Chapter 146: The Game (V)

The moment those outrageous words left his mouth, the whole room went dead silent.

Yuan Zijin's heart damn near stopped dead in his chest.

Le Wuya's words were just too outlandish for anyone to wrap their head around. Yuan Zijin turned the words over in his head before asking in disbelief, "And that's not considered deceiving the emperor?"

Le Wuya slumped back into the armchair, all lazy and unconcerned: "Yeah, I deceived him. So what are you gonna do about it?"

...

Meanwhile, He Qingsong and Yang Zheng were out in the courtyard, sizing up a big watermelon.

These watermelons had come from Puluo Prefecture. They were long and oval, with dark, almost black stripes, which is why they were called "Black Beauty."

Both of them were from Sichuan, where every melon they'd ever seen was round and green. So now, seeing something new, their inner hicks came out in full force, and they just stood there gawking at it.

They were still busy studying the melon when Yuan Zijin's voice came blasting out of the study, loud enough to rattle the roof: "I'm writing to my dad! I'm going home! I'm not letting you drag me down!"

Hearing how frantic he sounded, Yang Zheng's mother-hen side kicked in, and he glanced back with concern: "Is he alright?"

"Pfft. Don't sweat it. These days, doesn't Young Master Yuan throw a fit about going home every single day? He yells when he's sick of reading, and he bawls when he's worn out from training. You still haven't gotten used to that?" He Qingsong didn't even bother to look back, cradling the melon as he asked, all curious, "Hey, you don't think it's black on the inside too, do you?"

The next second, Yuan Zijin burst out the door and took off running.

Le Wuya's voice hollered after him from the open doorway: "You said you'd wash my clothes! Trying to run off, huh? Trying to weasel out of it?"

Yuan Zijin's feet froze mid-stride. He couldn't take another step.

After a beat, he stomped his foot in frustration and stormed back inside in a huff.

When he came back out, he was clutching Le Wuya's ink-stained official robe, his face twisted with resentment as he stomped off.

Once Yuan Zijin was out of sight, Le Wuya sauntered out of the study and lounged against the doorframe: "Well, well, watermelon."

He Qingsong held the melon up: "Your Honor, take a look—a jet-black watermelon, a real rarity!"

Being constables from Nanting, they still defaulted to calling him "Your Honor."

"Not interested." Le Wuya didn't bother correcting them. "His Honor's seen plenty of these before. You two go ahead and enjoy the melons. When you've had enough, take a couple home each and let your wives and kids get in on the fun."

Yang Zheng blinked in surprise: "But Puluo only sent ten melons, and Lord Wei and Lord Mu haven't gotten theirs yet..."

"You've followed me all the way out here, away from home, and you can't even get a watermelon? That's just wrong." Le Wuya stretched. "Take them. But they're not free—I need you to do something for me."

Lately, a bunch of folks at the prefectural office had been buying He and Yang drinks, making their intentions pretty obvious.

He Qingsong was easygoing—he'd take every drink and every bite of meat—but the second anyone asked about His Honor, he'd play dumb and claim he knew nothing. And afterward, he'd generously return the favor, all rough-around-the-edges big-brother style.

Yang Zheng was honest, family-first, kind-hearted, and tight-lipped, but he never rubbed anyone the wrong way. When people tried to pump him for info, they'd find the conversation slowly drifting toward kids and family life.

The office staff came up empty-handed, but they couldn't even muster up any anger at the two.

All they could do was sigh in frustration: if even these two nobody constables were this tight-lipped, then Prefect Wenren really knew how to manage people. He must've shelled out a fortune to buy their loyalty.

In reality, there was no fortune involved.

Le Wuya was a master at using small resources to pull off big things. It was just little stuff like watermelons, and the small bit of thought he put into them.

He Qingsong cared a lot about face and had a deep respect for martial skill. Back then, Le Wuya had won him over completely when he took him to the Jing tribe's territory to get the stone back and he watched him shoot it out with the Jing people.

He won all three rounds, all swagger and pride, and that was enough to win He Qingsong over completely.

From then on, as long as Le Wuya stayed tough and gave He Qingsong a little face, he'd serve him faithfully for the long haul.

In his eyes, His Honor wasn't handing out a watermelon—he was handing out a huge show of respect.

