Imperial City, the Council of State.

Shi Kun picked up an official document, read it through, took up his brush and wrote a short note to tuck inside it, and the matter was done. On the other side of the room, Wang Yunhe was doing much the same. Both men had long since gone mostly white at the temples, and neither face bore any trace of a smile. Scribes and junior officials moved about on light feet, receiving and dispatching documents, not daring to say a word more than necessary.

Shi Kun opened another document, let out a breath, and let it fall back on the desk with a soft thud. Wang Yunhe set down the brush resting on his brushholder and asked, “What is it?”

Shi Kun said, “Not a lamp in the lot that burns without oil. Look here — another one coming to complain of hardship.”

Wang Yunhe gave a small smile. “Even a lamp that burns efficiently still needs to burn oil.”

Shi Kun laughed at himself. “I’ve gotten old — I can’t keep my composure the way I used to.”

The two old men looked at each other, and something of a kindred feeling passed between them. Wang Yunhe asked, “Who is it this time?”

Shi Kun said, “Bian Xing.”

Wang Yunhe said, “Him? He really isn’t much.”

Shi Kun complained, “How did he end up with a name like that?” The characters of his name literally meant “quite capable,” which felt like irony.

The joke passed quickly. Shi Kun said, “That’s the fourteenth.”

“The fifteenth,” Wang Yunhe said.

“Who’s your one?” Shi Kun looked at the document spread open on Wang Yunhe’s desk.

Wang Yunhe said, “Zhù Ying.”

Shi Kun said, “That one has never burned efficiently.”

“She’s already burning quite economically — and yet we’re still asking her to light up the room. How can we not give her lamp oil?”

Shi Kun said, “Don’t bring it up, don’t bring it up. Ever since the order went out for the prefectures to transfer grain, every complaint comes with its own excuse. It’s as though their territories weren’t assigned to them by the court to govern on the court’s behalf, but were their own private fiefdoms! They clutch their food bowl for dear life — making them give up one bite has them crying about hardship for hours, and demanding that the court remember their sacrifice and reward them for it.”

Wang Yunhe’s expression grew serious. He said quietly, “Following every court directive and delivering full grain quotas year after year is not without its own trouble, either. In years of poor harvest, when quotas are still met and exceeded, it looks good in the officials’ performance reviews — but every last thread of this comes from the people. It’s their flesh and blood being used to buy the officials’ shining careers.”

The two men fell silent. Shi Kun said, “Let’s see to all the prefectures’ situations first, and then decide how to handle them.”

Wang Yunhe said, “I’m afraid the trouble will be greater than expected.”

“Then there’s no helping it — we have to deal with it. Alas. I thought I’d be able to retire peacefully.”

“You?”

Shi Kun gave a bitter smile. “Even though I’ve longed to do as the retired Academician Chen did and step away — I cannot flee at a moment like this. The current problems are all old ailments. Compared to the other great matter, even this is not the most pressing. You and I together — let us get through this.”

Wang Yunhe said, “Though these are old ailments, if we don’t act decisively now, I fear they’ll become entrenched beyond remedy. This cannot be delayed — we must press ahead.”

Both men had come up through local postings and naturally understood the difficulties of local officials. The court used tax revenue as a measure of official performance. Even an official who cared genuinely for the people had to weigh the fact that he could not afford to reduce taxes every year without consequence. A Prefect was not alone — behind him stood an entire prefecture’s worth of officials. They were all pursuing official careers: duty to the sovereign above, security for the common people below, and also hoping for themselves the purple and the crimson of high rank, and glory for their families.

So when a disaster was mild enough to be managed, local officials typically under-reported it or described it in the lightest terms, and then collected the full quota of taxes — to demonstrate their competence to the court. Those with a conscience kept their own yamen’s share a little lean, so the people were not pushed quite so hard. Those without conscience collected as usual.

When times were good, things could sustain. In the next good year, a conscientious official would try to patch over the hole from the bad year. An indifferent official left the hole for the next man, one term stacked upon another, forming a tradition of each incoming official making up for his predecessor’s shortfalls. The first requirement of plugging a hole was that it look patched over on paper. As for the actual granaries — whenever there’s time.

When the people could get by, no one would travel all the way to the capital to report that the local government had collected taxes as normal. The officials themselves certainly wouldn’t say so. Though the court periodically dispatched inspectors, without considerable skill it was very hard to detect anything amiss. As long as a disaster wasn’t too large to conceal, the details rarely reached the Council of State. Wang Yunhe and the others had to rely on their own former students, old associates, subordinates, and friends for a partial picture.

