As for the county magistrate before him, he was even worse.

It would have been one thing if he had openly oppressed the people, but he went out of his way to claim he was acting in everyone’s best interest. He ordered the people to plant this and that, promising that if they followed his lead, they would surely achieve a yield of a thousand catties per mu and eat meat until they were sick of it.

Yet he was all talk and almost never set foot in the fields; even when he heard from elsewhere about a new variety of sweet potato that could yield a thousand catties per mu, he exhausted the county’s resources to buy it from elsewhere.

He swore solemnly that he would ensure everyone had enough to eat, so he ordered everyone to pull up the seedlings they had already planted and replace them all with sweet potato seedlings.

The people, swayed by his smooth talk, reluctantly uprooted their rice seedlings and replanted sweet potatoes instead. But those sweet potato seedlings eventually rotted away in the ground.

It was only then that the county magistrate finally panicked, though he had no idea what had gone wrong.

It was only after the people sent a caravan to investigate that they learned sweet potatoes should be planted in the summer after the wheat harvest, and preferably in sandy soil. By pulling up the rice seedlings in the spring and replacing them with sweet potato seedlings—and leaving them soaking in the paddy fields day and night—it was no wonder they rotted.

It was rare for Wuyuan County to have such a conscientious and responsible official. The people, trusting the government wholeheartedly, dared to uproot the seedlings they depended on for survival.

They ended up in this predicament. If they had nothing to eat in the end, who knows how many would have starved to death that winter!

Everyone was seething with rage, ready to tear him limb from limb and drink his blood!!

Facing the murderous glares of the crowd, the magistrate dared not linger. He mobilized every connection he had—even those tenuous enough to be described as “seven sticks away”—and finally managed to be transferred before the winter and the Lunar New Year.

In the end, the county government resolved the crisis by borrowing from the city’s prominent families. Since the common folk had long lived alongside these wealthy gentry, the nobles could not bear to watch people perish. Some donated grain, some donated money, and others simply lent funds to the county government so they could purchase grain from elsewhere. Regardless of the method, the county government was deeply grateful.

It took the county government several more years to repay this debt. Just as they were finally about to pay it off, the next good-for-nothing came along.

Liu Cheng had told him these stories one evening. Although he had been quite young at the time, he had remembered that magistrate—who had vowed to lead them out of their misery—ever since he could remember. As Duan Jin listened, a fierce rage had burned within him. Now, as he looked at the figures in the ledgers, they merged with Liu Cheng’s voice, transforming into vivid scenes playing out before his eyes; each number represented the anguished cries of a family.

A lump formed in his throat, as if it were stuffed with cotton, making him feel increasingly suffocated. With these two men in the picture, his path ahead would only grow more arduous.

Duan Jin raised his head and gazed at the night sky outside the window. The cool moonlight bathed the quiet county town. He stared at the moonlight for a long time, then sighed, then continued reading.

Over the past few days, during the daytime, Duan Jin had been led around the town by Liu Cheng and Feng Xin. In truth, the two men weren’t sure what Magistrate Duan was doing as he wandered about; afterward, he always seemed deep in thought. Fearing it might be confidential official business, they hadn’t asked, even though they were very curious. At night, Duan Jin continued to examine the county yamen’s various records in the second hall.

After two days, Duan Jin had covered most of the county town. Next, he wanted to visit the villages and towns in the surrounding countryside.

The journey was a bit too far; Feng Xin wasn’t very familiar with the route, and the trip would take an entire day. If Xiang Shiye had any business to attend to during the day, there wouldn’t be anyone left to help, so Duan Jin hesitated.

However, Xiang Shiye recommended someone to him: his grandson, Xiang Changqing.

“This isn’t about me favoring my own kin. Changqing has been out in the world for a long time, traveling far and wide and seeing a lot. He knows a bit of martial arts, so he can protect you if anything happens,” said the secretary.

Liu Cheng also chimed in happily, “That’s right, that’s right! Brother Changqing is really something!” Even Feng Xin nodded approvingly.

This piqued Duan Jin’s curiosity—he wanted to know what kind of person Xiang Changqing really was.

He met him that afternoon. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a lean, muscular build—you could tell at a glance he was a martial artist. Perhaps because, as his grandfather had said, he was often out in the wild, his complexion was tanned to a wheat-like hue. It wasn’t unattractive; on the contrary, it gave him a touch of wild, masculine charm.

Yet his demeanor was far from crude; with his sharp eyebrows and starry eyes, he was strikingly handsome.

Xiang Changqing, with a sword hanging at his waist, bowed slightly to Duan Jin: “I pay my respects, Your Excellency.”

He was truly a fine fellow. The very next day, Duan Jin took Liu Cheng and Xiang Changqing out on an errand, leaving Feng Xin in charge of the secretary.

The county office was still understaffed, but since they couldn’t even pay salaries at the moment, he really felt too embarrassed to hire anyone else.

It wasn’t just his salary that required money; he also wanted to raise additional funds to develop Wuyuan County. His observations and notes over the past few days had shown him that this small county had plenty of industries with potential for growth—as long as he had the money. Money was all he needed.

Duan Jin gazed into the distance, his eyes lost in thought.

“Your Honor, why have you stopped?” Xiang Changqing looked at the county magistrate, who had fallen several paces behind. Duan Jin paused, then shifted his gaze to the ground.

“To make a place prosperous, one must first build roads.”

This was the maxim Duan Jin had arrived at after getting stuck in the mud countless times. But how were they to build these roads?

In modern times, whenever road construction was needed, the government provided strong support—no matter the effort or cost, the treasury would cover it. It was thanks to the national “Roads to Every Village” initiative that the poverty-alleviation region he oversaw could sell its grain and fruit, and within a few years, swiftly shed the “poverty label” that had weighed on it for decades.