As for Yang Zheng, he might look like a softie, but the guy had real skills—he could throw stones with deadly accuracy. Back during that whole mess with the wandering beggars in Nanting, he was the one who saved Hua Rong from danger.

But he was low-key by nature, never one to show off, and he'd rather lose himself in the everyday stuff of family life—and he loved every minute of it.

In his eyes, if the melon His Honor gave could make his wife and kids happy, that was the best gift there was.

All they had to do was stick with Le Wuya, and these little favors would just keep coming.

These favors felt more solid than a thousand taels of silver or a hundred of gold, and they could take them with a clear conscience. How could they not be completely loyal?

Le Wuya told them: "Keep an eye on Yuan Xiao'er for me. I've got something important to do, and he's not exactly on board. I want to see if he can keep his trap shut."

He and Yang figured that was easy enough and both nodded: "You got it!"

He Qingsong added a question: "Your Honor, if you have something important, you could just as easily assign it to us."

Le Wuya waved a hand, tossing the question back: "You'll have plenty to keep you busy in the future. Rest up while you can. The most pressing matters right now are for one of you to tail Yuan Xiao'er, and the other to fetch me an outer robe and cut a slice of watermelon."

He and Yang exchanged a grin.

Yang Zheng went to tail the man, He Qingsong went to cut the melon, each to their own task, clearly divided.

Le Wuya returned alone to the study, picked up the book that Zhi Jie had sent over, and held it up to the sunlight streaming through the window, examining it closely.

After a long while, he let out a sigh of relief.

Thankfully, no ink had splattered on it.

...

Meanwhile, Yuan Zijin, his mind in turmoil, carried the clothes and hurried to the back courtyard.

He simply couldn't hide anything on his face—his expression was terrible, his demeanor panicked, drawing the attention of many along the way.

The clerks in the prefectural office who belonged to Wei Yixian's faction had each been tasked with extracting information from those close to the prefect.

Unfortunately, the prefect's inner circle seemed loose and full of holes, but when they actually tried to probe, it was like trying to pierce iron or soak through water—impossible.

Qin Xingyue went without saying—he was Wen Ren Ming Ke's staunchest loyalist.

The two constables, He and Yang, from humble origins, seemed soft on the outside, but their lips were sealed tighter than iron, devoted wholeheartedly to Wen Ren Ming Ke.

As for Zhong Piaoping, he simply didn't speak to anyone outside his circle, drifting through the office like a shadow, startling people at every turn—he seemed more like a suspicious spy himself.

Comparing one to another, Yuan Zijin was still the youngest and most hot-headed, the easiest to manipulate.

...Though to this day, they still couldn't figure out what exactly this Yuan fellow did.

Before long, a graceful serving woman appeared, her voice sweet and lilting as she struck up a conversation with Yuan Zijin: "Young Master Yuan, washing clothes?"

Yuan Zijin's mind was a tangled mess, and he wanted nothing more than to throw a fit, but seeing that the newcomer was a woman, he softened his voice: "Yes, I am."

"Whose clothes are these?" she asked softly. "Let me take care of them."

"Whose else could they be? Wenren Mingke's clothes, of course," Yuan Zijin muttered, head down as he scrubbed away. "I caused the trouble, so I'll fix it myself. No need to trouble you, ma'am."

The serving woman chuckled. "The master has always been good-natured, never putting on airs with us servants. How could you possibly have angered him, Master Yuan?"

"I—"

Yuan Zijin stared at the serving woman, a flood of words churning in his chest, but when they reached his lips, he swallowed them back hard.

This was serious business; if anyone else found out, Wenren Mingke's life would be in danger, and anyone who heard of it would likely face consequences too.

Yuan Zijin, soft-hearted when it came to the ladies, could not bear to see such a little woman suffer and lose her life over this. So, harboring a belly full of resentment, he growled fiercely, "I'm a damn fool! I like it! I love washing his clothes—I'll wash them for a lifetime, I owe him that much!"

The little woman: "..."

She had no choice but to leave the backyard.

A clerk who had been waiting approached eagerly. "Well, what did you find out?"

The serving woman hemmed and hawed, at a loss for words.

Seeing her hesitation, the clerk thought there was something promising and pressed her on what Yuan Zijin had said.

Cornered, the serving woman blushed and stammered, "Master Yuan... seems to be head over heels for the master, willing to serve him hand and foot."