Chapter Four: The County Town (With gratitude to Joyii, our first ally among the readers)

After a weary night, Zhang Yue woke up the next day, his heart still stirring with excitement. Stepping outside, he overheard Zhang Shi speaking with the village constable, expressing his intention to entrust Zhang Yue to the constable’s care while he made a trip to Jianyang, to his father-in-law’s home, to bring back his sister-in-law’s child.

It should be mentioned that Jianzhou, where Pucheng is located, is famous for three things: Jian paper, Jian ware, and Jian tea. Zhang Shi’s father-in-law’s family made their living with Jian tea.

“This trip to Jianyang, I’ll ask my father-in-law for a loan. If we can avoid pawning or selling this house, then let’s not sell it.”

Upon hearing this, Zhang Yue said, “Brother, we still owe Prefect Zhao a considerable sum. Will your in-laws really be able to lend that much?”

“That’s not for you to worry about,” Zhang Shi forced a smile. “I have two hands and feet. I’ll repay them in time.”

Yet, Zhang Shi did not find it as easy as he made it sound. It was no simple matter to ask his father-in-law and brother-in-law for help, especially for a man’s self-esteem.

Sighing, Zhang Shi continued, “When we bought this house, you weren’t born yet, and I was still a child. I grew up here, watching our father study in the north wing and our mother raising the three of us in the south. Not selling it gives us a place to remember our roots. Besides, if the three of us ever split up, at least we’ll have a house to divide.”

Zhang Yue lowered his head. “Brother, why talk about splitting up the family? We don’t even know where our second brother is.”

Zhang Shi replied, “I know you resent your second brother, but no matter what, this house is partly his. If we keep it, he’ll have something to return to. He’ll come back one day, even if only to see it one last time.”

Zhang Yue asked in surprise, “Brother, do you mean to say he’ll never return?”

Zhang Shi shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m not worried about him coming back, but if he…”

Zhang Yue understood—should second brother return, it would probably be because Prefect Zhao’s men had caught him.

Before leaving, Zhang Shi gave Zhang Yue some instructions and handed him half a string of coins before hurrying off toward Jianyang.

Watching his brother depart, Zhang Yue felt a hollowness inside.

Not long ago, they were a prosperous middle-class family, with a shop, land, and a house—and now, they were left with nearly nothing. He recalled what he’d seen the night before.

After telling the constable a few words, Zhang Yue set off.

To reach the county seat from the constable’s house, one had to cross the Shuainan Bridge, which spanned the Nanpu Creek.

The creek’s current was swift. In the past, only floating bridges could be built, and in the seasons of high spring water or summer rain, one could only ferry across by boat. It wasn’t until Magistrate Chen Xiang took office that he ordered the creek’s rocks cleared, demolished several upstream dikes despite opposition from the powerful, and finally built a bridge south of the city, easing travel for the people.

This involved political struggle. Chen Xiang and his allies represented the central government’s will, standing in opposition to local officials and powerful clans.

During Chen Xiang’s tenure as magistrate, Fan Zhongyan, the central statesman, was carrying out his reforms. Chen Xiang established a county school, echoing Fan’s call for educational revival. Records show Chen personally established three hundred classrooms in Pucheng, lectured in person, and drew hundreds of eager students.

Later, as magistrate of Heyang County, Chen Xiang again emphasized education, establishing and personally overseeing the county school. By then, Fan Zhongyan had already left office, and someone reported to Governor Fu Bi that Chen’s motive was to “lure local youths to profit from travelers.” Some advised Chen to dismantle the school to silence slander, but he insisted on his integrity, winning Fu Bi’s appreciation.

On the surface, these county and prefectural schools promoted Confucian learning, but in truth, those in power used education to control access to officialdom, manipulating local influence. Thus, the same act of founding a school could win Chen Xiang praise in one place and nearly cost him his office in another.

The sunlight was fierce, but as Zhang Yue reached the bridge, he found shelter in the covered walkway.

The bridge was built of long strips of hempstone, with a pavilion-like structure atop it stretching dozens of meters—sheltering travelers from sun and rain, and offering a place to rest and take in the river view. Such bridge pavilions were common in Jiangxi, eastern Zhejiang, and western Fujian, places where Zhang Yue had once traveled.

