In recent years, the harvests had not been what they once were. The long stretch of years without major disasters that Zhù Ying had known in her youth had become the stuff of old people’s reminiscing — “back in the day.” This held true for Annan as well; even the climate there had worsened compared to before.

The time had come again for the various prefectures to travel to the marshal’s office and settle accounts. Zhao Su and Zhù Lian both wore expressions that were less than cheerful. They had submitted their tallies, yet by both men’s reckoning the harvests had been decidedly poor. The two had begun composing their arguments in their heads, preparing to explain the situation to Zhù Ying when the time came to draft next year’s plans.

Zhù Qingjun and Zhù Chonghua, by contrast, appeared comparatively at ease. Together with Su Zhe, Zhao Su, Zhù Lian, Wu Ren, and Xiang An, they had participated in the small planning meeting that Zhù Ying presided over to draw up the following year’s budget. For them, the meeting concerned two main items: first, how much they would hand over the following year; and second, how much they intended to spend.

Taxation was collected at the local level, but not all of it was remitted upward to the marshal’s office — each tier of government retained a portion for local use, such as relief payments, road repair, canal digging, and other subsidies. At the same time, the taxes collected by the marshal’s office were to be spent on affairs concerning Annan as a whole. This was the category every prefecture hoped to claim a larger share of for itself — requesting, for instance, that the canal section running through its own territory be dug first.

Those above wished to collect more; those below wished to keep more. It was much like the quarrels between the imperial court and the Ministry of Finance.

Annan was somewhat more harmonious than the imperial court. Zhù Qingjun and Zhù Chonghua had both set targets comparable to the current year’s. Zhù Chonghua’s complaints amounted to this: “The newly opened land is still being cultivated. In the first two years the harvest is unpredictable. Give me three or five years, and I guarantee the new fields will produce the standard amount — I’ll put it in writing, and if I fail, you can have my head. For now, though, it simply can’t be done. Let’s stick to what the old fields produce. The new fields’ grain still needs to be kept as seed.”

Zhù Qingjun said less: “The garrison farmlands of Pu’an Prefecture are in the same situation.”

Zhao Su and Zhù Lian, however, hoped that the treasury bureau would be mentally prepared — this year’s revenues had been strained, and next year might yield even less. Wu Ren asked, “Is there no more wasteland to open up?”

Wuzhou and Bozhou were relatively “older” areas, with a long history of cultivation and development; good wasteland was scarce, especially in Wuzhou, which also had the five outer counties outside its jurisdiction.

Bozhou, being somewhat newer, should still have some room to expand.

Zhao Su sighed. “Haven’t you noticed? The past few years have been worse than before.”

Zhù Chonghua listened patiently until he finished, then said in surprise, “What? You’re saying even this isn’t considered much?”

Zhù Lian said, “Of course it isn’t much! The south is inherently less fertile than the north, and the western three prefectures produce less than the eastern two.”

Zhù Qingjun thought for a moment, and her relaxed expression faded. She said quietly, “It’s not that now is plentiful — it’s that before was far too poor. Before the western campaign, the western three prefectures had one less harvest season each year, the irrigation was crude, and the people who worked the land were too weak to work it properly.”

With one additional crop season added, and improvements to irrigation and farming tools, annual yields had naturally risen. Zhù Chonghua was from the western three prefectures; in the first several decades of her life, a year’s total output had been one harvest’s worth less than it was now — and that was without accounting for per-harvest yield increases. So the common people were quite satisfied with their present lives, and many of the officials, Zhù Chonghua included, felt there was no problem at all.

Zhao Su and Zhù Lian had served as local officials outside the mountains; their experience, standards, and thresholds were different from hers. Zhù Qingjun stood somewhere between the two, and once reminded, she understood as well.

Zhù Chonghua took a moment longer to think it through, but was not troubled: “Even so, it’s still much better than before. We’re prospering now — we can manage. You three don’t need to look so gloomy. No matter how hard things get, they won’t be harder than they were.”

Zhù Lian said, “When you say ‘prospering,’ that includes the population too! There are more mouths to feed.”

Zhù Ying said to Wu Ren, “Have a figure ready by next year.”

“Yes.”

Zhù Ying did not agree to announce a reduction in next year’s taxes at this point — she simply asked Wu Ren to leave a little margin when drawing up the budget plan. If harvests fell the following year, there would be room to retreat.

Beside them, Liu Ao wrote quickly, recording the contents of the meeting, while inwardly astonished: So things are this way? It seems that the Twenty-Third Young Lady’s going to Pu’an Prefecture was the right decision. We ought to know these things.