This being so, once a disaster struck, its consequences were greatly amplified. If it was being reported at all, it meant the local level had already lost control.

This was under the best of circumstances — where the officials were not corrupt. In the worst case, a corrupt official would report a minor disaster, ask the court to waive part of the taxes, and then still collect the full amount within his own jurisdiction. The difference went into his own pockets. Some did this even in major disasters, then applied to the court for disaster relief funds — and then embezzled those too.

The old hands in the court were not foolish. To prevent this, it was not the case that reporting a disaster immediately triggered a full waiver and relief payment — instead, there was partial and deferred relief, with amounts recorded as unpaid tax arrears. And thus “tax arrears” came into existence.

When Shi and Wang saw the disaster reports arriving, they immediately got to work. They first dispatched capable officials to the northern territories for a thorough investigation — this time with their eyes wide open. They genuinely uncovered some problems: in certain areas, the ledgers showed grain in the granaries but the granaries were empty.

Thanks to the recent run of years without major disaster, this had not yet produced catastrophic results.

The two men first petitioned the Emperor to temporarily waive a portion of this year’s northern land taxes. Then they issued orders to mobilize existing stores in preparation for relief. Given what they understood of local officials’ falsified ledgers, Wang Yunhe believed the northern prefectural granaries were problematic and could not wait for the next bad report to arrive — they needed to get ahead of any potential grain shortage. Using a relay-transfer method, grain was moved from intermediate granaries to the north, and grain from the south filled in those intermediate granaries.

And so Zhù Ying and the others received the official dispatch worded without any room for negotiation. The south had enjoyed good years recently and had also gradually adopted double-cropping of rice and wheat, so grain supplies there should be relatively ample.

However, anyone who made it to the rank of Prefect was no lamp that burned without oil. And if the Prefect was efficient, those around the Prefect could be even more costly.

The Council of State received in succession the complaint dispatches of several prefectures’ Prefects. None had dared refuse outright, but every one, without exception, pleaded great difficulty. Their common people were not as prosperous as those in the north to begin with. The winter wheat had only just been planted, and they still owed a debt of wheat seed to Zhù Ying, who nagged them annually for repayment. That devious wretch also had the thick profit of refined sugar — could the court perhaps ask her to forgive the debts everyone owed? Or you could transfer us away; frankly we’d rather not repay Wuzhou’s debt. Or transfer her away and give us a breather. Of course, your subordinate will do his utmost to fulfill the court’s mandate.

Bian Xing’s letter was different from the others — he made no mention of Zhù Ying but did cite the reduction of his jurisdiction as grounds for lower taxes. Furthermore, the establishment of the new Nannan Prefecture had been an expense in itself, so things were genuinely difficult. Of course, if the court had need, his heart was full of devoted loyalty to the sovereign, and he would absolutely pay in full.

Zhù Ying, of course, did not bring up the fact that she was a creditor. Instead she lamented that she had already dispensed tens of thousands of piculs of wheat seed. Then she pivoted, arguing that the problem in the north appeared to be quite serious. In the aftermath of a major disaster, the people’s hardship only grew, and that led to the concentration of land in fewer and fewer hands. Once land was concentrated, landowners always found ways to avoid taxation, and the land on which the court and local governments could collect taxes shrank — while the total tax quota remained unchanged. The burden shifted entirely onto the remaining commoner population. So it went, cycle upon cycle — this had been the pattern of every dynasty throughout history.

To prevent this outcome, she would not stint on disaster relief. However, the court was aware of Wuzhou’s situation — its thin base of resources, and the need to grow sugarcane — so she could not contribute a great deal. This year she would push a little harder if required, but next year she expected a return to the previous arrangement, and no further extraordinary levies going forward.

Everyone invoked the “common people” as their justification, describing the hardship of the “elders of their districts” and their own great efforts to provide comfort and reassurance. Some also said they hoped the court would give the people who had made sacrifices a proper “acknowledgment” — an indication that they wanted recognition or promotion, and that it carried a veiled threat as well.

It was evident these were attempts to claim credit and extract rewards — with some leverage implied.

Shi Kun pointed to the pile of dispatches and said, “These ‘regional lords’ are thoroughly rotten. Paying taxes to the court is their duty — and yet look at them, presenting the bill to the court.”

Wang Yunhe said, “Have the Ministry of Personnel compile a list of all current vacancies and wait — they will certainly be recommending candidates.” “Shi Gong, don’t be angry. It costs oil to keep lamps lit.”

