Chapter 151: The Game (Part 10)

Wei Yixian was busy laying his schemes, and Mu Jiazhi was busy searching for people. Each had their own clearly defined duties, and as a result, no one was paying attention to Le Wuya.

Le Wuya was happy for the break. Apart from handling daily official business, he spent all his time at the drill grounds.

He went out of his way to hire scholars to teach these young soldiers how to read—not the Confucian classics, but starting with practical skills like writing their own names and those of their family members, as well as counting money, doing math, and keeping accounts.

After that, he brought in a storyteller, using popular tales like Romance of the Three Kingdoms, Tales of the Tang, and Investiture of the Gods as teaching material to help them learn characters and reading.

Eight or nine out of ten military families in Tongzhou Prefecture had never had any schooling. Most had no interest in learning to read, preferring to spend hours working out at the training grounds rather than sitting hunched over old books by an oil lamp.

But who doesn't love a good story?

Within just two or three days, Le Wuya had successfully sorted out who was just there for the stories and who actually wanted to learn.

After all, a few still had a vague sense of the saying, "If you're going to read, put your heart into it—a single word is worth a thousand in gold."

Le Wuya pulled aside the ones willing to study and gave them extra tutoring.

As for the rest, as long as they could recognize a whole basketful of characters, that counted as a win.

Le Wuya had other plans for these book-loving lads.

Among them was the young soldier Lu Ming—the one who'd once stormed the county office gate with three battle scars on him—and he was one of those burying his head in his books.

When Lu Ming had first been sent to Tongzhou Prefecture, he figured he was definitely going to be tortured to death.

Even his superior, Zhang Ashan, figured the same.

—The prefect had been cornered at his own gate and made a scene of, without ever getting to blow off steam. As a thoughtful subordinate, he figured he'd send him a punching bag.

He'd heard this Lu Ming, young as he was, had balls of steel—after a few cups of strong liquor, he'd dared to yell at the prefect right in the middle of the street.

To keep the prefect from holding a grudge against him, Zhang Ashan decided to ship the kid off to Tongzhou Prefecture. After all, the kid had real combat experience and had helped put down bandits. Sending this troublemaker over wouldn't go against the prefect's wishes, and it'd give him someone to take his anger out on—why not?

As it turned out, Lu Ming waited around nervously day after day, but instead of getting a hard time, he got extra tutoring, a jaw-dropping display of Le Wuya's archery skills, and two solid meals a day loaded with meat and grease.

From what he saw and heard, Lu Ming realized the prefect genuinely cared about them—these garrison soldiers. He had zero airs about him, often quietly throwing on a soldier's cap and hanging out with them to shoot the breeze.

A few times, Lu Ming brought ice to the prefect's study in the yamen, glancing around out of curiosity but finding nothing fancy or ornate.

On the curio shelf in his room, there were no fancy Eastern Han or Southern Han porcelain vases—just stacks of books and case files.

When he brought the ice in, the prefect was dozing off in the middle of a pile of scrolls.

Hua Rong was fanning him and waved for them to set the ice down and leave.

But unfortunately, the prefect had freakishly sharp hearing. Hearing their footsteps, he groggily raised his head and smiled at them: "Don't go, don't go. Come here—there's still half a watermelon left. Split it between you, and don't tell anyone else."

...And so, Lu Ming started to suspect the prefect didn't even recognize him as the soldier who'd caused that scene.

As his days in the prefecture went on, Lu Ming started to see things more clearly.

The prefect did enjoy good food and drink, sure, but everything he actually ate was cheap little snacks.

When he hung out with them, he never wore fine clothes or fancy robes. The most valuable thing on him was a plain, simple chess-piece pendant.

The prefect had even tried on their two-piece armor himself, testing whether the material was tough enough to actually protect the body.

A day or two—sure, a person can put on an act.

But time tells the truth about a person.

Seeing that the prefect really had no wealth to speak of, Lu Ming's shame and regret only grew deeper.

One day, his guilt hit its peak.

That day, some bootlicking soldiers pulled the prefect's right-hand men, He Qingsong and Yang Zheng, into some idle chit-chat.

In the middle of the conversation, He Qingsong opened his mouth and spilled the whole story—that the gift the prefect had given Prefect Feng Long had actually come from Wei Yixian.

For something that showed off his master's fine character, He Qingsong bragged with righteous pride and not a hint of guilt.

Lu Ming listened from the sidelines, his gut twisting with regret.

