Chapter 192: Setting the Net (2)

Three letters from the capital lay on Le Wuya's desk.

They always seemed to arrive by some unspoken agreement—either none at all, or all at once.

Le Wuya didn't open them. He ran his fingertip along the edges of the envelopes, counting them over and over.

After a while, as if a sudden whim had struck him, he took the three letters and pinned them to a pillar, one above the other. He pulled out a new dart from his stash, then blindfolded himself with a strip of soft cloth.

Wenren Yue, who'd been around him so long he'd developed a rock-solid composure, kept his head down and went on writing his essay.

But watching the man raise such a ruckus over just reading letters—jumping around like a startled monkey—he couldn't help but sigh: "Why not just open them in order? Why all the theatrics?"

Le Wuya spun around twice, the dart held between his fingers: "I'm practicing. Don't bother me. If I hear a peep from anywhere, I'm throwing at it."

Wenren Yue gave his verdict: "Tyrannical."

Le Wuya waved a hand: "Nope, don't like it. Take it back. Say it again."

Wenren Yue obediently took it back: "Lord Wenren possesses a steadfast mind and holds firmly to his convictions."

Le Wuya stood facing the pillar, planted his feet, and threw a tantrum with total justification: "Not flattering enough. Try again."

Wenren Yue rested his chin on his hand, watching him quietly from the side: "Fine, fine. Brother Gu's the best in the world."

"That's more like it." Le Wuya fiddled with the dart. "Grand Secretary Xu's students and old buddies are scattered all over the realm. In the capital, toss ten bricks and you'll nail three of them. I've picked out a few people—when you go call on them, just say Grand Secretary Xu misses his students and sends his regards. When you meet those folks, be just like you were with me—sweet-talking and charming. Who says scholars are too high-and-mighty for flattery? Scholars are people too, and people love hearing nice things. Even if you run into some stubborn old rock who thinks you're all talk, no big deal. First leave them thinking you're all flash and no substance, then hit 'em with your writing and see what they've got to say."

He paused, then added: "But when it comes to flattery, just stop at the second tier of what you said about me earlier. Not everyone's the best in the world, right?"

Wenren Yue watched him, practically seeing a fox tail wagging smugly behind him.

Wenren Yue laughed: "Brother Gu, go ahead then. Throw it."

Le Wuya froze mid-motion.

Wenren Yue lowered his head, holding back the bitter swell in his chest, his voice still carrying a smile: "The best in the world, Brother Gu, not knowing which letter to open first—nobody'd believe that if you told 'em."

Le Wuya turned around, clicked his tongue, and pretended to throw at him.

"Don't be silly," Wenren Yue said softly. "I'm holding a brush. If you hit me, I'll splatter ink all over you, and then you'll have to wash it out."

Le Wuya turned aside, his lips pressing together in a barely noticeable smile.

Seeing him standing there unguarded, only the lower half of his face showing, Wenren Yue finally let his gaze rest on him without any pretense.

If not for those sly, lively eyes, the lower half of his face, when calm, faintly showed traces of his own former self.

...Though as if refined by a master craftsman's careful brushwork, far more delicate.

Wenren Yue had always been handsome and distinguished, praised since he was a kid.

Throughout the ages, a good face had always been a stepping stone and hard currency for an official climbing the ranks.

If Wenren Yue hadn't been naturally blessed with such fine features, his father's purchase of an official post for him back then might not have gone so smoothly.

Probably because they both had Jing tribe blood, their noses and mouths had subtle similarities—though in comparison, the gap was obvious.

If Brother Gu's old face had really looked like this...

Wenren Yue could only think of three words to sum it up:

"Heaven's pity."

A man so pitied by heaven, blessed with talent and a silver tongue.

And yet, how had he ended up in such a sorry state?

As Wenren Yue was lost in thought, Le Wuya suddenly asked, "What are you staring at?"

Startled, Wenren Yue couldn't help but laugh: "Lately, Brother Gu's training's really paid off—not only have you grown a fox tail, but you've grown an eye on your forehead too."

"Enough." Le Wuya turned to face him. "Still as smooth-tongued as ever. Looks like I really have to throw at you today. Stand still and don't run."

Wenren Yue smiled: "Oh, please don't."

As the two were joking around, hurried footsteps sounded from outside—each step carrying a headstrong, reckless energy.

Wenren Yue, having spent so long with these folks, had long since developed the knack of identifying them by sound alone: "It's Yuan Xiao'er back."

Le Wuya perked up.

The task he'd given Yuan Xiao'er was different from the ones he'd given the others.

He immediately flicked the dart, pinning one of the letters to the pillar, ripped off the blindfold, and strode out in long, quick steps.

