Chapter Forty-Eight: Shifting Tides

“Sir, you slept the whole day, so you may not know. Yesterday, the master went to Ding’an Prefecture to undergo a political inquiry,” Ah Xin continued. “The master asks that you rest and recover in peace—he’ll be back in a few days. During this time, all your provisions and needs will be supplied by the residence.”

“Thank you for the magistrate’s kind intentions, but I won’t trouble you… I’m already quite well. I’ll return to Dongling Village today,” Qi Jun refused at once, fearing that Feng Qinian might use some pretext to confine him here.

“Sir, you’ve done our master a great favor this time.” Ah Xin seemed to discern Qi Jun’s misgivings and quickly explained, “You may not know, but the day before yesterday, the master failed in the campaign against the bandits, and that Song Xi seized on this to impeach him before Prefect Zhao at the prefecture. The prefecture issued a summons for the master to go to the prefecture for questioning.”

“But… there’s nothing I could have done!” Qi Jun protested. What did Feng’s summons have to do with him? He couldn’t have stopped it.

Qi Jun at first thought Ah Xin intended to blame him, but the servant’s tone was not anxious or reproachful—in fact, he sounded rather relaxed, even cheerful.

Qi Jun couldn’t quite grasp Ah Xin’s purpose in saying all this.

“Please, sir, let me explain. The master was deeply troubled the past few days, regretful over his withdrawal. But then, sir, you launched a surprise attack by night and destroyed the bandits at Panlong Ridge—it was a great joy for the master.” Ah Xin smiled as he poured another bowl of tea and brought it to Qi Jun.

“I attacked Panlong Ridge to avenge myself,” Qi Jun replied. After a day in bed, he was indeed parched and drank a few sips of the tea Ah Xin offered.

“No matter your reason, sir, the battle at Panlong Ridge has shaken the whole situation in Anqiang. The entire county is now in chaos!” Ah Xin smiled meaningfully at Qi Jun.

“I’d like to hear the details,” Qi Jun said, intrigued. He’d only thought of wiping out the bandit den for his own revenge, never realizing the far-reaching consequences.

“Do you know what allowed Panlong Ridge to become the largest bandit stronghold in Anqiang?” Ah Xin leaned in, lowering his voice.

“What else? Plundering villagers and exploiting the countryside, I suppose.”

“That’s one part. But the real reason is that those above needed Panlong Ridge.” Ah Xin pointed upwards as he spoke.

He didn’t state it outright, but Qi Jun understood he meant the Ding’an Prefecture—more precisely, people like Prefect Zhao Chengkun.

“What would the authorities want with Panlong Ridge?” Qi Jun was even more puzzled. He’d thought the bandits had the secret support of County Magistrate Song Xi, never suspecting Song Xi was merely another tool for those behind the scenes.

“Sir, are you truly ignorant, or just playing dumb? The annual taxes are no longer enough for those above, but they can’t just openly rob the people, can they?” Ah Xin frowned and went on, “The bandit den is both their granary and their treasure vault.”

“They keep their money and grain with bandits? Couldn’t they just build themselves a few warehouses?” Qi Jun truly had no head for officialdom or politics—he’d been a soldier in his previous life, and now was just a scholar.

He understood nothing of the ways of the bureaucracy. Even as Ah Xin explained, he couldn’t grasp the deeper reasons.

“The world of officialdom is treacherous and ever-changing. Who knows when an official might fall and his family be ruined? If all their hard-won wealth was stored at home, wouldn’t it just end up confiscated by the court or their rivals?” Ah Xin said with some pride at Qi Jun’s ignorance. “What’s more, the Ministry of Revenue audits the tax rolls every year, assessing each household’s property, including officials. If all this wealth was recorded, how much tax would they have to pay? Those above aren’t fools—they have ways of outwitting the court.”

At last, Qi Jun understood. Put plainly, bandits were the most basic agents for officials to amass wealth—and, at the same time, their muscle to suppress the people and maintain control.

The authorities cultivated and protected the bandits, who funneled wealth upwards through the most direct means, while the officials allowed the bandits to run rampant and profit as they pleased.

