Chapter 142: The Game (Part 1)

From the next day onward, a fidgety little tagalong—darting about, looking every which way—was attached to Le Wuya's side.

Seeing this, Qin Xingyue offered his opinion bluntly and without hesitation: "Sir, bringing Scholar Ming along is one thing—at least he's attentive and knows how to behave. But dragging this kid along? Can you really put up with him?"

Yuan Zijin protested: "What's wrong with me, Qin? Am I missing an arm or a leg?"

Qin Xingyue stared at him silently.

No sooner had the words left his mouth than Yuan Zijin realized his blunder. His gaze glanced at Qin Xingyue's missing leg, and he froze in panic—clapping a hand over his own mouth.

Qin Xingyue gave a helpless sigh: "Sir, look at him—he never says anything decent. Can you really take him out in public?"

Seeing Le Wuya smiling without a word at Qin Xingyue, Yuan Zijin's guilt was eating at him.

He had talked big just yesterday. If he were shot down in flames before even leaving the door today, where would that leave his pride? When would he ever make something of himself and make his father see him in a new light?

He blurted out: "I-I-I'll keep my mouth shut!"

Yet under Le Wuya's gaze, Qin Xingyue's confidence slowly deflated.

Back then... he had been...

Though he now appeared proper enough, acting like a decent person, in the old days, when he first joined the army under Young General Le, he had counted on his unbeatable archery skills and been spoiled rotten, not knowing his place—swaggering behind the young general with his nose in the air.

When opinions clashed, he would even bang the table and talk back to Deputy General Yu beside General Le.

If he himself had been so insufferable, Jiang He was even more so—a quiet one who, when he spoke, stunned everyone, often saying shocking things.

Even now, thinking back to how he'd behaved back then, Qin Xingyue blushed and cringed with embarrassment.

He wondered where Young General Le had found the courage to truly rely on him and Jiang He as his right and left hands.

Qin Xingyue lowered his head.

Looking for traces of his old master in Prefect Wenren—that was never an honorable thing, unfair to both the young general and the prefect.

It left Qin Xingyue perpetually ashamed and restless.

But maybe he was imagining things—lately, he saw more and more of the young general in Wenren Mingke, as if he'd truly come back from the dead.

Seeing Qin Xingyue blush and hang his head, Le Wuya turned to Yuan Zijin: "You just said you wouldn't speak today?"

Yuan Zijin hadn't noticed the trap he'd set for himself with his own words, and having just misspoken, he nodded eagerly, without a second thought.

"Good." Le Wuya spun his folding fan. "Come with me to see someone."

That morning, Battalion Commander Cai Zhi had returned alone to the garrison overnight, and reported with a pale face to the Chiliarch what had happened in Tongzhou Prefecture.

The Chiliarch, surnamed Zhang, had just woken up hungover. Sobered up in shock by the news, he gave Cai Zhi a thorough dressing-down, then hauled him to the prefectural office to apologize, where they now awaited judgment.

Le Wuya sat down without a care, looking Chiliarch Zhang up and down.

Chiliarch Zhang forced a fawning smile, inwardly nervous and annoyed.

After all, the Prefect had been in office four days at most—he hadn't even had time to call in the subordinate officials to pay their respects.

Everyone knew that when a new official took office, the best course for subordinates was to keep their heads down, wait to gauge the official's temperament, then act accordingly.

Who would have thought that before he could make full preparations, this Cai Zhi would go into the city and shove him right in front of the Prefect?

If not for fear of leaving a bad impression of mistreating subordinates, he would have beaten Cai Zhi half to death first.

Before Le Wuya could pronounce judgment, Zhang knelt swiftly and declared his guilt: "Sir, this subordinate is Zhang Ashan, Chiliarch of Sanjiang Garrison. I have been lax in military discipline and too loose in command, which led to this disgraceful affair of charging the prefectural gates and stirring up a mob. I am guilty—please punish me!"

His self-criticism was sincere and well-structured.

When Le Wuya had entered, his face was expressionless, his bearing fierce, as if he had come with thunderous intent. But when Chiliarch Zhang knelt before him, sweating and begging for mercy, he grew unhurried instead.

He picked up the offered fragrant tea: "A Chiliarch commands a thousand men; a Centurion commands a hundred. You are only one man—you cannot constantly watch the movements of a thousand subordinates. How could this be your fault?"

Chiliarch Zhang's taut facial muscles relaxed slightly.

He sensed that Le Wuya had no intention of pursuing blame.

Still, he remained cautious, repeatedly disclaiming.

Le Wuya took a sip of tea: "Stop with the disclaimers. The failure to disburse military pay in time was due to my prefectural office's insufficient oversight. If you keep begging forgiveness, I'll start thinking you're insulting me indirectly."

