Old Master Qiu's heart went cold. First the water diversion project, then the bandit suppression—he'd assumed this was an honest, incorruptible official who regarded wealth as nothing more than dirt...
When he got home, he finally understood: building the road was never an obligation for the prefect, nor would the prefect come "begging" them to let him build it. They were the ones who needed to beg him.
But Fang Zichen wouldn't see him.
The villagers kept pressing and making a scene: "We listened to you back then! Now the prefect won't build our road, and everyone's laughing at us—what are you going to do about it?"
Never mind that everyone had agreed at the start—now they all turned around and blamed him.
Old Master Qiu was at his wit's end. He thought about paying for the cement out of his own pocket, but he sent a servant to Luoshan County and the servant came back saying the cement factory wasn't selling—with all the road-building going on, cement was in short supply. The official projects didn't even have enough; how could they possibly spare any to sell to private buyers?
Old Master Qiu didn't want to offend the villagers, but he was out of options. It wasn't as if he could buy green bricks to pave the road with! He only had three shops—he couldn't afford to squander money like that!
Back when the canal was being dug in Anhe County, land was taken from nine villages, and not one of them made such greedy demands. But when it came to Daoxiang Village, its villagers all had to be the cleverest ones, and now they have landed themselves in a fine mess.
Throughout the entire Anping County, who wasn't laughing at them?
Before he could even think of a solution, barely two days had passed when a notice was posted at the county yamen gates, announcing a citywide inspection.
Inspection of what?
Nobody could read the characters, so the yamen runners explained: any shop operating in town would now have to pass official inspection—checking whether the food and the environment were clean, hygienic, and safe. This applied especially to taverns, teahouses, and pastry shops.
People were still confused: "Why are you checking all this?"
"Are you daft? It's for your own good!" the yamen runners replied. "If those eateries have filthy kitchens in the back, using rotten pork and whatnot to cook your meals—would you feel at ease eating that? If they don't even wash the vegetables and just toss them straight into the wok, and don't wash the dishes and chopsticks they collect from customers before serving you again—do you get it?"
Common people could never get into the back kitchens of restaurants and taverns. Upon hearing this, the onlookers suddenly saw the point. If those eateries were really up to such tricks, how would anyone ever find out?
After all, unwashed vegetables did not always cause immediate sickness, so a customer could easily eat a whole meal, hand over their coins, and walk away completely unaware. That was simply not acceptable.
The prefect truly had considered every angle—this measure was a real benefit for the common people.
As soon as the notice went up, the yamen runners began conducting surprise inspections. The town people found it all quite novel and followed along in a big, noisy crowd to watch the spectacle. Most shops had kitchens that were a bit messy, but nothing too bad—the meat and vegetables stored inside looked fresh enough. The two taverns were a different story. In one, the drainage ditch behind the kitchen was full of insects because of the hot weather, and the dirty dishes and chopsticks collected from customers were piled up right next to it.
Another kitchen had just two people—one stir-frying, and the other… doing what? When asked, the man first said he was in charge of washing vegetables. But when the yamen runner pressed further, asking who washed the dishes, the man quickly changed his story, saying he'd misspoken—he was actually the one washing the dishes. The yamen runner chuckled and asked, "Then who washes the vegetables?"
The man answered, "I do both."
Well, that's one capable fellow.
The food at this restaurant wasn't expensive, and it usually drew a decent crowd. So could one person really manage washing both the vegetables and the dishes all by himself? The onlookers in the back could see the man and the shopkeeper hemming and hawing—what was there left to guess?
If one person was going to handle it all, then the vegetables only got a quick rinse under water. The chopsticks—clearly greasy from use—would show obvious signs, so those got a proper wash. But the plates that held the food? Not so easy to tell. They'd just take the plates from the front, dump out the leftover sauce, and reuse them to serve the next dish. That way, one person really could handle it.
Damn it!
How wonderful!
How dare they fool people like that.
The customers who'd eaten there earlier were all furious.
After the surprise inspection, the Qiu family's shop was also found to have problems.
Serious violations meant fines and closure; minor ones required corrective action.
The Qiu family's food shop was also cited. Even after paying the fine and making the required fixes, they still couldn't reopen right away—they had to report to the officials and get approval first.
This time, Old Master Qiu sent someone to invite the yamen runner over. The yamen runner came, took a look, and said it wasn't up to standard—not qualified—so they couldn't open.
Old Master Qiu sighed, bowed and scraped as he saw the man off, then went to the back kitchen himself to supervise. He had the place scrubbed until it gleamed, even the floor shining bright. But when the yamen runner came back, he still said no.
This went back and forth several times over the better part of a month. The shop stayed shut, and no one knew what exactly was wrong. One day, the yamen runner came again and said no once more. Old Master Qiu slipped him a few bits of silver, forced a smile, and asked politely, "Sir, what's still not right? Could you tell me so I can fix it properly?"
The yamen runner went stiff, refused the silver, and after a long pause, choked out: "I said no, so it's no."
Qiu's eldest son pressed: "Then, Sir, you've got to at least tell us what's wrong!"
"Your wok's bottom is too black. Doesn't pass," said the yamen runner.
Old Master Qiu: "..."
Qiu's eldest son: "..."
Their faces were about to crack.
Could you come up with anything more absurd?
Might as well say it's because our piss is too yellow!
Of course the wok bottom gets black from the fire! And what's wrong with it being black? Our food isn't cooked on the outside of the wok anyway.
Qiu's eldest son was about to argue further, but Old Master Qiu stopped him.
By now, he'd seen the truth—they were being deliberately targeted. The yamen runner had no personal grudge against them, yet he was making things difficult on purpose. That could only mean someone above had given specific orders.
No other explanation was needed—Old Master Qiu knew it was the prefect.
The man wasn't going to barge in with weapons and attack them directly—he just needed a pretext to bring down the hammer on them.
Old Master Qiu truly regretted it now.
But there was nothing to be done—no one could help him. The prefect had said to wait, and sure enough, he'd kept his word.
Zhao Ger knew about all this and didn't think it was excessive. A A newly appointed official always made a few bold moves to establish authority. Earlier, there hadn't been any suitable opportunity to set an example. But once Old Master Qiu had walked right into it, he'd had no one to blame but himself.
Daring to cross an official and plot against him? The authority of the office was not to be challenged. Not throwing him in prison had already been an act of mercy.
At this point, shutting down one shop and delivering a warning was still showing leniency.
Once word had gotten out, everyone had understood—their new prefect was an easygoing man, but they couldn't cross him. Otherwise, Daoxiang Village and Old Master Qiu would be their fate.
As for Old Master Qiu's troubles, Fang Zichen didn't dwell on them much.
No comments:
Post a Comment