After learning the truth, Lu Ming hung around the prefect for a long time, wanting to apologize. But he worried that bringing it up would make the prefect remember the stupid thing he'd done.

What if the prefect ended up hating him, looking down on him from then on, or sending him back? He'd honestly die of shame and regret.

Lu Ming's heart was like oil in a hot pan. He decided to turn his anxiety into drive, doubling down—training hard by day and carefully practicing his writing by night, hoping to make up for his mistakes through hard work.

One evening, the storyteller came to spin them tales of the Three Kingdoms. He told of Cao Pi seizing the Han throne, bringing the four-hundred-year reign of the great Han to an end.

The soldiers listened, some totally hooked, others fuming with anger, letting out heavy sighs.

As Lu Ming listened, he caught something odd and whispered to the guy on his right: "Didn't the Han dynasty have a Southern Han?"

Suddenly, a whisper drifted over from his left: "No, there wasn't. In history, the Eastern Han came after the Western Han. The Southern Han was during the Five Dynasties and Ten Kingdoms period."

Lu Ming jumped in surprise and turned his head to see Le Wuya.

Today, he was still the same undignified prefect, his long hair loosely braided back with a colorful cord.

He crossed his arms over his chest, covered his mouth with one hand, kept his expression calm, and lowered his voice to Lu Ming: "The seal of the Langya Kingdom in the Eastern Han is worth something, but the seal of the Southern Han isn't worth much at all."

Lu Ming stood frozen, caught between confusion and emotion, stammering: "My lord, you... you still remember me..."

"What are you talking about?" Le Wuya glanced at him. "Do I look like someone who's gone senile before his time?"

No more words were needed.

Lu Ming's knees went weak, and he started to drop to his knees to confess.

But Le Wuya was faster. He lifted his crossed foot and pressed it against Lu Ming's knee to stop him.

He glanced sideways at Lu Ming and said: "A kid who survived three battle wounds—I haven't seen many. Your knees are precious. Don't waste them on kneeling, and don't look back. Just run forward with everything you've got."

From that day on, Lu Ming was completely won over, loyal to the bone, with no more thoughts of rebellion.

...

When Hua Rong came to the training grounds to find Le Wuya, he was cracking melon seeds, watching Yuan Zijin go at it in an endless round of arm wrestling against the garrison soldiers.

Yuan Zijin had natural-born strength, which was a total mismatch for his pretty-boy, romantic dandy looks.

His opponents, seeing his vacant, clueless expression, would inevitably underestimate him—until they lost one after another, finally realizing the guy actually had some real strength.

Yuan Zijin was puffed up with pride, so pleased with himself he was practically strutting.

He used to be a young master in a grand estate in the capital, waited on by maids and trailed by servants. One wrong move and he'd bruise or hurt them.

Afraid of harming those close to him, he had to constantly hold back his strength.

Yuan Zijin's elder brother, Yuan Ziyou, was exceptionally accomplished—skilled in both letters and martial arts, carrying on their father's legacy, no question about it.

With such a stellar older brother raising the bar, no one expected much from Yuan Zijin, and he'd never once, even as a kid, had the drive to compete with his brother.

When it came to martial arts, he was spoiled by his family and had grown lazy—he'd train a day, then slack off for three; when it came to scholarship, he could never make heads or tails of his books.

And so he just coasted along, getting lazier by the day.

Now, he was finally in his element—for the first time in his life, people praised and were wary of his incredible strength. Yuan Zijin felt a surge of heat swelling in his chest; he'd never felt anything this good in his whole life.

Soon, the garrison soldiers brought out another big, burly guy with broad shoulders and a thick waist to wrestle Yuan Zijin.

Yuan Zijin was all in.

As the two of them grappled, both red in the face, Le Wuya, up to no good, started pulling dirty tricks from the sidelines: "Hey, Li Fu, don't just go for the arms—pinch Yuan Xiao'er's inner thigh! That's where the meat is!"

Yuan Zijin gritted his teeth and shot back: "Screw off! Wen Ren Ming Ke, shut up!"

The garrison soldiers cracked up.

At first, when they saw Yuan Xiao'er lash out at Le Wuya, they were terrified, afraid the prefect would fly into a rage and have this reckless kid flogged.

But the prefect never got physical—he'd just trade sharp-tongued banter with him in a clear, ringing voice, leaving Yuan Xiao'er red in the face and sputtering.

