Lao Wang stepped forward.
Earlier, he had tried to talk sense into the old man, but the man wouldn't listen. He thought Lao Wang had been singing praises for Zhao Ger and the prefect all day; the other day, Fang Zichen and his party had gone to Lao Wang's house, and plenty of people had seen it. The old man figured Lao Wang must have taken bribes—why else would he keep sticking his neck out for them?
That day, after Fang Zichen and his people left, Shi Ger and Xiao Zhu brought out a handful of sweets. The packaging was exquisite—the oiled paper tied with a little red string, clearly not cheap. Even the sweets from the town's pastry shop didn't look like that. Lao Wang's whole family was alarmed and quickly asked where they came from. Shi Ger said Guaizai had given them.
Guaizai had no trace of young master airs about him—and neither did Zhao Ger or Fang Zichen, for that matter. The porridge wasn't good; even Fang Zichen could barely choke it down. Lao Wang's family could all tell, but the man didn't lose his temper or complain—he just finished it. And when they chatted, his manner was warm and friendly. If Lao Wang hadn't seen Zhao Ger and Guaizai with his own eyes today, he never would have believed that Fang Zichen was the newly appointed prefect.
How could this man possibly be the prefect?
In Lao Wang's mind, the prefect was lofty and high above, full of official dignity—how could he be this down-to-earth?
And so young, too?
He was also great at small talk, mentioning that the sow he used to raise once had eighteen piglets in one litter—what prefect had ever raised pigs?!
Fang Zichen had made a deep impression on him, overturning his old image of officials as greedy, corrupt leeches sucking the blood and sweat from common folk. So today, he came ready to cooperate, and asked Zhao Ger: "Can this really work?"
That mountain was no easy thing to dig through.
Zhao Ger reassured him with a serious expression: "Don't worry. My husband has his ways. If it couldn't be done, he wouldn't be going through all this trouble. Trust him."
Lao Wang stared at him for a long moment, his hands beginning to tremble faintly on their own, a surging, immense hope rising in his heart...
Maybe... this really could work.
Though the prefect was young, a man without real skill couldn't have risen to such a post at his age.
After this little commotion, Lao Wang said a few more words, with Guaizai watching menacingly from the side, and everyone cooperated closely.
This was a display of force, a thinly veiled threat, and a clear case of wielding power to intimidate. If word got out, it wouldn't do their reputation any favors.
But the canal route couldn't be changed. The current alignment was the optimal one that Fang Zichen had spent nearly half a month planning. Changing any part would affect the whole, and if everyone refused to sell, they couldn't set that precedent.
The common folk already had little love for officials anyway, and their reputation was already poor. Once the water from Jing River was successfully diverted, it would shut all the gossiping mouths.
Then everyone would know for themselves whether the prefect was good or bad.
Being too kind and benevolent as an official wouldn't do either—one should balance grace with authority.
As for exactly how these matters should be handled, and what the proper procedures were, Zhao Ger and Fang Zichen didn't really know.
Strictly speaking, if they were to dig a canal, the first step should have been notifying each village through official channels.
But Anhe County was essentially a shell right now. Not to mention the county magistrate—the former yamen runners had long since fled after going months without pay. There was no one to lead, and Zhao Ger wasn't very familiar with the official procedures either, so he could only go by his own judgment.
By late the third lunar month, the entire canal route had finally been fully mapped out.
After "intimidating" the village heads, they had gone back and given stern warnings to their people, so the lime markers remained untouched.
After many busy days, Zhao Ger returned to the yamen that evening and noticed Fang Zichen seemed in high spirits. When asked, it turned out that subordinates had sent over gifts of respect.
The county magistrate's future promotion or demotion hinged entirely on Fang Zichen's word, so everyone had initially wanted to come and show their faces. But Fang Zichen had been running around outside since taking office, so they could only send gifts instead.
The gifts were moderate—neither too cheap nor too valuable.
Because no one knew Fang Zichen's true nature yet.
If he was greedy, these unremarkable gifts wouldn't leave any impression—essentially wasted.
But if they sent something too lavish and he turned out to be incorruptible—a mere seventh-rank sesame official earning twenty or thirty taels a month—such heavy gifts would surely be seen as bribery, and that would mean heads rolling, every last one of them.
The year before last, the prefect and several county magistrates had just been investigated, and no one dared to test the waters now.
For the time being, it wasn't about standing out, but playing it safe, until they could feel out his true character.
Lately, just purchasing land had cost several hundred taels, nearly a thousand—silver flowing out and nothing coming in. Fang Zichen watched Zhao Ger leave each day with money and return empty-handed, his heart bleeding every time. Now there was finally some income—all these gifts together must have been worth over three hundred taels!
Fang Zichen was overjoyed.
Zhao Ger asked him if the explosives were ready yet.
Fang Zichen choked up, stammering that they weren't.
Zhao Ger had assumed it was simply that the explosives for blasting the mountain were difficult to make, which was why Fang Zichen hadn't finished. But that evening, Uncle Tang came by and said: "Zhujun, the master's laziness has struck again."
Every single day, Fang Zichen slept in with the two children until noon. The morning before last, the children woke up hungry and started babbling. Fang Zichen just stuck his fingers in their mouths for them to suck on, sleeping right between them with drool running down his chin.
Uncle Tang wanted to smack him.
He held back for two days, but finally couldn't take it anymore.
That night, Zhao Ger gave Fang Zichen a beating. But after just two strikes, the stick actually broke. Zhao Ger walked away, and Guaizai came running over, throwing his arms around Fang Zichen's neck.
"Father, does it hurt?"
"Not too bad. If he'd landed two more, your father would probably be bedridden," Fang Zichen said, still shaken.
Guaizai leaned close to Fang Zichen's ear, cupping one hand over his mouth, and whispered: "Guaizai heard Daddy and Grandpa Tang talking. Guaizai sawed a little bit off that stick, hehehe..." He was quite pleased with himself for saving Fang Zichen from the depths of suffering. "Daddy didn't even notice! Father, Guaizai..."
Fang Zichen's eyes suddenly went wide, and he clamped a hand over Guaizai's mouth. Before the boy could figure out what was happening, a thin wooden strip came whistling through the air and cracked across his little bottom.
Guaizai's butt clenched, and he quickly covered it with his hands, looking back in panic—only to see Zhao Ger standing behind him, his gaze dark and ominous.
Uncle Tang heard the commotion and came out to see Guaizai being chased all over the yard by Zhao Ger, leaping and scrambling, howling at the top of his lungs.
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