But as he reached the door, he glanced back at the letter he'd pinned, a thoughtful look flickering across his face.

He quickly looked away, picked up a cup of tea nobody had touched, and pushed open the door.

Yuan Zijin stood in the courtyard.

Le Wuya greeted him: "Come inside to talk."

Young and hot-blooded, Yuan Zijin had worked up a sweat from the journey and was reluctant to go indoors: "It's cooler out here!"

Yuan Zijin, out of practice with such finery after so long, had gone back to his old dandy getup and found it didn't fit right.

He tugged at the collar of his satin-padded robe, twisting his neck in discomfort: "I've acquired thirty mu of farmland near Yunliang County and transferred it to Old Magistrate Qi to cultivate on my behalf."

With that, Yuan Zijin shot Le Wuya a sidelong glance: "Everything costs money these days—horses, forging blades, forging armor—what doesn't need silver? And yet you insist on spending money to buy land! How many coppers do you have in your pocket to burn through like this?"

Le Wuya: "Oh, so Master Yuan has learned to be frugal now? Back in the day, when you drove out in Venerable General Yuan's carriage to flaunt yourself around town..."

"Pah pah pah!" Yuan Zijin sprang up like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, practically wanting to sew Le Wuya's mouth shut. "Don't you dare say another word! If my men hear about that, I'll lose all face, won't I?!"

Having teased Yuan Zijin enough, Le Wuya turned somewhat serious: "Grain is the foundation of governing an army. With grain, you can recruit any soldier."

"Why not order large-scale land reclamation? When I was there, Old Magistrate Qi was busy with exactly that."

Inside the room, Wenren Yue heard Yuan Zijin's childish remark and couldn't help but smile.

Land reclamation was hardly such a simple matter.

Besides, Brother Gu had only just managed to push through the reduction of commercial taxes. If he were to issue another order for land reclamation, the move would be far too conspicuous and might easily breed unrest—in the end, both great undertakings would fail.

Even as these thoughts crossed his mind, his gaze fell upon the pinned letter on the pillar.

...

Outside the door, Le Wuya gave Yuan Zijin a playful kick: "Easy for you to say. You think reclaiming wasteland is that simple? It's only because Brother Yingchen is skilled at garrison farming and cultivation. If anyone else tried it, either they'd manage a few dozen mu in ten years, or the fields would be ready but taxes couldn't be collected, or worse, it'd become private land for local officials—after all, officials and degree holders are all exempt from taxes. You talk about reclaiming wasteland like it's just talk. Do you think the gentlemen would go out and pick up a plow themselves?"

Yuan Zijin's face reddened. He knew Le Wuya was right, but out of habit, he still argued: "You're lecturing me? Old Magistrate Qi is getting on in years, and you're working him to the bone. Does that seem right to you?"

At that, Le Wuya fell silent.

Yuan Zijin froze, realizing he'd put his foot in his mouth.

Having followed Le Wuya through market towns, drilled soldiers, and roamed around, Yuan Zijin had finally learned to read the room:

If every official were like Old Magistrate Qi, why would a man his age still have to work himself ragged?

He clumsily changed the subject: "Well... yes, I did pick up thirty mu of land, and I brought twenty soldiers from the Yunliang garrison with me. I left them there to train troops, so bandits or roving raiders wouldn't mess with the reclamation work... Oh! The swords are being forged too! All of them are horse-chopping blades, and as you said, we're pouring molten pig iron into the wrought iron, then refining it further, and I even put a groove in the blade."

When it came to military matters, Yuan Zijin got fired up, his eyes lit up as he talked: "The Zhang family's ironworks said they'd never heard of such a technique—they always used wrought iron sheets with Guangxi iron to make steel. I told them, like you said—er, like you said, to try smelting a batch first. The head of the family was skeptical, but when the batch came out—wow, the old man's eyes went wide!"

Le Wuya just smiled and said nothing.

Casting pig iron and wrought iron together was a classic Suzhou steel method, a secret closely guarded in the Wuzhou region.

Many craftsmen kept it under wraps, only passing it to their most trusted disciples.

A single blade could sever a horse's head, break a man's bones, and carve out a path to peace in the world.

In his previous life, Le Wuya had been a military commander and had always been a blade man. His subordinates knew his background and naturally catered to his tastes, falling over themselves to give him gifts.

This steelmaking formula was the best bribe he'd ever taken in his past life.

Over these past days, Le Wuya had visited every foundry in Tongzhou, large and small, both private and state-run, comparing skills and raw materials, shopping around at more than a dozen places, before finally picking a private workshop near Tongzhou Prefecture.