Dressed in a boy’s robe, a half-string of coins at his waist, Zhang Yue made his way through the bridge house, passing vendors on either side, seated on the ground, hawking their wares.

“Fresh bamboo shoots!”

“Finest snake medicine!”

“Banana cloth!”

“Fresh fish!”

“Red lees for sale!”

“Frogs!”

The frog sellers kept their frogs in a jar, covered with a bowl, and when a customer wanted to buy, they would reach in and grab one.

Fishmongers squatted nearby, displaying their catch with heads and tails tied together in a bow with grass string—astonishingly, the fish remained alive even out of water.

Vegetable sellers mainly offered cabbages and mustards, while snacks were mostly soups and cakes.

Red lees, the soul of all these foods, transformed mountain produce and river fish into delicacies beloved by all Fujianese. At the bridge’s center, someone performed snake tricks, drawing shrieks from passing onlookers.

Crossing the bridge, Zhang Yue saw wisps of sandalwood smoke rising ahead from a roadside shrine, where many devotees burned incense and bowed.

Once across, he entered the county seat.

The city’s southern wall had three gates: the South Pu Gate in the center, facing directly onto the bridge, flanked by the Longtan and Dengying Gates, both facing the creek. Soldiers at the gates only checked merchants entering the city, giving Zhang Yue, who carried nothing, just a glance before waving him through.

This visit was prompted by something Prefect Zhao had said the night before—Zhang Yue harbored doubts. Judging by Zhao’s tone and expression, it seemed unlikely he had set the fire at their shop.

So Zhang Yue went to Chama Street, where his family’s shop had stood.

Pucheng was a major route for those leaving Fujian—once over the Xianxia Ridge, one reached Zhejiang. Merchants heading out of Fujian would hire carts, horses, and porters here, hence the street’s name.

The Zhang family had run a sieve inn here, offering lodging for travelers. The name came from the iron sieve hanging above the door—a kitchen utensil signaling that the establishment offered only lodging, not meals, but provided utensils for guests to cook their own food.

The fire broke out at midnight, when three groups of guests were staying. Much of their belongings and goods were lost to the flames.

Among the guests was a merchant family from Zhejiang, who had brought over three hundred strings’ worth of Lake silk, all reduced to ashes. The next day, the Zhangs were sued by the guests, and the county ordered Zhang Shi to pay over two hundred strings in compensation.

Zhang Yue walked around the remains of their shop, finding nothing of value. The fire had started in the kitchen, but their inn only charged a little for firewood, lending utensils for guests to cook themselves.

If the fire had broken out, any of the three groups of guests could have used the kitchen—it wasn’t necessarily their fault, but the authorities had ruled against them anyway.

Zhang Yue circled the site several times, finding no clues. He was hardly Sherlock Holmes—could he solve a case just by sleeping on it?

Chuckling at himself, he gave up on pursuing the truth and wandered aimlessly through the streets, unaware that someone was following him.

As he walked, his thoughts turned to his troublesome second brother, Zhang Xu.

Eight years his senior, Zhang Xu’s talents had always been the talk of the family.

When Chen Xiang was magistrate, he recruited talented locals to the county school. Reading one of Zhang Xu’s essays, Chen was greatly impressed, admiring both his writing and calligraphy. He decided to test Zhang Xu in person and, seeing the young man’s bearing, was stunned. Yet he found it odd that someone so young could write so well, so he set another test, and Zhang Xu completed it effortlessly. Only then did Chen believe in his abilities, rising from his seat to invite the young man to a place of honor.

The Song dynasty revered prodigies—think of the famed Fang Zhongyong.

From then on, Zhang Xu not only entered the county school, but was exempted from tuition. Chen Xiang told his colleagues, “This boy’s insight is extraordinary, bold and unyielding—success is at his fingertips!”

It was one thing to be praised by ordinary people or officials, but Chen Xiang was no ordinary man. A Confucian master, known as one of the Four Sages of the Coast, he was famed for his talent-spotting. The famous Sima Guang, Han Wei, Lü Gongzhu, Su Shi, Su Zhe, Zheng Xia, Fan Chunren, Zeng Gong, Cheng Hao, Zhang Zai—all had been recommended by him.