Though spoken from a position of superiority, these words settled Chiliarch Zhang's hanging heart further:

The Prefect was willing to cover for the pay issue too?

Le Wuya asked him: "Did you bring the military code?"

Chiliarch Zhang nodded hastily: "Yes, yes, I brought it!"

Le Wuya: "Do you know why I asked you to bring the military code here, rather than take the men back to the garrison to be punished?"

Chiliarch Zhang was sharp-witted and answered promptly: "How would I dare presume the Prefect's intentions? You said bring the code, so I obediently brought it!"

Le Wuya smiled.

Chiliarch Zhang feigned rough simplicity, but cleverly shifted his self-address.

He was likely testing Le Wuya's temperament.

If Le Wuya were a stickler for rules and scolded him for such impropriety, striking a lofty pose of "civil and military standing apart," then whatever he wanted to accomplish would be harder to push through.

But if he amiably accepted the address "Old Zhang," that too would be problematic.

Le Wuya understood these soldiers.

Treat them with courtesy, and they would look down on you, thinking you weak and easily bullied.

Suppress them with force, and the measure had to be just right. These officers held troops and were used to running roughshod—if pressed too hard, they would grow resentful.

"'Old Zhang'?"

Le Wuya leaned back, repeating his self-address with a smile: "'Old Zhang'—quite interesting."

He neither rebuked the rudeness nor let it pass lightly—just fixed his gaze on him with a smile.

After several rounds of silent exchange, Chiliarch Zhang grew increasingly uncomfortable under that stare and soon conceded: "Ah, Prefect, this subordinate misspoke—please don't take offense!"

He pivoted to a new topic, eagerly: "Sir, I've brought the military code—the hardest rattan canes. Those soldiers who came to cause trouble at your door—I'll give you a satisfactory resolution!"

Le Wuya idly tapped his knuckles on the table: "Don't flaunt your military authority in front of me. I have no taste for hearing men scream under the lash. Take them far away to be beaten—don't disturb my reading."

This was a textbook case of making a big show of punishment while letting him off easy—a minor lesson with the degree of "punishment" left entirely to Commander Zhang's discretion.

Hearing this, Commander Zhang's anxious heart settled about seventy percent.

Even if the new prefect was making his presence felt, it seemed this particular blaze wouldn't be aimed at him.

The new prefect, young as he was, knew which way the wind blew.

Even as treasonous thoughts churned in his head, Commander Zhang kept up all the proper formalities and made a deep bow: "Sir, I'll personally handle the flogging in a bit, so I won't bother you with it. It's just... regarding the military register, the roster's a mess—men and women, old and young all mixed together—and it's truly difficult to tally completely at once. I'd ask for your patience, just a few more days."

Le Wuya said calmly, "Indeed, getting things done is easy; managing people is the hard part. I understand the difficulties well."

"Then..."

"Over ten thousand soldiers on the register, all of them matter for the people's peace of mind—go through them carefully, verify everything properly, and don't make any mistakes," Le Wuya said. "Once you're done checking, bring the register to me and I'll take a look."

Only then did Commander Zhang's heart, which had been stuck in his throat since dawn, finally drop back into place.

This was what worried him most.

The prefect said "only the register," so he would only send the register.

As for how much padding they could get away with, and whether the prefect would squeeze it out—that all depended on how "generous" their gifts were!

If money could fix it, then it wasn't really a problem, was it?

He bowed excitedly: "Your Excellency sees clearly! It's all right there—let me go back and tidy it up, then I'll bring the register straight to you!"

"Mm, go on back," Le Wuya said. "Send the register over along with the fifty picked soldiers, and make it quick."

Commander Zhang, feeling chipper, asked one extra question: "What do you need all those strapping lads for?"

Le Wuya glanced at him sideways: "I'm setting up my own garrison, sailing across the sea, and wiping out the Japanese pirates' home base in one go."

Catching the dangerous turn in the conversation, Commander Zhang quickly gave his own mouth a light slap: "This damn mouth of mine—I'll get it sewn shut tomorrow. Please forgive me, sir!"

Before leaving, feeling light as air, Commander Zhang stole a glance at the young aide beside the prefect.

That fair-skinned young aide had a face like iron—looked pretty formidable.

After seeing Commander Zhang off, noticing Yuan Zijin was suffocating with suppressed frustration, about to burst, Le Wuya found it amusing: "I'll give you three sentences' worth. Ask if you have questions."

Yuan Zijin, full of resentment, blurted out in accusation: "What are you doing?"

The more he listened to their conversation, the more wrong it felt.

No matter how dull or clumsy Yuan Zijin was, he was still the son of a First-Rank Official.

Even if he'd never handled real affairs, hadn't he seen flattery and gift-giving deals before?

"Can't you see?" Le Wuya flicked his folding fan open and said matter-of-factly, "I'm soliciting bribes."