Shi Kun gave a cold laugh. “I want to see what kinds of second-rate mediocrities they’re going to recommend — people who couldn’t get official posts on their own merits through normal channels! Old Wang, you’re just too even-tempered. Hmph! Using the court’s moment of need to extort concessions — how dare they. The court is not selling official posts because it needs grain! Scoundrels!”

“Shi Gong…”

Shi Kun waved his hand. “An official post is not so easy to have. A man who was a commoner yesterday who gets an appointment expects to immediately govern a territory or hold a prestigious position? Dream on! Get in line and wait your turn. Next year’s evaluation — the first ones I examine will be these ‘bought officials’! These scoundrels — trading taxes they should have paid in full for favors — the court is not so desperate for grain that it’s selling appointments! Outrageous!”

Wang Yunhe, hearing this, found his own thinking was along similar lines, and said, “The autumn harvest will begin soon enough. I expect that this winter when they come to the capital they will have their arguments ready. If genuinely capable men emerge among them, they could be of use. But it is also time for these men to be rotated gradually — otherwise they really will become regional lords. And too many unearned positions of rank is also bad — once you start handing out ranks, the local tax base shrinks further. We cannot give them whatever they demand.”

The two veteran Prefects, now polished into chancellors, reached the same conclusion, and the first genuine smiles of the day appeared on both their faces.

Shi Kun said, “Tonight is your turn?”

Wang Yunhe said, “Mine — odd days are mine, even days are yours.”

With the overnight duty confirmed, Shi Kun said, “When will His Majesty add two more to our number, so you and I can finally get a little rest?”

Wang Yunhe said, “Who would he add?”

What they said aloud was “Chancellor,” but what both men had in their hearts was the Crown Prince.

Shi Kun had originally expected to last until the Crown Prince’s accession and become a Chancellor spanning two reigns. He would arrange things for his own sons and grandsons, recommend the next Chancellor if he could manage it, and then retire before the new sovereign grew tired of him. He had simply never expected the Emperor to live this long, nor to live to see the princes in contention for the succession. His head swam with it all.

Wang Yunhe had equally not expected the Emperor to live so long. Counting on his fingers — in all of history, barely a handful of emperors had lived to the age this one had reached. His assumption had been that a new young sovereign would take the throne, spend the first two years consolidating his position and demonstrating filial piety, and then the young man’s ambition for his own achievements would emerge. He would assist the new sovereign in building a legacy and seize the opportunity to reform things that had been visible problems but politically inconvenient to change while the old Emperor lived.

And now look — after a lifetime of court service, the Crown Prince was gone, the reforms put on hold. And before anything else, the matter of the Crown Prince had to be settled. Others could leave it alone; they could not. The first Crown Prince had been gone for a long while — it was time to establish a new one. An early appointment would settle the public mind. But the Emperor, for reasons unknown, simply would not hear of it.

Both men’s smiles faded once more.

The following day, still a flurry of activity. No “regional lords” caused trouble that day — the northern ones knew they had provoked a crisis and had been on their best behavior of late. Wang Yunhe and Shi Kun had an audience with the Emperor and presented a list of northern officials with varying punishments assigned.

Falling victim to a natural disaster was bad luck. Compounding it with human failings was grounds for reckoning.

The Emperor said, “How could things have come to this? I thought they were perfectly fine last year. How dare they deceive the throne? What was the Ministry of Personnel doing? And you two in the Council of State — why weren’t you overseeing this?”

Wang and Shi hastily asked for punishment.

The Emperor’s face changed again, and he said, “You two toil night and day for the affairs of the realm — the occasional oversight is only human. What are the proposed remedies?”

Shi Kun quickly described the relay grain transfer plan. Wang Yunhe further suggested, “Taking this opportunity, let the Ministry of Finance jointly investigate and inspect actual grain stores and reserves across all territories. Previously, inspections only verified the accounts. As long as the accounts balanced and the annual submissions reached the capital, that was considered sufficient — what was actually in their local granaries was very difficult for the court to see. It now appears we need to have a look — to assess the officials’ real capacity.”

The Emperor propped his elbow on the arm of his chair, leaned forward, and said, “An excellent suggestion!” He then pointed to the list Wang Yunhe had submitted — indicated that those to be punished should be punished, and that the vacancies be filled as soon as possible.

Shi and Wang both accepted the commission.