But here? Duan Jin wasn’t unaware of the situation. The previous county magistrate who had plucked the rice seedlings had also submitted memorials; in fact, Xiang Shiye had sent one up to the authorities every year, yet every single one was swiftly rejected.

The excuse was always that the imperial funds were needed to relieve famine, flood damage, or snow disasters… Each time, there were more urgent causes than theirs, and in the end, the matter simply fizzled out.

Duan Jin sighed and pulled his foot out.

Xiang Changqing suggested, “Your Honor, please walk along the field ridge. It’s slightly higher there, and the grass will make it more comfortable.”

Over the course of a week, Duan Jin visited the poorest villages listed in the records and gained a general understanding of the causes of their poverty. In the evenings, he would return to his lodgings, continue reading the books he’d been studying, and record his observations from the day. For each location, he wrote down the village’s situation, the causes of its poverty, potential solutions, and its current difficulties.

As he wrote, he sighed. Money, money, money—solving the problems in almost every place required money. But how could he possibly get the funds before the area had even begun to develop?

Duan Jin felt despondent.

It wasn’t until the next day, upon returning from the village, that he announced the news to Xiang Shiye with a touch of worry.

According to a notice from higher-ups, the Young Prince was coming to inspect the various regions. The Magistrate of Hengyang Prefecture had ordered local officials to step up their preparations; the implication was clear: they were to present the senior leadership with a grand, lively, and prosperous display of social prosperity. 

This was bound to be yet another waste of resources and a burden on the people—and one that would only benefit the Hengyang Prefect’s chances of promotion. Just thinking about it made Xiang Shiye’s hair turn completely white.

“An inspection tour? What’s there to worry about? Just put your mind at ease, Master Xiang. We’re so poor here, and the Prince is so delicate and pampered—he certainly won’t come to a place like this,” Duan Jin consoled him.

“Your Honor, you may not know this, but our county once had an imperial inspector on a tour of duty. At the time, the county magistrate would take the inspector to all sorts of restaurants and jewelry shops every day, and we were responsible for covering all their expenses—food, clothing, and everything else. We ended up racking up quite a bit of debt.” Recalling the past, Xiang Shiye looked grim.

Liu Cheng chimed in, “That’s right, Your Honor. This young prince is the Emperor’s own brother; his daily expenses are even greater than the Empress’s. I’ve heard his private treasury is worth more than the national treasury itself. He even tips his servants a gold leaf just for sweeping his courtyard. If he were to come here, how could we possibly afford to support him?” 

A gold leaf?

Duan Jin thought to himself, Is he really that extravagant? He’s even willing to sweep the floor for the young prince if he were.

Seeing that both men were deeply troubled, Duan Jin reassured them, “Don’t worry. Didn’t the Hengyang Prefecture issue an official notice? The young prince has merely entered Hengyang’s borders; he’s surely heading for the prefectural capital. A small county like ours wouldn’t even catch his eye.”

That made sense.

The secretary left with a sense of relief.

After they left, Duan Jin couldn’t settle his mind. The young prince really is wealthy—it would be great if he could come here. As long as he could give me the Golden Leaf, he’d be willing to sweep the floor eighty times a day. 

━━ 🐈‍⬛ ━━

“I’m not eating it. I said I’m not eating it, and that’s final.” A clear, indignant voice rang out from inside the carriage.

The young prince, whose fortune was already being eyed by others, was still oblivious to the danger; he was still locked in a battle of wits with his personal eunuch over which route to take. 

Liu Gonggong, hearing that the young prince was refusing to eat out of spite, was so flustered that he was breaking out in a sweat. “Your Highness, my dear prince, let’s talk this out calmly. Please don’t skip your meal!”

Xiao Yunqing snorted, “Then don’t bring so many people to follow me.”

“How could that be!” Liu Gonggong instinctively retorted, but upon hearing the young master snort again, he hurriedly added, “I’ve already done as you asked and left the palace maids behind. These men are here to ensure your safety—I simply can’t leave them behind.”

“Hmph!” Xiao Yunqing pointed at the few young attendants. “They’re even weaker than I am—are they supposed to protect me?”

Liu Gonggong glanced at the young eunuchs and inwardly groaned in despair. It was all because the little prince had complained that having palace maids along was too restrictive—he didn’t want to go out on patrol and preferred to stay in the palace, living in luxury. Even the Emperor and Empress Dowager had been persuaded to agree to it.

But then the two sovereigns had a change of heart, worried that the young master might suffer hardships outside the palace. So they turned a blind eye and sent these resourceful eunuchs along instead.

Liu Gonggong’s eyes twinkled, and his wrinkled face broke into a smile as bright as an autumn chrysanthemum. “These men are here to protect this old servant. Just look at this body of mine,” he said, patting his round belly, which looked just like a white glutinous rice dumpling wrapped in brocade. “If trouble really came my way, I wouldn’t even be able to run properly!”

Xiao Yunqing nearly lost his composure and burst out laughing, but he quickly stiffened his face and turned away to stare at the side of the carriage. After a long moment, he said slowly, “In that case… let them follow.”

“Thank you, Your Highness, for your kindness!” Liu Gonggong was relieved as if granted a pardon. He glanced at the young man’s expression and tentatively asked, “After a half-day of bumpy travel, Your Highness must be tired. Would you care for some pastries or fruit?”

“No, I won’t.” Xiao Yunqing’s face turned cold the moment he heard this.

Liu Gonggong was on the verge of tears. “Why not?”

Xiao Yunqing snorted. After a long pause, he reluctantly said, “I’m not going to Hengyang Prefecture.”