The garrison soldiers were all from poor backgrounds and were used to officials throwing their weight around. Now, seeing such an offbeat yet genuinely kind and down-to-earth big shot, they were intrigued and grew more and more loyal, with no desire to leave the prefect's side.

While Le Wuya was happily watching the match, Hua Rong strolled over and said, as casually as if asking what's for lunch: "Sir, the one in the cellar is asking for some medical books."

"Give them to him," Le Wuya said, eyes still glued to the intense match. "And add two more lamps—tell him not to wreck his eyesight. I'll still need him later. Instead of shelling out for a pair of glasses, I'd rather buy him and his brother some good food."

Hua Rong silently noted the prefect's words but couldn't help wondering:

...Can Registrar Zi really come back to work after all this?

He didn't ask, just filed it away to mull over later.

Hua Rong pursed his lips and asked, "Sir, has he already figured out the prescription for his brother..."

Hua Rong's words were cut off by a sudden roar of cheers.

Yuan Zijin won again.

Le Wuya kept his eyes ahead, winking at Yuan Zijin with a grin, and said to Hua Rong: "See, I told you—he's been stuck in that cellar with nothing to do. He'll figure out the whole thing on his own."

...

Over the past few days, Le Wuya went to see Zi Yongshou's younger brother twice.

He was born premature, with a weak constitution, frail and sickly since childhood—especially bad lungs—so he was bedridden all year, coughing nonstop.

Mu Jiazhi set aside a big chunk of his own salary to fill the original prescription, making sure the younger Zi brother took his meds, with the promise that once his brother got back from official business, he'd be taken home.

When Le Wuya showed up, he happened to catch the famous doctor Mu Jiazhi had hired coming out of the younger Zi brother's room, medical kit in hand.

When the doctor learned Le Wuya was the new prefect, his head drooped so low it nearly hit his chest.

If you could call it humility, it was humility to an almost ridiculous degree.

Le Wuya played along, asked to see the younger Zi brother's prescription, and gave vague praise like "all good stuff," while actually memorizing the drug names.

Back at the yamen, he wrote down the drug names and had Yang Zheng take the prescription to another prefecture.

Yang Zheng was quick—out and back the same day.

He wasn't well educated, and with all the bumping around on the road, he'd already forgotten most of the medical jargon the doctor had explained.

So he put it plainly: "Sir, the doctor said that prescription doesn't do much—and it's pricey! He told me to tell you to stay away from quack doctors' meds—it's a rip-off!"

Le Wuya took this in without batting an eye.

During this time, using the excuse that the younger Zi brother wasn't getting better, he called in a bunch of doctors from Tongzhou Prefecture to check on him.

Surprisingly, not one of them said a word against this expensive, useless prescription.

So this wasn't just one doctor's take on things.

To put it plainly, Registrar Zi—such a seemingly insignificant guy—had been caught up in Wei Yixian's scheme ever since Prefect Qian's drowning case.

How his already thin family savings had been slowly drained was really worth thinking about.

Looking back after getting out of it, Zi Yongshou could easily see that his family's troubles had started exactly half a year ago.

...

After this matter, Le Wuya also went to visit Zi Yongshou once.

Zi Yongshou was truly a man who accepted his fate and went with the flow. Combined with his suspicion about his brother's prescription, he showed no intention of escaping whatsoever, staying put in the cellar with complete resignation.

To make him more comfortable, Le Wuya had Hua Rong remove his shackles and dress him in proper undergarments, sparing them the awkwardness of facing each other naked.

Le Wuya asked him curiously: "Registrar, there's something I don't understand. That day when the soldiers came to the yamen demanding their pay, and I, Lord Wei, and Lord Mu first discussed Prefect Qian's matter in the carriage, I noticed Lord Wei spoke about Prefect Qian with great fluency and no hint of guilt, but Lord Mu seemed distracted and uneasy. Do you know why?"

Knowing that a storm was brewing ahead, Le Wuya naturally wanted to eliminate all potential distractions.

If Mu Jiazhi was indeed hiding something, he needed to be fully prepared.

Zi Yongshou thought for a moment and answered truthfully: "That day, before Prefect Qian went to the banquet, Liang Xian went to see him, saying he had a case of bandits breaking into a home to rob and murder. The case had been solved and the culprit apprehended. The higher-ups placed great importance on it and had already sent two official dispatches urging progress. Now that the case was closed, the report needed to be promptly submitted to the Ministry of Justice. Liang Xian stayed at the yamen to draft the memorial, waiting for Prefect Qian to return, verify it, and then sign and seal it before sending it to the capital."