The Emperor then said, “This round of inspections will be a significant undertaking. The Ministry of Finance will be very busy. For new officials being appointed, the Ministry of Personnel and the Ministry of Rites will also have no rest. The Ministry of Rites is in Zheng Xi’s hands — him I trust. The Ministry of Personnel cannot be without someone at the helm. Given the volume of work, older men may lack the energy. Better to send someone younger. Let it be Yao Zhen.”

Shi Kun thought to himself: Him? What particular distinction has he shown? His record doesn’t stand out either. Oh — his deceased father was an old associate of His Majesty’s.

Wang Yunhe gave nothing away, bowed to the Emperor, and said, “He is in his prime years.”

The Emperor smiled. “Then it’s settled.”

Wang Yunhe said, “Your Majesty, I have one more matter.”

“What is it?”

Wang Yunhe said, “If even the Ministry of Personnel cannot be without someone to lead it, how much more so the Eastern Palace? Please, Your Majesty, establish the Crown Prince early to calm the hearts of the realm. The murmuring of the common people is a small thing; the unease of the princes is a large one.”

The Emperor’s expression fell. He said, “How are they uneasy? Are they waiting to serve a new master?”

For the Emperor to speak of his own sons this way was unpleasant to hear. The two chancellors exchanged a glance and could only bow again. The Emperor rose and left, leaving the two chancellors standing in stunned silence.

The Emperor’s temper was not small. He looked at everyone with seething displeasure.

Luo Yuan stepped forward and said softly, “Your Majesty.”

“Get out of my sight!”

Luo Yuan actually rolled along the ground in a circle to amuse the Emperor. Nearby eunuchs and palace women who had any sense dared not raise their heads, doing their best to shrink themselves off to the side, terrified of catching Luo Yuan’s eye. Those less experienced were doing their best to stifle laughter, thinking only how extraordinarily agile the Chief Eunuch could be.

The Emperor grew angrier, and kicked out at him. Luo Yuan didn’t dare dodge — he absorbed the kick full force, and the pain made him go dark before his eyes. The Emperor, now in his advancing years, stumbled slightly after the kick, nearly pitching sideways. Lan Xing rushed forward to steady him, and a crowd of eunuchs and palace women closed in around the Emperor. Two small eunuchs took the brunt as the Emperor fell toward them, landing solidly.

The Emperor was helped upright, still shaken, and said, “Bring…”

Luo Yuan, by now somewhat advanced in years himself, had gone white with fright and was kowtowing continuously. Lan Xing also stepped forward to plead for him: “Your Majesty, considering his years of faithful service…”

The Emperor finally pardoned Luo Yuan. Lan Xing summoned a palanquin and conveyed the Emperor back to the inner hall. He watched the Emperor’s expression and quietly made a few gestures — those bringing in fresh tea and fruit stepped forward; all music and dancing was dismissed.

The Emperor sat in silence. He had no interest in music or dancing. After a while, Lan Xing, seeing he seemed to have calmed a little, approached carefully and took away the now-cold tea, replacing it with fresh.

The Emperor accepted the tea and took a small sip. Then he asked, “Am I old?”

“Your Majesty is in the full bloom of your years.”

The Emperor unhappily set the teacup back on the table and said to Lan Xing, “We have been together for decades — you are my oldest household servant. Speak honestly with me. All of them — don’t they all want an early establishment of the Eastern Palace?”

Lan Xing bowed and said, “Your Majesty still thinks of the late Crown Prince. Every parent’s child is their own.”

The Emperor smiled.

From a public standpoint, he naturally understood that establishing a Crown Prince early would settle the public mind and prevent the princes from fighting each other to a point of no return. Privately, he did not want to have someone standing there who could replace him at any moment — even that best of his sons who had died so young.

As for the present…

The Emperor rubbed his leg. Lan Xing quickly stepped forward, and when the Emperor released it, Lan Xing knelt at his side and carefully began to knead it for him. The Emperor murmured vaguely, “What we need is someone filial and benevolent…”

Lan Xing did not dare respond. His hands became all the more careful.

After a while, the Emperor shifted his leg, and Lan Xing took the natural cue to withdraw his hands and quietly pushed himself up from the floor. After such prolonged kneeling, Lan Xing’s legs had gone somewhat numb, and his body swayed slightly. Two sharp-eyed small eunuchs behind him hurried forward to support him. Under the cover of his robe’s hem, Lan Xing gently flexed his feet.

The Emperor drifted into distraction again, still hesitating.

He knew the rules of succession: legitimacy first, then seniority over merit; for concubine-born sons, rank of the mother above age. The late Crown Prince had been ideal in every respect. Setting him aside, the current eldest was Prince Zhao.