She also thought: how many officials serving at court today could grasp these fine details? They might know that harvests vary from year to year, but the underlying causes and effects — that, in all likelihood, they would not know. Children of old families — even when sent to serve in local posts — how many of them chose fertile, comfortable places to supplement their family income, and never truly set their minds to governing and securing the welfare of the people?

The more she thought, the more alarmed she became. She longed to send a word of warning to the court.

By the time the meeting ended, the last two pages of her notes had grown rather hurried and untidy. Having finished, she brought them to Zhù Ying for review, but first said, “These last two pages — allow me to transcribe them afresh.”

Zhù Ying scanned them and asked, “What were you thinking just now?”

Liu Ao hesitated, then explained.

Zhù Ying said, “In the past, there were plenty of officials who didn’t understand these things — so long as they didn’t torment the people, they were considered passable. For now, let’s watch and see how Wang and Shi conduct themselves. Yao Chen Ying ought to do decently as well.”

“And what about Xian Jing?”

Zhù Ying said, “Before, there were three men in the Grand Council. Now there are four. It should be a little better.”

Liu Ao felt somewhat reassured. Setting aside her own thoughts about going to a local post, she reflected privately: the imperial examinations, the selection of officials, the schools — I cannot leave any of those for now. No point in bringing it up. The Twenty-Fifth Young Lady also hasn’t finished her work on the legal statutes yet; she’ll be faster than I am. When the time comes, I’ll speak to the marshal first and let her go see something of the world. Once the Twenty-Third Young Lady has enough experience and can come back to take over, then I’ll request to go out.

Her calculations were thorough, and her hand did not stop — this time she copied the notes neatly. Having verified them against the original, she removed the draft and destroyed it, then submitted the clean copy. Zhù Ying carefully examined the record, her brush moving as she wrote and calculated. Seeing this, Liu Ao withdrew and went back to work adjusting the school’s curriculum.

——

The affairs of the meeting were unknown to those outside, and even within the marshal’s office, not many people had grasped the significance of what was happening.

Zhao Zhen had vaguely sensed something. The disputes between the prefectural governors and Wu Ren this year were also subtly different from years past — they came and went repeatedly as before, but the volume of the quarreling had dropped. Zhù Chonghua in particular, though a woman, had a powerful voice and a high pitch; this year she had kept it down.

After hesitating several times, he sought out Zhù Ying and, with a degree of circumspection, lightly raised the matter — should one perhaps give some consideration to the harvest conditions, yields, and tax levies?

Zhù Ying said, “You are an attentive person.”

Zhao Zhen gave a wry smile. “The marshal must have long known all this in her heart. I am merely — speaking out of turn. If even Annan is stretched, one can only imagine what the common people outside must be going through. How can the realm enjoy peace and prosperity?” Before long there would be rebellions, and the same weary cycle would begin all over again — truly without end.

Zhù Ying said, “Your timing is good. They haven’t finished copying this session’s official gazette yet — there is one piece of news here that may please you.” She handed him the copy on her desk.

Zhao Zhen received it with both hands. Scanning it, he found several items that were genuinely heartening: first, Jiang Zheng had been recalled to the capital, and the court would send a new official south; second, Luo Deng had been reinstated; third, there had been a change of leadership in the salt bureau.

Luo Deng’s reinstatement suggested a slight improvement in the general climate of governance. From that, one could infer that Jiang Zheng was likely to be given a position of authority as well. Between these two appointments, it could be reasoned that the new Grand Council did indeed have some capability. As for the salt bureau — it had previously been staffed by Zheng Xi’s people. The Zheng faction was not entirely harmful to the realm, but the dealings between the salt bureau and Annan had always made Zhao Zhen uncomfortable. The transfer was welcome.

Based on the appointments of Jiang and Luo, Zhao Zhen felt cautiously optimistic about the salt bureau as well.

At the same time, the fact that men like Jiang and Luo were being employed made it more plausible that the Grand Council’s previous policies might actually be carried out. The court could still be salvaged.

He let out a quiet breath and placed the gazette back on the desk. “At last, the tide has turned.”

“And you?” Zhù Ying asked. “What are your plans?”

“Me? I — I have not yet finished what I came to do in Annan,” Zhao Zhen said.

Zhù Ying said, “The court is showing signs of revival, and it is moving to reclaim local military forces — it needs people like you. If you wish to return, I will write a letter to the capital on your behalf. As long as you don’t run headlong into Xian Jing, your reinstatement is assured.”

