Chapter Two: The Magistrate’s Visit

Outside the window, under the shroud of night, the silhouette of Solitary Hill—said to be transformed from Jiang Yan’s Dream Pen—had long since faded into darkness.

Zhang Yue sat at his desk, scratching his head in frustration.

He knew a little about Jiang Yan’s Dream Pen. In the earlier part of the dream, the old man had gifted Jiang Yan a brush, after which Jiang Yan’s writing flourished—every composition he penned was extraordinary. Yet, when the pen was reclaimed, his inspiration dried up, and he could no longer produce such masterful lines. Thus arose the well-known saying, “Jiang Lang’s talent is spent.”

Before him stood Solitary Hill, which, as the story went, was said to be the very brush that had turned to stone. In his days as magistrate of Pucheng, Jiang Yan experienced this strange fortune.

But Zhang Yue had not anticipated that the very pen was the one gifted by the old man in his dream, and that the next part of the dream was this old man, calling himself Zhang Jingyang, presenting a gift to him.

A treasure to rival Jiang Yan’s pen!

Yet what use was this gift the old man bestowed? Zhang Yue could not fathom it, and so he pondered over the old man’s words: “All the world’s affairs, the heart of youth, in dreams, each point leaves a deep mark.”

He mulled it over for a long time but could not grasp the meaning. What he did know was that everything in his dream remained vivid in his memory—down to the smallest detail—unlike ordinary dreams, where, upon waking, only the vaguest outline remained. If a dream was especially clear, it usually meant a restless night.

But this was different. He felt no fatigue—indeed, the details felt so real it was as if he had lived them upon waking during the day.

Savoring the sensation, Zhang Yue realized he had slept soundly and woke feeling utterly refreshed, brimming with energy, not at all as if startled from a nightmare.

As he woke, he saw darkness had already fallen outside.

“I actually slept another five or six hours,” he thought. He hadn’t done much all day but sleep.

“Why did no one call me for dinner?” At this, his stomach growled—a reminder that the greasy cakes he'd eaten at noon were long gone.

Picking up the tall lamp, he made his way to the door.

The Zhang residence was a two-story house with six beams, two rooms upstairs and down, and side rooms to the north and south. The southern room upstairs belonged to Mr. Zhang and his wife; in the northern room lived Zhang Xu and Zhang Yue.

Downstairs, one room served as kitchen, the other as a reception.

Zhang Yue intended to find some leftover coals in the kitchen to light a lamp and scavenge for food. Then he remembered—no one had cooked at noon, so how could there be any leftover coals?

Just then, a tumult arose downstairs.

He descended and heard a loud bang as the front door was pounded with such force it shook the frame.

The door trembled. Startled, Zhang Yue recalled the fearsome tales of Zhao, the Bailiff, and his ruthless methods. Steeling himself, he hurried to the kitchen and grabbed a chopping knife.

The weight of the knife in his hand gave him some courage.

Suddenly, the door was kicked open with a resounding crash.

A voice rang out: “What manners is this? Who kicks the door down when returning home?”

“Forgive me, I forgot the Zhang house had already pawned this place to the bailiff.”

Zhang Yue peered outside and saw more than a dozen burly men, one of whom shone a torch into the room. He hid the knife behind his back.

The leader strode in, kicking aside a basket, and surveyed the house with hands clasped behind his back before turning to Zhang Yue.

Another man squeezed in behind him and barked, “Take inventory of everything! Be careful—if anything’s damaged, the bailiff will have your hides!”

A swarm of men with clubs and ropes filed in, evidently to pack up the household goods.

Zhang Yue panicked. Where was his elder brother at a time like this?

The leader approached Zhang Yue. Dressed in black, a scholar’s sash at his waist, he was unlike the blustering man who had kicked the door in—instead, he spoke with a certain gentleness. “You must be the third son of the Zhang family?”

Zhang Yue gave no reply.

The man drew a slip of paper from his sleeve and said, “Don’t be afraid. I’m not here to trouble you. This is the promissory note your brother wrote. Your family owes me three hundred strings of cash. With no money to repay, your house and goods are forfeit. I am only acting by the terms—an open and honest transaction.”

Plucking up his courage, Zhang Yue looked at the infamous Zhao, the Bailiff, who inspired dread throughout Pucheng. But he did not seem overbearing, perhaps considering it beneath him to bully a child.

In this county, the four great clans held sway, dominating government affairs and using connections to manipulate outcomes. The former assistant magistrate, Chen Xiang, had tried to reform these customs. Zhao had begun as a lowly yamen runner, but was recognized and promoted by Chen to suppress the local gentry. His methods were ruthless, but his talents undeniable, so even after Chen left, subsequent magistrates had no choice but to employ him.

Having offended such a man, how could the Zhang family ever know peace again?

“The bailiff is asking you a question.”

“Playing deaf? Where are your manners?”

Several hulking men glared at him, their arms thicker than his legs, and Zhang Yue’s heart quaked.

Timidly, he stammered, “You’ve already torn down our door, so what manners are there to speak of?”