But Prince Zhao had been denounced by the Crown Princess! The Crown Princess — his own chosen daughter-in-law — was someone who had always spoken and acted with discipline. Still young, she had accepted her widowhood and was raising her son. She had been a proper enough daughter-in-law. The imperial grandson, though young, was the Crown Prince’s own son.

Prince Zhao’s wariness of his nephew was inevitable, the Emperor thought. The late Crown Prince — the best of his sons — had kept all the other princes obedient and orderly, including Prince Zhao, as long as he was alive.

If only he were still here…

Without him, the whole world had changed. The princes jostled against each other, and it seemed as if not one of them was a decent person. Prince Lu was arrogant and disrespectful toward his brothers; Prince Zhao plotted against his nephew; Prince Tang was bribing officials; Prince Wei was drifting through mountains and rivers, doing nothing of substance; Prince Zhou and Prince Wu had gotten drunk and brawled with each other…

One after another, his sons had all become villains!

The Emperor felt a sharp headache coming on. He no longer asked for a son who could open a new age of prosperity. He just wanted someone normal — filial to his parents, friendly toward his brothers. Was that really so much to ask?

Lan Xing had waited until the Emperor returned to himself before slowly making his way forward again. The Emperor said, “You’re tired — go rest. You’re not young either. Let the others handle things.”

“Yes.”

That night was Shi Kun’s turn on overnight duty. Lan Xing left the palace and went straight home. His residence was sizable, though it didn’t look especially grand from the outside. Inside, it lacked for nothing. A whole household of servants crowded around calling out, “Grandfather.” Those with sharp eyes saw he was moving slowly, and some made a deliberate fuss: “What’s happened to you?”

Lan Xing waved them all off. “Disperse!”

Lan De stepped forward to support him into his room and asked carefully, “Father, what’s…”

Lan Xing gave this “son” of his a sidelong look and humphed. “Can’t be bothered to come home? Living freely out there, are we?”

“Your son doesn’t dare! With Father still in the palace, how could your son allow himself to rest? Your son went to the estate — to see to the autumn harvest…”

Lan Xing let out a sigh. “Pack up. Come with me somewhere.”

“Yes.”

Lan Xing and Lan De changed their clothes, and without the telltale hairlessness beneath the chin, they looked perfectly like two scholars of some standing. They did not take horses but boarded a small carriage from the back gate. Two trusted household servants drove the carriage, and they made their way to the Liu residence.

Liu Songnian had recently been declining all visitors, but a single name card from Lan Xing opened the doors.

Lan De thought this peculiar — he had never seen Liu Songnian send gifts to the Lan household. And yet the two of them seemed to be acquainted?

Lan Xing said, “All of you wait here.”

“Ah? Oh!”

Lan Xing walked slowly to a small parlor. Inside, Liu Songnian was making tea. Liu Songnian looked up. “Something going on?”

Lan Xing didn’t wait for an invitation but walked to the seat across from Liu Songnian and sat down. Liu Songnian didn’t send him away; instead he poured a cup for him too. Lan Xing tasted it and said, “Is Chancellor Wang home this evening?”

“What of it? Looking for him?”

“A small matter.”

“Mm?”

Lan Xing gave a bitter smile. “If you people keep pressing His Majesty about establishing the Eastern Palace, no one will have a peaceful day.”

Liu Songnian said, “He wouldn’t listen to you even if you said that — that’s not like him! And you can’t stop court officials from requesting the establishment of the Crown Prince either.”

Lan Xing said, “All of us here were around when His Majesty was still in the Eastern Palace — you, I, Gong Jie — oh, and Chen Luan, and the late Zhong Yi…” He listed out quite a few names. “Let’s dispense with platitudes. Everyone knows what this is about — the position. We’ve all seen how it goes. Now it’s His Majesty who doesn’t want it.”

“Haven’t decided yet which way to bet?”

Lan Xing hurriedly said, “That’s not a game I’m allowed to play! Among the princes as they stand now — even if you request the establishment of the Eastern Palace, who else could it be? Won’t it just follow the same old path to the same outcome? And if the result is the same regardless, why force the issue now and put His Majesty in a difficult position?”

Liu Songnian narrowed his eyes. Lan Xing gave a cold smile and said, “An Eastern Palace established, and then what? Are you planning to set aside His Majesty and start serving the new master? You men of the scholar class hold the realm in your hearts. I’m a palace eunuch — my horizons are this small. But you and His Majesty have known each other for decades as well. Have a little feeling for him. Don’t let him be uncomfortable!”