Zhao Zhen said, “I know. But Annan is also short of people, and I cannot abandon things halfway. A letter from you today could indeed send me to the capital — and I could tell myself it was also serving the people, that the situation outside was more urgent and more in need of me. But those would all be excuses for choosing comfort over hardship. We have the Twelfth Young Lady now, yet she — a woman of the inner quarters — when it comes to study, I cannot match her, but in terms of what I’ve been through and witnessed, I still have more experience. She is not yet at ease with practical affairs. I should wait until she is fluent before considering anything else.”

Zhù Ying asked, “And your sons? Would you like them to enter officialdom? This is a good moment for it — the factional struggles are less violent than before, a suitable time for green young men to get knocked around a bit.” When factional strife was fierce, it wasn’t just being knocked around — it was being cut down.

Zhao Zhen couldn’t help but laugh despite himself. “The way you put it — they are — well!”

Zhù Ying said, “All right, I understand. Let the eldest go find Chen Fang first.” Zhao Zhen had good and defensible grounds for resigning his post and returning home, so his sons’ entry into officialdom presented no particular difficulty. The hard part was securing them a substantive official position that was not merely ceremonial. Chen Fang held the chief post at the Court of State Ceremonial and was both the grandson and son of chancellors — he could lift a hand and spare Zhao Zhen’s sons a great deal of difficulty.

Zhao Zhen bowed deeply.

——

Besides Zhao Zhen, quite a few people came to visit Zhù Ying privately, among them, most often, the various prefectural governors. Though Annan was not so vast that it took a month to reach the marshal’s office, local officials were just as bound by the rule that they could not leave their jurisdiction without cause. Opportunities for the governors to meet with Zhù Ying were infrequent, so while in Xizhou, they tried to see her as often as possible.

That day, Hu Shijie’s current senior disciple, Zhù Fei, said softly, “Marshal, the Prefect of Daizhou has arrived.” Since Zhù Chonghua, Zhù Qingjun, and Zhù Lian all bore the surname Zhù, the household referred to them by the names of their respective prefectures. Zhao Su alone was addressed directly as Prefect Zhao.

Zhù Ying said, “Show her in.”

Zhù Chonghua entered with her usual brisk energy, her face bearing a look of exasperated helplessness. “Marshal — that wretched rascal of mine is beyond my managing! Do with him as you see fit!”

Zhù Ying asked, “Zhù Ming?”

“Who else? I’ve accepted my fate! I’ll go home and make sure the grandchildren study hard!” she declared.

That son had been trouble from the day he was born. Of all her children, male and female, there was not one who was “good” — some were in poor health, some were dim-witted, some had water for brains!

As for Zhù Ming, that little wretch — Zhù Ying had agreed to issue a transfer order to send him back to Daizhou. The grounds were sound, because Zhù Ying had always maintained the rule that anyone who had come from outside their hometown must return to do a few years of hard work in a remote local post before they could be promoted or enter the marshal’s office.

After Zhù Ming was kicked back home, he did the work — but listlessly. After Zhao Su made clear she had no interest in taking a live-in son-in-law, Zhù Chonghua had thought that once the two were separated, perhaps Zhù Ming would meet a girl who was less of a torment and manage to start a family. That hope proved fruitless — Zhù Ming, whether with a name and title or not, simply wanted to be with Su Zhe.

In the end, he had simply run back to Xizhou. When Zhù Chonghua found out the day before, she had broken into a cold sweat: this boy was trying to get himself killed!

He still held an official post — and he had deserted it! His mother now had to clean up after him. Zhù Chonghua first caught him and gave him a severe beating, then came to find Zhù Ying, hoping to do some damage control.

Zhù Ying heard her out and was amused. “What else can he do? Take him back and tell him I said it — my orders cannot be changed. However many years he’s meant to spend in Daizhou, not a single day can be cut short. When he’s done what he owes Daizhou, then we can talk about anything else. A person must take responsibility and be true to their word. If he keeps acting like this — front-end without back-end, a complete muddle — I’ll have him thrown to Pu’an Prefecture to dig coal!”

“Yes.” Zhù Chonghua let out a quiet breath of relief. With those words from Zhù Ying, what came next would be manageable. She truly could not keep this son in Daizhou any longer — let him go out and embarrass himself elsewhere. But he was her own flesh and blood, born healthy and whole; she had to give him a thought or two.

