Chapter 162: The Old Master

Fortunately, Jiang He was tough as nails and bounced back easily—he fell from a wall nearly ten feet high and only managed to kick up a cloud of dust.

He flipped over like a hawk and sprang back to his feet.

But he didn't get up to bow. Instead, he stayed crouched on the ground, staring up at Le Wuya in a daze.

...Is the young general back?

Jiang He was briefly lost in a daze.

Back at the Nanting county office, when they'd first met in the hall while he was disguised as a merchant—was this what Wen Ren Mingke had looked like?

He tilted his head and quickly convinced himself.

This must be what they meant by "growing into his looks."

Le Wuya was worried about Qin Xingyue's broken leg and afraid he might have actually hurt himself, so he wasted no time rushing toward Jiang He, nearly tripping mid-stride.

Halfway there, seeing Jiang He spring up so nimbly, half of Le Wuya's worry melted away.

Seeing the man staring blankly at him, Le Wuya casually ruffled his hair. "What, did the fall rattle your brain?"

Jiang He didn't say a word. Instead, he spread his arms and hugged Le Wuya around the waist.

Le Wuya: "?"

Jiang He got straight to the point: "Lord Wenren, could you put in a word with the Sixth Prince to get me assigned to your side?"

The worry Le Wuya had just let go of immediately snapped back, and he started frantically feeling around Jiang He's head, afraid he'd cracked his skull.

The kid was already simple-minded enough—he couldn't afford to get any dumber.

While patting Jiang He's head, he asked, "...What brought this on all of a sudden?"

Jiang He replied, "Lord Wenren looks a lot like my old master."

Le Wuya's fingers froze in his hair.

Not because of what he said, but because his fingers had brushed against an extremely long scar hidden under his thick hair.

Jiang He continued: "I came from the Tianlang Camp. After our young general left camp and went back to the capital, General Dingyuan, General Pei, took a liking to me and recommended me to his wife's younger brother, Censor-in-Chief Cheng Yize, to tag along on his inspection tours—rooting out corruption and cleaning up local customs. I didn't know anything about that stuff; I was just in charge of Censor Cheng's safety."

Le Wuya's fingers slowly traced up along the scar.

That gruesome, centipede-like scar ran from the top of his neck all the way to the left side of his skull.

A touring censor's job was to patrol on behalf of the emperor—keeping tabs on the powerful through the lowly, supervising the honored through the humble, secretly inspecting Dayu officials and reporting directly to the throne.

Though these censors had low rank, they wielded immense power.

For them, if they could set aside the words of the sages and the principles of upright conduct, caring only about personal gain, they could build connections throughout the bureaucracy and live pretty comfortably.

On the flip side, if they stubbornly stuck to their principles and enforced the law impartially, the touring censor was one of the most dangerous jobs in all of Dayu.

Since the founding of the dynasty, no official post had seen its holders die in more bizarre and varied ways than that of touring censor—a never-ending stream of inexplicable "accidents."

Cheng Yize was Little Phoenix's uncle on his mother's side.

Le Wuya knew the Cheng family's values well.

General Pei spent his years leading troops in the field, and Pei Mingqi's stubborn, unyielding backbone was half genetics, half family upbringing.

When an upright, unbending man like Cheng Yize crossed paths with a single-minded fool like Jiang He, the outcome was predictable.

Jiang He didn't mention how he'd gotten that nearly fatal wound.

Because to him, it was just part of the job—a trivial matter, not worth mentioning.

His one regret was this: "I wanted to go to the capital to find my old master."

"...But I guess I wasn't smart enough. I chased too slowly."

Le Wuya forced a faint smile. "...When did you join the Jinwu Guard, Guard Jiang?"

Jiang He: "In the first month of the twenty-second year of Tianding, Censor Cheng came back to the capital to report on his duties. His Majesty let him stay, and I was kept in the capital too, assigned to the Jinwu Guard."

Le Wuya thought, ah—the second month after he died.

Le Wuya snapped back to the present and tidied Jiang He's messy hair. "I'm not your old master. Even if you follow me, you'd only be chasing a vague, empty shadow. What good would that do you?"

"I know." Jiang He said firmly, "One shadow is enough."

That's all Jiang He wanted.

He'd always been like this—taking things one step at a time, always seeming a bit muddled.

Back then, Qin Xingyue had been far sharper than him, joining the Tianlang Camp with a crystal-clear goal: to make a name for himself and win honor for his mother.

Later, after spending time with Le Wuya, Qin Xingyue couldn't look up to anyone else anymore.

But after Le Wuya left, Qin Xingyue still managed to pull himself together, push forward, and keep chasing his ambitions—never bringing shame to his Tianlang Camp roots.

It wasn't until he lost his leg that he fell into despair.

Jiang He's reason for joining the camp was way simpler—you might even say laughable.

Le Wuya could still remember his answer.

"I'm decent with a bow—out of ten shots, I can usually hit eight or nine. When I heard there was a prize, I wanted to give it a shot." Jiang He had said this with that remarkably calm, deadpan face, seriously glancing around the room. "If I win, is there food?"

Jiang He had always had a few screws loose, so dense it was worrying, but Le Wuya still liked him and was willing to take him anywhere.

Because Jiang He was the kind of person who, if Le Wuya taught him a bit of archery technique, would practice it over and over at the edge of the field until he'd mastered it—even if his fingers got raw and bloody, he wouldn't care.

And precisely because of that, once Le Wuya decided to stay in the capital, he no longer wanted to keep Jiang He by his side.

That kind-hearted, stubborn fool Jiang Jiugao just didn't fit in with the capital's vibe.