Liu Songnian said, “I understand your meaning.”

Lan Xing downed the rest of his tea, sniffed, and said, “Isn’t there enough to keep the Chancellors busy? The northern disaster isn’t urgent enough? The Prefects coming to the capital in the tenth month aren’t plenty? If you’ve laid a solid foundation, it won’t matter who comes — you’ll manage all the same. I only want His Majesty to be at peace.”

Liu Songnian nodded. “Watch the palace well — don’t let small men find an opening.”

Lan Xing said, “That goes without saying!” He put the cup back in its place, gave Liu Songnian a bow, and walked slowly out again, leaving Liu Songnian alone in the room in a daze.

After a long while, Liu Songnian cursed under his breath: “I knew it — this wretched capital is insufferable! That godforsaken palace is nothing but trouble!”

He should never have come back! If he had stayed free, wandering the mountains and rivers — what ease! Now…

“Bring the carriage. To Chancellor Wang’s.”

It appeared the Council of State really had grown quiet. Wang Yunhe and Shi Kun went for some time without raising the matter of the Eastern Palace again.

But the Emperor did not grow quiet. Having spoken so agreeably of having the Ministry of Rites and the Ministry of Personnel take charge of selecting new officials, he suddenly changed his mind.

First, he transferred Zheng Xi to the post of Metropolitan Prefect of the capital. Then he transferred Pei Qing out of the capital to serve as a Prefect. Then he moved Zhong Yi’s younger brother to serve as Minister of Rites. Finally, he transferred Zhou You back into the imperial guards. A flurry of reshuffling that left people bewildered.

By the tenth month, Prefects from across the empire began arriving in the capital — different faces from the previous year. The new Minister of Personnel, Yao Zhen, was run off his feet. Wang and Shi were also not left in peace. The Emperor summoned Prefects and Vice Prefects without pause, while the two of them also threw themselves into reviewing officials with uncommon rigor.

In previous years, their meetings with Prefects and Vice Prefects from across the empire had been rather perfunctory. This year they turned the intensity up to that of searching a man for hidden valuables. The Prefects arriving in the capital this year were in for an ordeal.

Vice Prefect Zhang broke into a cold sweat on his forehead. He had come carrying official documents Zhù Ying had asked him to bring, as well as letters for Wang Yunhe and others. He had also brought, this year from Wuzhou, eight tribute scholars — eight young men selected from the various counties through examination. Three were from Fulu County, three from Nanping County, and two from Sicheng County. But based on Vice Prefect Zhang’s observation throughout the journey, it was the three from Fulu County whose standard was noticeably higher.

In addition, Zhù Ying had separately sent an official recommendation for Zhao Zhen and three others. Vice Prefect Zhang knew these four were almost certainly secured this time around. Wuzhou had contributed grain! And the officials of Wuzhou across the board, even without promotion, would receive a commendable evaluation for their next advancement.

Vice Prefect Zhang had thought he too would benefit from the association. But Wang Yunhe interrogated him like a man suspected of a crime — first asking for acreage figures, then yield per acre, then tax rate and stocks on hand. He answered everything.

Then Wang Yunhe suddenly asked, “How many years can the prefecture’s granaries sustain?”

“Five years!” Vice Prefect Zhang said with confidence.

Then, without warning, Wang Yunhe asked about the common people’s livelihood — and suddenly said, “No, something is off. How did an extra ten catties accrue per acre?”

Vice Prefect Zhang was startled. He went over the figures with Wang Yunhe and let out a breath of relief. “Oh, that wasn’t collected by the government — that’s something the villages set aside on their own. It’s for disaster preparation. Sometimes the government can’t respond fast enough, or for small things they don’t bring to the government — they just redistribute within the clan and village themselves.”

Wang Yunhe said, “That’s not a bad approach. Just be careful it doesn’t end up embezzled.”

“Yes, yes, yes.”

After Wang Yunhe released him, Vice Prefect Zhang still half-wondered whether Zhù Ying had offended Wang Yunhe somehow. He thought: weren’t they on perfectly good terms before?

Later, when he gathered with fellow officials, he found their experiences were much the same. And he also learned that some officials in the north had gotten into serious trouble — in some places the Prefect had been replaced, and in others both the primary and deputy officials had been removed at once. Something out of the ordinary was afoot.

Vice Prefect Zhang pondered carefully, took a gift list with him, and arrived at the gate of a certain residence.