At this, the whole crowd burst out laughing.

Zhang Yue, his confidence wavering, asked, “May I ask if you are Bailiff Zhao?”

Zhao, not taking the boy seriously, smiled faintly. “If you wish to call me Bailiff Zhao, that’s your business—others who look down on me call me whatever they like.”

In a small voice, Zhang Yue said, “Bailiff Zhao, my eldest brother isn’t home yet—please wait and let him handle this!” His words were as soft as a mosquito.

A ruffian, feigning shock, bellowed, “So everything will be decided by the bailiff? Well then, why wait? Let’s move it all out!”

Laughter erupted again.

“No, that’s not—” Zhang Yue tried to explain, “My brother isn’t home. I must guard the house until he returns. I beg you to wait a little longer!”

Zhao sneered. “Should we wait a whole day if your brother doesn’t return for a day?”

A sly-looking henchman piped up, “Bailiff, doesn’t this boy look just like his second brother?”

At the mention of his second brother, Zhao’s eyes flashed cold.

“If we can’t catch his second brother, at least this child is his kin. We could sell him as a bonded servant in the hills—fetch a good price, settle the debt, and give you some satisfaction, Bailiff!”

Zhao replied coolly, “But what if the eldest returns and finds his brother gone?”

“We’ll just act as if we know nothing. Did any of you see anything?”

The crowd cackled, “Nope, didn’t see a thing. Where’s the third son of the Zhangs? Did you see him?”

“Didn’t see him. We wouldn’t have pounded on the door for so long if he were in. Clearly, he’s not home.”

Zhao made no comment, and his lackey took it as permission, a sinister grin spreading across his face as he loomed over Zhang Yue. “Come along quietly, and you’ll spare yourself a beating.”

The others continued their grotesque laughter, taking delight in bullying a child.

Suddenly, the lackey lunged to grab Zhang Yue’s hands.

“No! No!” Zhang Yue’s face filled with terror.

“Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you,” the man said smugly, reaching out.

Thinking the boy cowed, and confident due to the child’s youth, he was wholly unprepared when Zhang Yue stepped back and, in a flash, swung the knife at him.

A scream split the air. The knife had been aimed at his neck. The man managed to stumble back in time, but his chest was still slashed, blood staining his clothes.

The blade was dull, but it drew blood nonetheless.

The wounded man collapsed, shrieking, “Bailiff! Save me! I’m dying!”

The entire house fell silent, stunned by Zhang Yue’s ferocity. They were all local thugs, used to brawling in the streets, but for a twelve- or thirteen-year-old boy to strike so ruthlessly—aiming for the throat—was unheard of.

Zhao’s henchmen erupted in alarm.

“Let’s deal with the boy now, Bailiff!”

“Better to cut the weed at the root—end it once and for all.”

Zhao said coolly, “Who would have thought you had such guts? Not only do you resemble your second brother, but you share his brazen spirit.”

Zhang Yue replied, “Bailiff, I didn’t want bloodshed, but when forced, even a rabbit will bite. Don’t you agree?”

“Put down the knife, then we’ll talk,” said Zhao.

“Don’t push me, Bailiff,” Zhang Yue warned, stepping back. In the next moment, he smeared the blood from the knife onto his face and shouted at the top of his lungs, “Help! Help! The Bailiff is killing someone!”

The crowd was taken aback. One moment the boy had been fierce and unyielding, the next he was cowering and crying for help. The sudden shift left them bewildered.

Neighbors who had been hesitating outside now drew closer, alarmed by the cries.

“He’s just a child, Bailiff!”

“Spare him, for heaven’s sake!”

“There’s blood—this is a sin!”

At that moment, someone outside called breathlessly, “Don’t touch my third brother!”

It was Zhang Shi, rushing in, pushing through the crowd to stand protectively in front of Zhang Yue. He turned, concern in his eyes. “Are you hurt?” he asked.

Seeing his brother’s worry, Zhang Yue threw down the knife and began to sob. “Brother, I was almost sold to the mountains as a bonded servant by Bailiff Zhao. If you hadn’t returned, I might never have seen you again.”

His tears were part terror, part exaggeration. He knew his elder brother was mild-mannered; whenever Zhao came, he always sought to settle things quietly, never daring to confront him unless absolutely cornered.

Seeing Zhang Yue’s bloody face, veins bulging on his forehead, Zhang Shi turned to Zhao, teeth clenched. “Bailiff, we had an agreement! How dare you harm my brother? I’ll fight you to the end!”

Zhao sneered, “Who would harm a child? Don’t slander me and ruin my reputation in the county.”

Zhang Shi looked to a man peering nervously from the doorway. “Cao, please, be our judge!”

Outside, a crowd had gathered. Called out, Cao shrank like a cat seized by the scruff but had no choice but to step forward.

Cao, with his three wisps of beard and slightly portly figure, greeted Zhao with a smile.

Zhao raised his hand to stop him. “This is none of your concern, Baozheng.”

He had meant to offer support, but Zhao’s gesture silenced him, and he could only nod and mumble in agreement.

