That evening, Chen Baoxiang returned to Han Xiao’s thatched hut.

She sat on a low stool and looked at the dust-smudged Great Immortal across from her, then couldn’t help leaning over to ask, “What are you thinking about?”

Zhang Zhixu lowered his gaze, his lashes trembling slightly. “Back at Zhaixing Tower, and then again at the housewarming banquet — you always made sure there were no leftovers on the table. At first I thought it was just you being stingy and wanting to sell the food.”

Chen Baoxiang propped her chin in her hand and looked at him. “And now?”

Now he understood. A child who grew up in the fields couldn’t bear to see food wasted.

He even felt a kind of revulsion toward his own extravagance. All those dishes he had turned his nose up at, refused to eat — in someone else’s mouth, they might have been life-saving things.

He had always known that suffering people filled the world, and that even if he gave away every last coin he owned, he might still not save them all. He had known this from the beginning.

But there was a world of difference between knowing it from a high post in a distant hall and sitting here in the middle of it.

“I had the Department of Brewing stop the grain collection, and had food distributed to every household. But that can only last a few days.” He murmured. “The matter of Xiaohui Moneylending House’s account ledgers and the land seizures will take at least three months to investigate properly.”

Three months — many of these farming households might not see justice before their families were completely destroyed.

“Having someone investigate is better than having no one manage it at all.” Chen Baoxiang said. “You’re already a genuinely fine official.”

As she spoke, she handed him a leather water flask. “Here.”

“What’s this?”

“Spring water.”

Zhang Zhixu had been thirsty since early on, but had held back without saying anything. Even Ningsu hadn’t noticed — how had she?

He took a drink from the flask, and the tension that had held his brow knotted for hours finally eased. He was just about to say thank you when he turned his head and saw her open palm stretched toward him.

“Much obliged. Two taels of silver.”

Zhang Zhixu barely managed not to spit the water in her face.

“I was thinking I’d sent Jiuquan back to the capital to catch corrupt officials,” he said through gritted teeth. “Clearly I had the direction wrong — I should have arrested you first.”

Chen Baoxiang burst out laughing and seemed to be in excellent spirits. “I’m teasing you. I can beg money from anyone, but not from you, Great Immortal. Come on — give me your hands.”

He extended both hands, half in suspicion.

Chen Baoxiang produced a small medicine vial, pushed back his sleeve, and began applying ointment. “I was lucky just now — I ran into a traveling medicine seller. These are humble country remedies, nothing like your fine things, but they’ll do.”

The dark brown ointment spread over his red, rashy skin, and the arm that had been aching and burning finally felt a thread of coolness.

Zhang Zhixu felt a touch of awkwardness and gave a light cough, grasping for something to say. “What herbs are in this? The smell is rather unusual.”

Chen Baoxiang didn’t look up. “Coptis root, peppermint, and cow dung.”

He frowned in confusion. “The first two I’ve heard of. What’s the last one — an alternative name for some herb?”

“Not an alternative name. Cow dung. From a yellow ox.”

“……”

The Second Young Master Zhang yanked his hand back and shot to his feet.

Chen Baoxiang grabbed him by the wrist, and after a considerable tug-of-war, finally hauled him back down.

She looked over at Ningsu in helpless amusement. “Didn’t you come to find me saying he was exhausted and haggard and barely keeping himself upright?”

Ningsu’s expression was complicated as he clasped his hands. “He was, at the start.”

But whether it was the power of Chen Baoxiang or the power of the cow dung, their master was now looking extremely worked up. “I’m fine. I don’t feel uncomfortable anymore.”

“Really?” She raised an eyebrow. “Tomorrow we still have to go inspect households together — quite a lot of running about.”

“I can handle it.” Zhang Zhixu clenched his jaw. “Something like this is nothing.”

This pampered young lord of a man, who had never known hardship — now standing here with a smudge of ash on his nose, not a scrap of fine fabric left on him, only his neck still pale and clean, pressed against the coarse hemp collar.

He reached over to take the fish-scale land registry Ningsu had brought back, and by the dim light of the oil lamp, began carefully cross-referencing the accounts — sleeve falling back to reveal a stretch of forearm and reddened joints.

Chen Baoxiang propped her cheek in her hand and watched him, thinking that the Great Immortal was truly beautiful — more beautiful than she had ever thought him before.

There was no jade pavilion or carved tower here. No fine wine or exquisite food. Only the slightly rough wind off the open fields and a sky full of blinking stars.

And this man sat in the very soil that had raised her, urgently and wholly absorbed in finding a way out for farming people just like her — his lowered eyes carrying something that looked like ice from a distance, but up close burned with fierce, blazing fire.

She smiled, soft and quiet.

“Master.” A page boy came to report. “Jiuquan has word from the capital — something has turned up.”

Zhang Zhixu raised his head. “Tell me.”

“About where the seized land from Yanglin Village went.” The page boy said. “Although land seized through debt is normally sold to the highest bidder, every single plot has ended up with a man named Lu Xi — and it’s no coincidence.”

“Every single one?” He was visibly startled. “Who is Lu Xi?”

“A relation of the Lu Family — Lu Shouhuai’s own nephew.”

“……” Zhang Zhixu gave a cold laugh.

The laws of Great Sheng prohibited officials from purchasing land from commoners — violators were to be stripped of their post and prosecuted. But officials always found their own methods. Either they put everything under a relative’s name, or they had the moneylending house act as a front. That way, even if the Censorate wanted to investigate, there would be no visible handle to grab onto.

Unless Lu Shouhuai committed a grave enough crime to warrant an investigation extending to three generations of family and every source of wealth — in which case the trail would simply stop cold at his end and never reach Lu Xi.

Zhang Zhixu sat thinking for a moment, then looked over at the person beside him.

Chen Baoxiang was folding a leaf whistle, and when she unexpectedly found herself stared at, she looked up blankly. “What?”

“You always have plenty of clever ideas.” He leaned slightly toward her. “This concerns the village folk of your newly acquired maid — surely you won’t just stand by and do nothing?”

“I’m generally the type who stands by and does nothing whenever possible.” She answered with perfect composure. “I don’t get a pay raise for doing extra work, you know.”

Zhang Zhixu considered. “If this succeeds, I’ll give you a shop.”

“What?” Chen Baoxiang shot to her feet. “A shop? Which street? How many rooms? South-facing or north-facing? Front of the street or the back?”

Zhang Zhixu pressed his hand to his forehead. He had honestly been worrying himself over nothing about her having too soft a heart. This woman’s kindness was like a tiny flower crushed under a boulder, like sesame seeds beneath a watermelon rind.

He shook his head. “You mentioned earlier that you had too many military guard subordinates to feed? There’s a vacant shop near Xuanwumen — five rooms, right in the center of the main street, north-facing. Take it for your business. It’ll give you some income.”

Earlier, the large-denomination silver notes given to Chen Baoxiang had been lost for good in the prison cells in the northern quarter of the city. Zhang Zhixu had been pondering ever since what pretext he might use to give her a means of making money.

The timing now was just right — and compared to those ten thousand taels in notes, the shop was frankly more useful.

The way Chen Baoxiang looked at him shifted in an instant from level to upward.

“Great Immortal!” she said with great fervor. “You are absolutely right — Han Xiao is mine, and her village folk are my village folk. Whether it means climbing a mountain of blades or descending into a sea of fire, I am willing to give my all, to sacrifice everything until my dying breath for them!”

Zhang Zhixu lowered his eyelids and looked at her sideways, shaking his head in speechless resignation.