Records note that of thirty-three people Chen Xiang recommended, all but one became renowned scholars and ministers—he was second only to Ouyang Xiu as a judge of talent.

Thanks to Chen Xiang’s praise, Zhang Xu’s reputation soared, and he became a local prodigy.

As Chen Xiang’s trusted aide, Prefect Zhao sought to secure a marriage alliance with Zhang Xu early, offering his only daughter in betrothal. After all, if Zhang Xu passed the civil exams and became a scholar, he might look down on such a match.

Zhang Yue never understood what Chen Xiang meant by calling his brother “bold and unyielding” until he himself had been outwitted by Zhang Xu. Only then did he realize how accurate the assessment was.

As Zhang Yue wandered the streets, someone suddenly slapped him on the shoulder. He turned to find a burly youth about his own age, arms crossed, grinning at him.

Zhang Yue found him familiar but couldn’t quite place him.

“Second Young Master, back in town? When are you returning to your studies?”

Rummaging through his memory, Zhang Yue realized this was his old classmate and friend, Peng Jingyi. A group of other boys, all about the same age, stood with him—classmates too.

Many of them wore fine robes, accompanied by servants carrying their books.

Zhang Yue didn’t think much of it. “Not anytime soon.”

Peng Jingyi grinned. “No reason to go back. What’s so great about those dusty old books? I never liked studying anyway. Let’s go have tea and catch up—it’s my treat, nobody’s allowed to leave early!”

The other classmates bowed politely, “We’ll pass.”

Zhang Yue saw the courtesy in their smiles, but also a certain distance—the familiar way scholars declined.

All because of those illicit paintings.

They’d merely been some old-fashioned beauties, all properly dressed—nothing scandalous compared to the infamous modern teachers of his past. And the blame hadn’t even been his alone—why had he borne it all?

Of course, that was just an excuse. The real reason was pressure from Prefect Zhao; being at the bottom of the class, the teacher already disliked him. Previously, his elder brother’s reputation shielded him even if he slacked off, and with family wealth, he could show off among his peers to salvage his wounded pride. Many called him brother, but they were fair-weather friends; the hardworking students looked down on him even more.

Now, down on his luck and having offended Prefect Zhao, these so-called friends immediately distanced themselves, while the studious ones surely found his misfortune amusing.

“I have guests at home. Another time, Brother Peng.”

“My mother’s calling me for dinner!”

“The supplementary county exam is coming, I can’t slack off.”

“Brother Zhang, you must be busy, we wouldn’t dare intrude.”

“No reason, I just want to go home.”

Peng Jingyi looked embarrassed and waved them off. “Cowards, the lot of you.”

“Brother Peng, Brother Zhang, let’s meet another day,” the others said, bowing as they left, laughing among themselves without looking back at Zhang Yue.

Zhang Yue realized he would likely never return to the private school, and his ties with these classmates had ended. In time, they would drift even further apart.

He withdrew his gaze and smiled faintly. “Brother Peng, let’s meet another time as well.”

“Nonsense! If they’re busy, are you too? Let’s go have tea at He Tieseng’s place, as usual.”

Without waiting for protest, Peng Jingyi slung an arm around Zhang Yue’s neck. Zhang Yue felt a warmth inside—this was a true friend.

He remembered that Peng Jingyi’s uncle was the county bailiff and, rumor had it, didn’t get along with Prefect Zhao.

Lowering his voice, Peng Jingyi asked, “Is everything really settled between your family and Prefect Zhao? Let’s have tea and talk.”

Once again, Zhang Yue bowed deeply. “Your kindness is appreciated, but perhaps another day…”

A man in hard times avoids dragging friends down. While Peng Jingyi didn’t mind his troubles, Zhang Yue couldn’t bear to implicate him.

But Peng Jingyi raised a fist the size of a sandbag…

“…Then I’ll accept your invitation with gratitude!”