But this shadowy chain of interests had now been severed by Qi Jun’s campaign. Destroying Panlong Ridge had been his intention, but for those above, it was an unforeseen calamity.

Their long-established channel for siphoning wealth had collapsed, and in the short term, no replacement could be found. This upheaval in Anqiang sent shockwaves through Ding’an Prefecture.

No wonder Ah Xin said Qi Jun’s action had shaken the entire region, throwing Anqiang into turmoil.

“Li Yunlong’s assault on Ping’an County…” Qi Jun smiled wryly to himself.

His attack on Panlong Ridge reminded him of an episode from a television drama he’d seen in his previous life, “Drawing the Sword,” and he saw the parallel at once.

“Who? What Ping’an County?” Ah Xin asked, puzzled by Qi Jun’s muttering.

He’d studied with Feng Qinian since childhood and had heard some historical anecdotes, but these names meant nothing to him, nor did he recognize any such story.

Seeing Ah Xin’s confusion, Qi Jun realized he’d spoken without thinking and quickly changed the subject. He could hardly regale this old servant with tales of the Iron Triangle of northwestern Shanxi and Chu Yunfei fighting the Japanese, lest Ah Xin think he’d taken leave of his senses and call for Dr. Tian to stick a few more needles in his head.

“Why do you say I helped Magistrate Feng, then?” Qi Jun asked, steering the conversation back to its origin.

“Don’t you see?” Ah Xin, no longer concerned about Yunlong or Ping’an, looked at Qi Jun with some exasperation. “Now that this has happened, Song Xi’s career as county magistrate is finished. The county garrison took part in the campaign, but that was within the master’s duties—nobody above can fault him. At most, his merits and demerits balance out, and he remains county constable of Anqiang. You’ll see, Song Xi is done for; the higher-ups will vent their anger on him. The master, suppressed by Song Xi for years, has finally triumphed—so haven’t you done him a great service?”

Qi Jun nodded thoughtfully. Indeed, he had done Feng Qinian a great favor.

Since he’d given Feng such a gift, he was now entitled to enjoy some comfort and hospitality at the constable’s residence.

“In that case, I shall accept Magistrate Feng’s goodwill,” Qi Jun said, smiling and bowing to Ah Xin.

“Indeed, sir, please make yourself at home. If you need anything, just say the word, and I will see to it,” Ah Xin replied, bowing respectfully.

“In that case, could you arrange several banquets tomorrow? I’d like to honor all the captains, the constables, and villagers who fought at Panlong Ridge. Would that be possible?” Qi Jun blinked. Since Feng Qinian had opened the door, he intended to seize the opportunity and bleed the old fox a little.

“That… that would be several hundred people! Such an expense—I must ask the master first…” Ah Xin was startled; such extravagance might well exhaust Feng Qinian’s coffers.

“That’s where you’re wrong. The merit for attacking Panlong Ridge belongs to everyone—I, Qi Jun, would never claim all the credit. These people have all done Magistrate Feng a service; the constable’s residence mustn’t be stingy.”

Ah Xin was left speechless. On reflection, he supposed Feng Qinian would agree, so he assented at once. At present, Qi Jun was the family’s benefactor; offending him was a risk no servant could afford.

The constable’s residence was soon bustling, servants cleaning the courtyards and buying supplies, while neighbors and passersby gathered at the gates, chattering about the spectacle.

In sharp contrast, the county yamen was desolate. The constables on duty stood listlessly at the door, a thin layer of dust collecting on the public tables, and a few dried tea leaves stuck to Magistrate Song’s teapot.

“Master, I… I take my leave,” Secretary Zhao bowed to the magistrate, who sat half-reclined on his chair, eyes closed in despair. Clutching his bundle, Zhao sighed and prepared to go.

The outcome of Magistrate Song’s career was already clear. Many around him, sensing the change in the wind, had already found excuses to depart. That Secretary Zhao had stayed so long before taking his leave was, in itself, a token of loyalty.

“Wait,” Magistrate Song suddenly opened his eyes, a cold, sinister glint in his gaze.

Secretary Zhao hesitated, turning around.

“Could you do one last thing for me…”