The prefect thought about recruiting troops again, but the silver had already gone into his pocket and been spent—most of it sent to the capital as "gifts." He didn't have money to recruit soldiers and buy horses. Even if he had it, he wouldn't want to spend it!
And so the matter was delayed again and again.
Fang Zichen: "......"
This prefect—he's got some nerve, I'll give him that. Doing something this brazen and covering it up for years. And nobody said a word. Of course. Officials always look out for each other.
He had wondered before why public security in this prefecture was so terrible—how could a county magistrate get beaten just by stepping outside? Now he understood.
The Northwest Army was useless. Once Da Yuan recovered, they might very well attack again. They were a warlike people—Da Yuan's own land was barren; if their fields couldn't grow crops and they had no silver, what were they to do?
Steal!
To survive and develop, they had no choice but to invade other countries.
Troops would have to be recruited anew. Otherwise, like before, if the Northwest Army couldn't hold the line and the enemy broke through, the people of Hezhou would be like meat on the chopping block.
But right now, Fang Zichen was like a stray dog baring its teeth and snarling at everyone—and every person who laid eyes on him felt like taking a swing. The other day Guaizai had come back and told him people were already cursing him, wishing he'd have sons without assholes.
Damn it, that was complete nonsense—which of his sons didn't have an asshole? The destructive power of his eldest son's farts was nothing to sneeze at. If he tried to conscript troops now, he was afraid people would band together and storm his house. Besides, silver was scarce; he'd have to find a way to raise some money first.
Fang Zichen was stumped.
Hezhou was a complete mess.
Was it too late to pack up and head back to the capital?
In the end, Fang Zichen ordered two hundred men deployed.
Meanwhile.
Every village head except for Ronghe Village's—no matter how unwilling—still rounded up their villagers that day, banging gongs to call everyone together.
What for?
The prefect wanted to dig a river channel and was conscripting laborers from the villages. The official notice had already come down.
The villagers were full of complaints.
Earlier, when land had been requisitioned, it only affected a small number of people, and the rest had watched from the sidelines like bystanders. But now it was different—the fire had reached their own doorstep.
Could they refuse to go?
No. Every household with able-bodied men had to send at least one.
This was no different from forced labor.
And right now, it was spring plowing season.
The villagers cursed Fang Zichen a hundred times over, loathing him deeply while also finding him as terrifying as the ox-headed and horse-faced demons of the underworld that came to drag souls to hell.
The Qin Family Army had also been called in, joining in the hustle. They couldn't just eat without working, staying cooped up in the backyard all day.
Fang Zichen left only ten men on Hezhou to guard Xie Xiaoyu and the others. Li Yisheng heard they were busy over here, so he came along with Physician Li as well.
Anhe County was little more than a hollow shell. Fang Zichen needed hands, so Physician Li decided not to head back to Qinzhou for now—he'd stay and help out first.
They could at least serve as overseers.
As for who would watch which village and what needed to be done, Zhao Ger laid out each assignment in turn. He would personally oversee Ronghe Village himself—it was the largest village, and also the poorest.
On the day they arrived, he saw about a hundred men, some carrying hoes, others iron spades, standing beside the planned river channel. Zhao Ger frowned and called Lao Wang over.
"This is everyone from your entire Ronghe Village?"
How could that be!
The people of Ronghe Village were known for having the most children—every household had at least seven or eight people at minimum. By this logic, each family should have sent a man, but they'd clearly found a loophole in the paperwork.
Lao Wang had tried to rally them, but the villagers thought he'd taken favors from the prefect. In the past, they would have listened to him, but now they wouldn't heed a word he said.
Lao Wang was helpless too. If people refused to come, he had no way to force them—and if he pushed too hard, he'd only earn their resentment.
Zhao Ger saw the difficulty on his face and understood. He said nothing more and turned to give instructions for the work.
Everyone was to dig within the lime lines, following the rule of three and a half meters wide and four meters deep.
Not a word was said in reply. They set to work reluctantly.
Guaizai hadn't planned to follow Zhao Ger; he wanted to stay home with his younger brothers. But Zhao Ger couldn't rest easy before leaving—those two troublemakers together were a disaster waiting to happen. He'd specifically told Uncle Tang: Gungun and Dandan were fine, but the key was to keep an eye on those two.
Uncle Tang thought he was overreacting. Surely it couldn't be that bad! The father and son used to spend plenty of time together, and nothing major had ever happened. There was that one time when they were playing and the master got a bit too frightening—he scared the eldest young master so badly he scrambled up a pillar, then accidentally fell off. His little bottom was bruised black for half a month, and he lost all his front teeth. But since there were no teeth left to lose, there wasn't any blood, so it was hardly a disaster.
Still, Zhao Ger had already left the house, but his unease lingered. After thinking it over, he turned back and brought Guaizai along with him.
Lao Wang was an eager participant—all three of his sons had come. His third son, now sixteen, was a bright-looking lad, working hard and breathing heavily as he dug. Lao Wang was about to join in when Zhao Ger pulled him aside.
"Does Fang Fulang have instructions for me?"
"Do you know which households in the village have large iron woks?" Zhao Ger asked.
The village head shook his head. "None," he replied.
There used to be some—back in better days, villagers raised pigs, and those big woks were needed for slaughtering or feasts. But then times got hard, and anything of value that wasn't essential got sold off.
Zhao Ger had no choice. He turned to look at Guaizai, who was mingling with the crowd, digging with his little hoe.
The men worked while sneaking glances at him.
Well now—this young master actually looks like he knows what he's doing!
The work site was at the foot of a mountain outside the village. Many hands made light work, and they'd barely started digging before they hit rock—nothing too big, though, movable enough. Guaizai had barely dug up a rock when Old Wang's third son offered to carry it off for him. But Guaizai tossed aside his little hoe, hoisted the melon-sized rock himself, and chucked it beyond the lime line.
Whoa—
This kid is something else!
They'd heard he'd eaten five steamed buns in just three shichen (6 hours), so no wonder!
And he was the prefect's son, yet here he was doing the same hard labor as them...
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