Together, the two went to their usual teahouse, sending Peng’s servant home. Peng Jingyi’s life was always lively—reading picture books, drinking tea, betting on cricket fights—and he bossed his servant around mercilessly, so the boy dared not ask questions.

Though Peng Jingyi hadn’t yet taken up vices like gambling and visiting brothels, Zhang Yue suspected it was only a matter of time. When they were classmates, he’d wondered why Peng could have fun and slack off while he couldn’t. Later, he realized that, with an uncle as county bailiff, Peng had nothing to worry about, even without academic success. Zhang Yue could have enjoyed the same ease, but…

Before reaching the teahouse, they saw someone under the water curtain tapping a teacup to attract customers.

At the sight of them, the man stopped and bowed. “Master Peng! Master Zhang! It’s been a while.”

Zhang Yue felt complicated at being called “Master”—a title he likely no longer deserved.

The tea master’s name was He Tieseng.

“We’ve been busy lately! Two cups of your best tea, and don’t worry, you’ll be paid well.”

He Tieseng smiled. “I rely on Master Peng’s patronage.”

With that, he gathered his tea things and started the preparations.

“What water are you using today?” Peng Jingyi asked.

“Fresh mountain spring, drawn this morning. Will that do for you, Master Xue?”

“It’ll suffice,” Peng replied indifferently.

He Tieseng began by breaking a piece from a tea cake, dropping it into the boiling kettle. Once the tea soup bubbled, he ladled out a bowl, poured it over the remaining tea grounds, stirred it with a spoon, added salt, and finally poured back the earlier bowl of “cold tea” to soften the boil.

When the tea was ready, its fragrance filled the teahouse. Two singing girls appeared, hoping to be invited to join, but Peng Jingyi, after some hesitation, sent them away.

He Tieseng poured the tea into a serving pot, then into two warmed bowls before placing them on the table.

Zhang Yue took a sip—the aroma filled his mouth. At first, it tasted slightly bitter, but soon his mouth watered, and after swallowing, a lingering sweetness remained.

They chatted idly for a while, before Zhang Yue finally spoke. “Brother Peng, I have a favor to ask.”

“Oh? What is it? Tell me.”

“I’d like to borrow the case file on the fire at my family’s shop. Could you ask your uncle for help?”

Peng Jingyi looked at him in surprise. “What for? Are you planning to overturn the verdict?”

“It’s just curiosity. If it’s not possible, never mind.”

Peng Jingyi regarded him for a moment. “If I can’t manage such a small thing, you’ll look down on me. Come back here tomorrow at this time and pick it up. By the way, I heard your brother has gone to the capital?”

Zhang Yue’s heart skipped a beat. “Brother Peng, you’re well informed.”

Peng Jingyi gave a thumbs-up. “A diversion—brilliant! As long as Prefect Zhao can’t find your second brother, he won’t dare act against you. To trouble you would be to embarrass Magistrate Chen. But if your second brother is caught, it’s all over. Prefect Zhao has plenty of ways to deal with people. If he breaks your second brother’s hand, how will he ever write again? Hiding forever isn’t a solution either. Did you know Prefect Zhao is sending someone to the capital tomorrow morning?”

Zhang Yue was shocked. “Does Prefect Zhao have connections in the capital?”

If so, wouldn’t that endanger his second brother?

Peng Jingyi laughed. “A mere prefect doesn’t have such reach, but I hear he hates your brother enough to ruin himself just to destroy his future. Even people in the capital need money. If you’re short on silver, doors that were closed can be opened.”

Zhang Yue said, “Brother Peng, you’re resourceful. Please help me find out where my brother is.”

“We’ve been friends for years—no need for thanks. But you and your elder brother must also be careful—don’t go where there are few people. If anyone calls you to a secluded place, be wary. Prefect Zhao’s men are ruthless.”

At these words, Zhang Yue shivered, recalling his own recent brush with death.

Leaving the teahouse, Zhang Yue replayed Peng Jingyi’s warnings in his mind, feeling increasingly anxious. Every passerby seemed suspicious to him.

Crossing the bridge back home, he made up his mind to return and check on his family.

Ps: Special thanks to joyii, the first Patron of this book!