Chapter 11: Song Qi's Misunderstanding

Xiao Zhi’s every move was closely observed by Song Qi, who felt both wary and puzzled. Xiao Zhi was of average appearance, showing no remarkable traits at first glance. Typically, subordinates showed little respect and more fear toward their superiors. Yet the people of the Imperial City Office, especially Mu Weihu, held a genuine respect—no, admiration—for Xiao Zhi. Could it be because he had killed Huai Zhong? But the Imperial City Office was a clean government agency, with no known grudges against Huai Zhong. Strange indeed.

The second floor held a private chamber with a round table laden with exquisite delicacies. Two maidservants, about sixteen or seventeen years old, stood to one side, dressed lightly, though only their shoulders were exposed. By later standards, even street attire was more revealing. Looking inward, behind a sheer curtain, the silhouettes of two women appeared.

Song Qi, familiar with the place, raised his hand slightly, and the clear, elegant sounds of pingtan storytelling filled the room. After some polite exchange, the two took their seats, and the maidservants promptly served dishes and poured wine. After a while, Song Qi finally broached the matter at hand.

“Lord Xiao, I have a request today.”

After some awkward small talk, the serious topic emerged. Xiao Zhi smiled. “Minister, please do not hesitate to ask. If there is anything I can do, I will do my best.”

Song Qi wasted no time. “Lord Xiao, could you disclose some details of the Salt Industry Law?”

“You wish to see the game half-played ahead, hmm? But there’s no need. I will announce the law publicly tomorrow,” Xiao Zhi replied with a shake of his head, sipping his wine before continuing.

“I will divide the seventeen provinces of the Great Chu into three classes: A, B, and C. Regions like Jiangsu and Zhejiang, rich and prosperous, will be Class A; places like Shaanxi and Guizhou will be Class C.”

“Whoever wins the better region will be determined by blind bidding.”

“The bidders won’t know which province they’re bidding on, only the class—A, B, or C. The highest bidder wins.”

Finishing, Xiao Zhi listened quietly to the pingtan beyond the curtain, his hand unconsciously tapping to the rhythm. Thanks to Song Qi, a scion of a southern family, he could enjoy such authentic storytelling here in the capital. Song Qi pondered deeply.

Anyone who reached the ministerial rank was no fool; they clung to power like monkeys to branches. Xiao Zhi’s words carried great weight. Since the Song family hailed from Jiangsu, naturally they desired Jiangsu’s salt rights. But with blind bidding, they couldn’t be sure if they’d get the desired Class A province. If they overpaid only to receive Zhejiang, far away and ruled by local aristocrats, conflicts were inevitable. After all, they’d be doing business in someone else’s backyard.

It was clear that once the salt industry was handed over to noble families, the government would no longer police private salt trade. On one side stood the state-sanctioned merchant salt; on the other, private salt controlled by local aristocrats. The newcomers and local powers were bound to clash, and these conflicts would be irreconcilable.

In that moment, Song Qi understood why the emperor at the grand court meeting had been moved to exclaim, sometimes calling it a brilliant plan, other times a poison plot.

Handing over the salt trade to noble families was like pre-spending decades’ worth of salt tax revenue—a brilliant strategy that harmed none. Meanwhile, rivalries among noble families would foment discord, with their protégés attacking each other in court, allowing imperial power to reclaim dominance—a poison plot to divide and conquer.

For the common people, the outcome was beneficial. Presently, official salt bore a tax-inclusive fixed price, but if noble families competed by undercutting each other, the profitability of salt trading would be unpredictable.

Unless the salt business was managed by local aristocrats, which would both stabilize prices and effectively control private salt.

“Lord Xiao, your plan is airtight—you truly are the revitalizing minister of Great Chu,” Song Qi praised, both as courtesy and heartfelt admiration.

Xiao Zhi was a rare genius. Yet, all human-devised systems had loopholes.

“Thank you, thank you,” Xiao Zhi said, with no pretense of modesty. He accepted the praise fully, knowing his worth.

He was well aware of Song Qi’s thoughts. But if anyone assumed Xiao Zhi’s poison plan ended there, they underestimated him gravely. Underestimating a time-traveling professional conman came at a steep price.

“Lord Xiao, it has been a pleasure sharing wine with you today; a meeting long overdue,” said Song Qi, clapping his hands.

The curtain parted slowly, revealing two young women veiled in light gauze, as if standing right before them. The delicate veil gave them a misty beauty, their brows and eyes bearing a striking resemblance.

Xiao Zhi suddenly understood the meaning of “faint as light clouds hiding the moon, graceful as drifting wind swirling snow.”

Such beauties reduced to entertaining at the Teaching and Music Bureau—Xiao Zhi thought it a pity.

What stirred him most was their age—they appeared around twenty, close to his own.

Coming from the modern era, Xiao Zhi could not accept girls marrying at thirteen or fourteen, and having one or two children by sixteen or seventeen.

It was said that Cao Cao loved other men’s wives; he simply preferred mature women, fully grown—what was wrong with that?

For Xiao Zhi, girls aged thirteen to fifteen were simply off-limits.

“Minister, what do you mean?” Xiao Zhi asked, feigning ignorance. Listening to pingtan merely required ears.

“Lord Xiao, I know you are unmarried and must lack attendants at home. If you like, I can give them to you,” Song Qi said.

Xiao Zhi’s astonishment was clear, and Song Qi noticed.

“Minister, I dislike forcing people against their will and giving what I would not wish to receive. Besides, I prefer substance, practical benefits,” Xiao Zhi made his meaning clear. Both were seasoned foxes; no point in playing ghost stories. The gifts offered lacked sufficient value.

Could women alone win over Xiao Zhi? Moreover, with his authority in the Imperial City Office, it would be no trouble to take a woman or two from the Teaching and Music Bureau.

Most importantly, Xiao Zhi still thought with his former life’s mindset—he could not accept a woman who had been defiled.

One could date, marry, even love someone who had been with others; but a man knowing his woman had been sold was an entirely different feeling.

Song Qi smiled, “I doubt Lord Xiao will refuse.”

Xiao Zhi wondered, Must I?

The two women stepped lightly to the table and knelt gracefully.

“Lord Xiao, though of humble birth and in a tainted place, I have always preserved my chastity. You have shown great kindness; we wish to serve you as slaves, hoping you will not despise us.”

Song Qi leaned close to Xiao Zhi’s ear, whispering, “They are the daughters of Jiang Huaiyuan, a Tongyi Dafu, and remain untouched. You may rest assured.”

Jiang Huaiyuan was a fourth-rank official without real duties. He had fallen out of favor after impeaching Huai Zhong at court.

A Tongyi Dafu was a rank without an actual post. Jiang held the rank but no real responsibility.

Thus, Jiang was a mediocre official who idly wrote memorials to impeach Huai Zhong.

Xiao Zhi’s killing of Huai Zhong was effectively Jiang’s revenge.

Now it made sense why Jiang owed him a debt of gratitude.