As it happened, an opportunity had just presented itself — Zhù Qingjun was getting married. The groom was Bai Ling. They said at the time that Zhù Xinle had seemed to have some feeling for her, though for unclear reasons nothing had come of it; and now Bai Ling was the one who was getting a formal standing. Zhù Chonghua had no intention of speaking up on Zhù Xinle’s behalf — on the contrary, she planned to send a lavish wedding gift to congratulate Zhù Qingjun.

The gift sent, Zhù Chonghua proceeded to attend the wedding banquet as if nothing had happened.

The mood throughout the marshal’s office improved considerably because of this happy occasion. The last major event had been Hua Jie’s passing, after which a certain heaviness had settled over the place; this time, everyone was especially joyful. Zhù Ying did not set up a separate house outside the marshal’s office for Zhù Qingjun — the wedding was held within the compound itself.

In Zhù Ying’s estimation, Bai Ling was a cut above Zhù Ming. Su Zhe’s personal affairs Zhù Ying generally did not interfere with; Bai Ling, however, was someone she had come to know fairly well through her several visits to Pu’an Prefecture. This young fellow was fond of clinging to Zhù Qingjun. Zhù Ying had placed him in the garrison farming unit and assigned him tasks. Time and again, once he finished the work at hand, he would start making trouble — he would always find some official pretext to correspond with Pu’an Prefecture, so that he could go back to the prefectural seat.

His little schemes had been seen through by Zhù Ying, by Liu Kun, and even by Zhù Tong. Unhappily for him, two of the three favored Zhù Qingjun more, and one had a rather dim view of “marriage.” Over the course of a year, Bai Ling had been put through quite a lot by the three of them. One day he would go slack; the next he would pull himself back together.

Zhù Ying found him interesting, and so raised no objection. When Zhù Qingjun mentioned it to her, she simply nodded. Making arrangements for a wedding — in the past that had been something Hua Jie and Zhang Xiangu enjoyed. Now that it fell to Zhù Ying, she could not help feeling a pang of wistfulness.

On the day of the wedding, the marshal’s office was lively and festive. Zhù Ying drank a few cups of wine, let the young people make their merry noise, and then sat quietly in her study for a while before beginning to write letters. There was a letter of recommendation to write for Zhao Zhen’s son, a memorial to write for the court, and additional letters to old acquaintances — all to be taken north by Zhù Lian when he departed.

After Zhù Qingjun’s wedding, Zhù Lian was to head north. This year was different from previous years: the road was shorter, so he could set off a little later.

In the letters Zhù Ying wrote to Chen Meng, Shi Jixing, and Wang Shuliang, she wrote the same thing to all three: the reliable, capable talents you are using now — are they not mostly from the generation that came out with me to serve in local posts when your fathers were still alive? How old are they now? Nearly all of them are older than I am; they will soon be aging out. You are consuming a stockpile you are not replenishing! Talent is the same way. Factional infighting has cost us twenty years of practical officials. If you do not wake up soon, there will be no cohort of usable people left in the future. These individuals are the foundation!

Truly, I can barely be bothered to say it — but do hurry. While you are still here, while these people have not yet died out, while they can still bring along a new generation — get on with it. If you don’t restore a healthy ethos now, talent will run dry. Once hearts and minds scatter, gathering them back together will be very difficult. You two — especially Shi and Wang — still carry the reputation of your fathers. The people of the realm are still willing, out of respect for your fathers’ faces, to give you two new chancellors a measure of trust.

They come bearing that trust. Do not squander it. This is the last chance, do you understand?

She then wrote to other old acquaintances among the close circle, and in passing wrote a note of greeting to Yue Miaojun as well.

Before Zhù Lian set off, she also had Liu Ao write a personal letter to the Liu family, to be hand-delivered by Zhù Lian himself, passing through no one else’s hands.

After Zhù Lian departed, Gu Tong and the others’ replies arrived. Gu Tong’s reply was written in great detail, yet offered no conclusion, because he himself was now a local official, actively managing the coordination and consolidation of regional military forces — and it was not yet finished. He wrote about how he was going about it, including relocating people…

This approach had been inspired by recalling something Zhù Ying had done years ago in Fulu County — she had drawn all the major local households into the county seat, so that their influence in their home territories weakened. Even now, local gentry across the land still held a degree of awe toward the court and official authority; as long as the opening moves were right, things could still be managed.

As for what followed — it would depend on how the two sides played against each other. Even in awe of the court, the gentry had their tempers, and once they obtained official posts, the balance of status would shift somewhat; how to navigate that was itself a science. Gu Tong was in the midst of a chess match of wits, and could give no answers yet.

Zhù Ying placed his letter in the drawer and thought: acceptable.