He spoke with a sorrowful expression, his voice soft: "Therefore... when Liang Xian saw Prefect Qian off, he mentioned that he should return quickly."

Le Wuya let out an "ah."

Since there were official dispatches from above, it wouldn't be difficult to verify the truth—what Zi Yongshou said was at least seventy or eighty percent credible.

No wonder Prefect Qian had been so eager to rush back that day, even abandoning his drunken page.

No wonder Mu Jiazhi showed pain and unease whenever Prefect Qian was mentioned.

And no wonder Wei Yixian had chosen this matter to make a big fuss over.

Once Prefect Qian's affair was exposed, Mu Jiazhi's urging him to return quickly would inevitably come to light as well.

Not to mention others becoming suspicious—even Mu Jiazhi himself would blame himself for it.

The death of Prefect Qian—if anyone tried to claim it had nothing whatsoever to do with Mu Jiazhi, even he himself couldn't say that with a straight face.

Le Wuya was working behind the scenes, but on the surface, he didn't let a single word slip.

He'd just ask every now and then where Registrar Zi was, and went by to check on Registrar Zi's younger brother a couple of times. Beyond that, he showed little concern—indeed, he even started making arrangements to recruit more coroners, so that if a case came up, Tongzhou Prefecture wouldn't be caught short-handed.

The men Wei Yixian had sent to shadow Le Wuya reported back every day, but no matter how hard they dug, they couldn't find anything off.

He Qingsong and Yang Zheng were still as tight-lipped as ever.

The one surnamed Yuan and the one surnamed Qin put all their energy into drilling the garrison troops.

Even that Zhong guy had quietly joined in on the garrison drills.

The missing Zi Yongshou didn't seem to matter to them one bit.

But even so, Wei Yixian still couldn't shake the feeling.

Taking advantage of the fact that Wen Ren Mingke's official residence was empty, he sent a quick, sharp-eyed page to climb over the wall and sneak in, hoping to get a read on what was really going on.

The man he sent to scope out the place had no trouble wandering through the whole fancy compound.

The cellar naturally caught his eye too.

The page reached out and tugged at the brass padlock, and found it locked up tight.

The keyhole was caked with dust—looked like nobody had opened it in ages.

He looked around: the place was kept pretty clean, blue brick paving with every weed in the cracks pulled out. There were no footprints to be seen anywhere, and no trampled grass to tell whether anyone came by regularly.

Everything looked perfectly normal.

It was just a regular side courtyard that someone swept and tidied every day.

And the cellar was dead silent.

If someone had been abducted and imprisoned within, surely they'd yell for help the second they heard someone coming, right?

Having checked things out this far, the man figured he'd earned the reward Lord Wei had promised, turned around and hopped back over the wall.

A long time after he left, a faint click of a lock came from deep inside the dust-covered cellar.

...Zi Yongshou climbed the ladder, slid back the bolt that was locked from the inside, and nervously poked half his head out.

Then he realized that was a dumb move.

Though he had heard the sound of the intruder vaulting over the wall, the man might not have gone far—what if he came back?

At that thought, he quickly pulled back, re-latched the cellar door, and crept back down the ladder.

Zi Yongshou was badly shaken. That very day, when Hua Rong came to deliver his meal, he immediately complained that he'd heard someone snooping around outside.

Startled, Hua Rong hurried to Le Wuya: "My lord, you were right again! Thank God we swapped in that old cobweb-covered lock on the outside for show—otherwise we'd have been busted!"

Le Wuya propped his chin on his hand, a preserved plum in his mouth, and mumbled: "Good. Looks like the day is nearly here."

"What day?"

"Why, the fine day when we trace the vine to the melon and lead them straight to Lord Mu's doorstep." Le Wuya picked up another plum. "If this Lord Wei of ours weren't an official, he could well be an assassin—he lives by the creed of striking only when ready, and when he strikes, it's to kill. Naturally, he'd make every preparation and clear away every stumbling block and roadblock. Even if I showed no crack at all, he'd still come snooping around my place just to set his mind at ease."

Smiling genially, he popped the plum into Hua Rong's mouth and said to him: "Little Hua Rong, take note. The lessons Lord Wei can teach you are running thin indeed."

Lord Wei likes to fish—let him fish.

In this deep pool of Le Wuya's, there ain't no fish. Only hooks.