, cradling his teacup, trembled slightly.

He had grown up within a great family clan. The education he had received from childhood was in essence the principle that “great achievers do not dwell on minor details.”

In today’s matter, what he needed to do was break free of the other party’s trap — and once he successfully escaped it, the matter could be considered resolved.

As for what methods the other party had used, how many people had been caught in the crossfire — in truth, none of that had anything to do with him, and the blame would not fall on him.

But listening to the story Chen Baoxiang told, he suddenly felt himself transported into her body — a surging, rising tide of indignation and bitter resentment swelling in his chest.

Why? Why should other people’s entire lives be nothing more than casualties in the power struggles of the privileged? Why should people who could have lived perfectly well become shapeless ashes scattered beside the river in Xuanhe Quarter?

“I will avenge them,” he said after a long silence. “But before the culprit is brought to justice, what I can do is arrange for funds to be disbursed for the repair of their homes and funeral compensation — at most only at the allocation for a seventh-rank military officer. Anything higher would probably be difficult to—”

Before he could finish that sentence, Chen Baoxiang let out a cry of “Wow!” and threw her arms around his. “My immortal, you truly live up to being a compassionate, suffering-relieving celestial being!”

“Hmm?”

“Under normal circumstances, the authorities would never get involved in something like this — the people would only be able to chalk it up to their own bad fortune.” Her eyes shone bright as crystals. “But you’re actually willing to have their homes rebuilt, and willing to provide funeral compensation!”

Rebuilding homes in that area was no simple matter — even if the land was one’s own, just to proceed smoothly would require greasing palms on all sides, and a single house would run no less than one or two million cash.

And as for the burials — those people had seen their homes and belongings turned to ash overnight. To hold a proper ritual ceremony and bury their loved ones with due rites, they would likely have to sell themselves into bondage.

If the authorities were willing to handle all of this, it would truly be the greatest fortune within misfortune.

“I always said I needed to have a golden effigy made for you!” She happily ducked her head to rummage through her things.

Zhang Zhixu still hadn’t quite steadied his emotions, when he watched her suddenly produce a palm-sized carved wooden Buddhist figurine with a flourish, and present it to him like a prized treasure.

“How about it — I said I’d do it and I did, didn’t I?”

The golden-gleaming figurine stood in her palm, the craftsmanship not particularly refined, but clearly made with care — even the small pendant on the prayer beads had not been overlooked.

But upon closer inspection of the materials, Zhang Zhixu couldn’t help but laugh again: “You said you’d use gold, and yet you’ve gone and used gold foil again.”

“My immortal, you don’t understand — solid gold is so heavy, how tiring it would be to carry. Gold foil, on the other hand… it has the advantage of being lightweight.” Chen Baoxiang offered the explanation with some effort, placing the little figurine in his hand. “Look — does it look like you?”

The figurine was tiny and it was difficult to tell who it resembled, but Zhang Zhixu found it amusing all the same and turned it over, examining it from every angle: “Why is this hand stretched out like that?”

As if reaching out to clasp someone else’s hand.

“Ah, so you don’t understand?” She produced another wooden figurine and, grinning, brought the two carvings’ hands together. “This is called a ‘clasped-hand pair.’ One for each of us — so if I ever need you, I can call out to you through the figurine.”

Zhang Zhixu let out a startled cough.

If he truly were an immortal, the thing might actually work — but he wasn’t.

“This object… it doesn’t look like it has any magical power,” he said, feeling somewhat guilty.

“Of course it does!” Chen Baoxiang protested. “I requested this at the Azure Cloud Temple — the Daoist priest even consecrated it. He said it was the most efficacious and reliable kind, and it cost a full one hundred copper coins.”

She went to a Daoist temple to petition a Buddhist deity, and had it consecrated there?

Zhang Zhixu opened his mouth, then stopped himself, and finally pressed his hand to his forehead. “Forget it. Let’s eat dinner first.”

“I won’t be eating dinner with you tonight.” She rose to her feet. “Tonight is Young Master Pei’s birthday — there’s a banquet at Zhaixing Tower in the evening.”

Zhang Zhixu paused. His expression remained calm as he lowered his eyes. “You’re going?”

“Of course — he sent me an invitation.”

“…”

“My immortal, what’s wrong? Why does your face suddenly look so terrible?”

“It doesn’t. The sky outside has just grown dark,” he said coldly, rising to his feet. “Go on then. Have a thoroughly good time.”

“But my jewelry and headpieces are still at Xun Yuan and I haven’t brought them over.” She let out a sly chuckle. “I hear this Bright Pearl Tower has quite a few treasures — could you possibly…”

“No.”

“What? I’ll only borrow them for a bit and return them.”

“Borrowing doesn’t work either.” He narrowed his eyes toward the scenery outside the window. “If anything goes wrong, I can’t be held responsible.”

What a miser.

Chen Baoxiang pursed her lips. Seeing that the hour was already late, she didn’t continue to pester him, and skipped and bounced off to change her clothes.