Turning to Zhang Shi, he said, “Since the house has been sold to the Bailiff, you must do as he says. The third son is young and terrified—his words mean nothing. Don’t you agree?”

Faced with Cao’s betrayal, Zhang Yue looked up at Zhang Shi in anger and frustration.

The ruffian, still bleeding from his wound, tumbled to his feet and wailed, “Zhang Shi, I was only talking to your brother, and he slashed me—I nearly died! How are we to settle this?”

But Zhao snapped, “Out!”

“Yes, sir.” The man slunk off, blood trailing behind him.

Zhang Shi turned to Zhang Yue. “To repay the three hundred strings of betrothal money, I’ve already sold all our land, the three-courtyard house at the East Gate, this building, and everything in it—all to cover the debt to the Zhao family.”

“All of it?” Zhang Yue gasped.

To cross into this world and fall from a respectable household to poverty—how could he bear such a blow?

“It’s my failing as your brother,” Zhang Shi said, full of self-reproach.

Cao interjected, “Just so. Since everything’s clear, let’s get moving, Zhang Shi, so as not to delay the Bailiff.”

He was even more eager than Zhao’s own men, making one wonder whose side he was on.

Zhang Yue said, “Brother, if we must sell, we should do it officially, through the county. Why leave it all to the Bailiff? He can set whatever price he likes! Our holdings are worth at least five hundred strings!”

No one responded. Zhang Shi and Cao kept silent.

Zhang Shi glanced at Zhao, then said bitterly, “Who in the county would dare offend the Bailiff to buy our property? Isn’t that so, Bailiff?”

Zhao only smiled.

A suffocating pressure closed in. Only now did Zhang Yue begin to grasp the full extent of it. For half a month, Zhang Shi had been utterly isolated—after offending Zhao, even close friends and relatives cut all ties, leaving him alone and friendless. It was far more desperate than when their second brother had fled his wedding.

Zhao finally spoke. “With Baozheng and all the neighbors here, let’s make things clear. I’m not the villain here. The day after your second brother fled the wedding, my family and I were waiting at home for the newlyweds to return. But instead, my daughter came home in tears. The whole county, the whole prefecture, laughed at me. My daughter, so innocent, humiliated; my reputation in ruin. I only have one daughter, my precious jewel, and your second brother disgraced her! For days, she’s wept, her mother never leaving her side, fearing she might take her own life. How will your family compensate for my daughter’s honor, for my good name?”

No one spoke—not Baozheng, nor the neighbors, nor even Zhang Yue. To see one’s daughter returned in tears before a hall full of guests—what could Zhao and his wife have felt? Worse, some gossips spread rumors that the bride had not bled on her wedding night and that the groom stormed off in anger…

Still, fault was fault. Zhang Yue thought, now that enmity ran so deep, what if Zhao’s vengeance did not end with ruining them financially? What if, even after repayment, they still could not appease him?

Steeling himself, Zhang Shi said, “Bailiff Zhao, our family knew nothing of this in advance. My second brother was meant to travel to Fuzhou for the provincial exam. Perhaps he feared private matters might disrupt the marriage. He’s always been a scholar first, but if he passes the exam, I’ll have him apologize to you in person.”

Zhang Yue felt a surge of relief—his brother had considered this, mentioning the provincial exam. If he passed, he could move on to the capital exam, and if he became an official, Zhao would not dare act against them.

Yet there was a pang of sorrow—he resented his second brother for fleeing, dooming the family, but in the end, it was only this brother who might save them.

Zhao was unmoved, sneering, “I already knew your second brother went for the exam. I’ve sent men after him. Don’t worry—he won’t even make it to the exam room! If he does, his paper won’t reach the examiner! And if it does, he still won’t pass!”

The venom in his words made Zhang Yue’s blood run cold. Zhao truly had influence in the county, the prefecture, even the circuit.

Zhao’s voice grew icy. “You brothers should rest easy. I cannot guarantee someone will pass, but I can easily ensure someone will not!”

Zhang Shi, shocked and furious, exclaimed, “You’d destroy my brother’s future! You’d destroy the Zhang family… Ah!”

He stamped his foot in despair. He had meant to ask why Zhao’s revenge must be so merciless, but stopped short—was there any hope left?

“Bailiff Zhao, for all your scheming, you’ve overlooked one thing!” Zhang Yue, desperate, seized on a sudden inspiration. “A few days before the wedding, I heard my brother asking about the route to the capital.”

“The capital? Why would he go there?” Zhao’s expression shifted.

“To find Magistrate Chen, of course!”

Zhao was taken aback. The former magistrate, Chen Xiang, had left Pucheng to serve in the capital, recognized for his talent by the powerful Fu Bi. When Fu Bi became chancellor again in the second year of Zhihe, he recommended Chen for high office. Chen was now a senior official in the capital—an untouchable figure, with the chancellor as his patron. If Zhang Xu reached the capital, what could Zhao do? His reach could not extend that far.

Clearly caught off guard, Zhao glared. “You Zhang brothers are cunning indeed—and you claim ignorance?”