Yet unexpectedly, without a word, the kid had dragged his wounded body all the way to the capital.

Le Wuya had failed him once. He couldn't do it a second time.

He steadied himself, cupped Jiang He's face in his hands, and asked, "So you're going to hold this over my head just for doing one favor?"

Jiang He's eyes lit up with realization. So he had a bargaining chip after all!

He had, by extension, helped Wen Ren eliminate Wei Yixian, a major thorn in his side—why shouldn't he ask for something in return?

He nodded decisively: "Mhm!"

Le Wuya smiled and leaned down, pressing his forehead against Jiang He's. "I can't give you that yet. But don't be down about it. Wait for me in the capital, and give the Sixth Prince a message..."

He lifted his head, his bright, piercing gaze locking eyes with Jiang He. "You're mine, sooner or later."

Jiang He's heart skipped a beat.

Back then, the Young General had set up a challenge, inviting young men under twenty to come and test their mettle.

He'd gone to answer the call, bold and reckless, and with his flawless archery, he'd outshone every soldier his age, rising above the rest.

Young General Yue had looked over his record, then walked over to him with a delighted grin, looking him up and down, asking what he hoped to achieve by joining the Tianlang Camp.

Jiang He, a low-ranking soldier, had spent the morning fetching wash water and polishing his officer's boots, too busy to grab a hot breakfast. His stomach was growling, so he blurted out, "Do you provide meals?"

"Provided." Le Wuya grabbed his hand with eager warmth. "I could feed you for a lifetime, you know."

Jiang He quietly held onto that promise.

He had risked his life to protect Cheng Yize, all so he could return to the capital and once again serve under the Young General.

Later, he did go to the capital—it was lively, bustling, full of endless delicious food, but the Young General was no longer there.

That left Jiang He feeling lost for a long time.

Until he returned to his old line of work, accompanying the two princes on an imperial inspection tour, and arrived at Nanting, where he saw Wen Ren Ming Ke presiding over a case, graceful and refined.

From that moment, a faint thought began to take root in his heart.

It was like a quiet hunger burning in his belly, urging him to hurry to this man's side, to be in his service and follow his orders.

Now, at last, he'd gotten his wish.

Jiang He lowered his head. "Then I'll wait for you. You have to come."

Le Wuya smiled. "I will, I promise."

...

An incense burner shaped like a coiled dragon gently released fragrant smoke, curling into a thin mist that swirled around, obscuring the face of the person seated above in a haze.

The memorial drafted by Zheng Miao, enumerating Wei Yixian's various crimes, lay on the imperial desk.

Officials from the Three Judicial Offices stood solemnly below, each on edge; a glance across the room revealed only a sea of dark official hats.

After reading through the case, the emperor let out a low chuckle. "Interesting."

"In Nanting, he brought down the 'Model County' I personally named; within a month of taking office in Tongzhou, he uncovered a case of a fifth-rank official plotting against his superior." His voice turned sharp. "My great realm—so many pests gnawing away at it!"

No one dared to say a word.

Only Zheng Miao bowed deeply and said calmly, "Your Majesty, I've come to the capital for two reasons: first, to report the case and await your ruling; second, to bring you good news."

At that, the emperor remained silent for a long time.

The others all broke out in a cold sweat.

The imperial will was always unpredictable—how could Zheng Sanshui dare to speak so freely?

Finally, the emperor spoke up, "Oh? And what good news is that?"

Zheng Miao said evenly, "Your Majesty, allow me to explain. Pests breed in grain, in wood, in books—they thrive everywhere. Therefore, what matters is not the pests themselves, but the resolve and the means to root them out. The governance of Tongzhou Prefecture was in chaos precisely because of corrupt officialdom and political infighting. By appointing Wen Ren Ming Ke, Your Majesty has sent a woodpecker into the forest. When all the forests are rid of pests, the realm will be at peace—that is why I wish to congratulate you."

"You certainly have a silver tongue." The emperor's taut expression finally relaxed a fraction. "Minister Zheng, you have spent a long time investigating in Tongzhou Prefecture—what is your assessment of Wen Ren Ming Ke?"

Zheng Miao answered directly: "He bears a striking resemblance to Le Youque from years ago."

The backs of the veteran officials in the hall tensed up, and they all raised their sleeves to wipe the cold sweat off their foreheads.

This time, Xiang Zheng was silent for even longer than before. "How so?"

"He's clever, loyal, and resourceful. When Le Youque first became acquainted with me, he had exactly this kind of demeanor," Zheng Miao said. "It's a pity—so few see things through to the end."

"Minister Zheng speaks with feeling. I have understood well."

Xiang Zheng didn't want to keep talking about Le Wuya, so he turned to the eunuch beside him, Xue Jie: "Earlier, Wen Ren Ming Ke requested an additional one hundred thousand taels for military pay—is that correct?"

Xue Jie replied, "Yes, the Ministry of War is in the middle of disbursing it."

"Looking at it now, that figure is highly suspect. Wei Yixian previously oversaw military affairs in Tongzhou—who knows what that bastard was up to?"

"Your Majesty's meaning is..."

"In addition to the hundred thousand, add another seventy thousand taels for him to reorganize Tongzhou's defenses. Also draft an imperial edict, to be rushed to Tongzhou..."

The emperor said offhandedly: "Wei Yixian framed officials, harmed civilians, and is suspected of murdering a superior—his crimes are grave. Escort him to the capital for trial. Confiscate the Wei household, and all the money goes to Tongzhou's public funds."

Author's note:

The emperor: Shoveling money and doing good deeds to accumulate some virtue, praying that guy never comes back.