It wasn't just the Zhang family's century-old craftsmanship that he admired.

A few years back, when Japanese pirates plagued Tongzhou, the Zhang family's workshop had been raided and looted by the pirates.

Those bandits had used their swords to kill until the blades were chipped and dull, and they were desperate for good blades.

The head of the family, Zhang Sanqing, was a hot-tempered man who wouldn't back down. At sixty-two, with white hair and a long beard, he grabbed his sword and went out to fight.

Three of his four sons were killed defending the workshop.

Zhang Sanqing fell gravely ill afterward, and the Zhang family never fully recovered. Their business shrank, barely hanging on.

"He took it?"

"Took it." Yuan Zijin beamed. "I said it was for the government—man, he nearly chased me out with a carrying pole! But when I showed him the formula, he warmed up a lot. And once we got it smelted, he flat-out wouldn't let me leave!"

Le Wuya had seen this coming, so he wasn't surprised.

Back then, after the Zhang workshop suffered that calamity, Zhang Sanqing had barely recovered his health and hobbled to the prefect's office with his cane, hoping to report his sons' deeds and ask the government for help, given that he had defended the workshop and kept a hundred fine blades out of Japanese hands.

But Wei Yixian, who was handling the matter at the time, ruled that "defending private property and residence means bearing the profits and losses yourself," and had the old man thrown out.

Zhang Sanqing stood before the yamen, stomping and cursing, only to be put in the cangue and displayed for three days.

By the time his only son paid to have him released, he was barely alive, and his spirit was crushed. He sat in his courtyard day after day, cursing heaven and earth, full of bitter resentment.

When Yuan Zijin had taken on this task, he'd quietly asked around and learned that Zhang Sanqing was a cranky old man who never stopped complaining. He couldn't help but mutter to himself, wondering if that fellow Wen Ren had it in for old men—what kind of person had he found to do this job?

But ever since smelting that unprecedented fine steel, Zhang Sanqing had thrown himself into the furnace work like a man possessed, obsessively trying to refine the technique further, to the point of not sleeping.

In his own words: "If the lord wants to cut down Japanese raiders, this old Zhang is willing to be the whetstone."

Yuan Zijin came to respect the old man deeply, showing him the respect due an elder, and stayed with him for nearly seven days before hurrying back.

Outside, the conversation continued with laughter and warmth, but Wen Ren had set down his brush and walked to the pillar, trying to pull out the dart Le Wuya had stuck there moments ago.

He gave it a tug, but it wouldn't budge.

Wen Ren smiled inwardly—what strength.

And yet, his wrist had been so busy lately that it had gotten so thin...

But when he actually touched the dart, Wen Ren froze.

The dart was warm from Le Wuya's grip, slightly damp with sweat, the heat lingering even now.

Wen Ren hesitated, holding the dart.

He knew Brother Gu's skill well.

If Le Wuya had pinned the letter himself, he would have known the order—couldn't he have chosen whichever one he wanted?

Why pretend to joke with him, stalling for time, hesitating?

That wasn't like him.

With a faint, elusive ache in his heart, Wen Ren took down the letter that had been struck by the dart.

Holding the dart for so long, the moment he heard Yuan Zijin report on important matters, Le Wuya must have, purely on instinct, thrown it at the letter he most wanted to reach.

Wen Ren had known him long enough to understand that Le Wuya's roundabout approach was merely to deceive himself.

Whose letter did he most want to see?

Wen Ren looked down at the unsigned letter, his lips pressing into a slight frown.

...

To seize the benefits of the tax reduction on merchants, the wealthy gentry of Tongzhou began a covert competition.

Those who already owned warehouses and shops wanted to expand.

Those who hadn't yet entered the game, fearless in their ignorance, also wanted to jump in and grab a share.

But because Japanese pirates had long plagued Tongzhou, the local gentry preferred to convert their cash into land.

The forces behind the Tongzhou pirates were deeply intertwined. If a flood washed over the Dragon King's temple, gold, silver, and treasure could all be carried away, but land could never be moved.

So the common trait among Tongzhou's gentry was vast landholdings but little ready cash.

Thus, when they needed money, they would sell off some land.

As long as they made back their profits, selling fifty mu and buying back five hundred was no trouble.

Everyone was holding their breath, eager to tear a piece of flesh from this fat sheep.

Tongzhou bordered the prefecture where the imperial merchant Xi family was based, so many people's first choice was the cotton yarn, dyeing, and garment-making trades.

Dye works and spinning mills sprang up like bamboo shoots after rain.

But once they entered the game, these people suddenly discovered that the situation was far from the rosy picture they had imagined.