The deputy prefect wasn't stupid—he knew perfectly well that Fang Zichen was just using an excuse to line his own pockets.
But to speak so boldly—the previous prefect's fate was still fresh in everyone's mind as a warning, and Fang Zichen was daring to bend the rules while the man's body was barely cold. He wasn't foolish—he must have powerful backing. The deputy prefect understood: the previous prefect had been greedy, and this one was greedy too. But this one had more style. He knew how to put on a show!
A clean official wasn't necessarily a good official. A good official was one who let the people live in peace, eat their fill—and stuffed his own belly with fat while he was at it.
If he didn't skim a little, his salary was only two hundred taels a month—how was he supposed to feed his family?
Two hundred taels—not even enough to buy a good bolt of cloth.
He wanted to give his child the very best.
Up north, several officials were already impatient, scrambling to have Fang Zichen arrange for them to build their own factories.
And Fang Zichen had indeed made arrangements. In places like Beian, they were to plant wheat, sorghum, soybeans, sugar beets, and the like, but with wheat as the main crop. They'd need a chemical fertilizer factory up there too—and Fang Zichen had already given them full instructions on how to build it.
The magistrate of Beian asked whether they should send people down to learn—since they didn't know how to do it themselves!
Fang Zichen nearly rolled his eyes.
Teach the apprentice and starve the master—he was counting on this business to make money to raise his children! If he taught them everything, would he be an idiot?
At the fertilizer factory, every skilled technician was bound by a signed contract. As for the northern operation, he would definitely send his own trusted men to run it.
The Beian magistrate was baffled—what did "send his own people" even mean? But he set the question aside for the time being and moved on to other topics instead.
The fertilizer factory had to be built—shipping it up from the south was too difficult, and the demand was huge. One factory simply couldn't keep up.
As for the other two factories still to be built, Fang Zichen didn't go into detail. He only gave instructions on how to construct them—how wide, how large, and what to do once they got back. The cement roads would have to be built too. After the New Year, they were to organize men to widen the roads and arrange for people to come haul cement. No shortchanging the common people on their wages. He specified exactly how wide village roads and county roads should be. As for anything else, he told them not to ask too many questions. Obey, and he'd lead them to good fortune; disobey, and they'd end up like Daoxiang Village.
Everyone naturally obeyed—and they didn't dare do otherwise!
They were all thrilled.
Down south, the cement roads had been built, and word of them had spread to their regions, taking on an almost legendary reputation.
What! Not even heavy rain could wash them away?
Squeaky clean? You could even lick them with your tongue?
Hard as rock, but not at all rough on the feet—more comfortable than walking on brick?
Everyone envied them, day after day hoping their own magistrate would come and build roads for them too. They wanted it badly.
Now, there was no need to envy anymore.
The deputy prefect had gotten word yesterday, and now he brought up the Huang family matter once again.
Fang Zichen shot him a glance. "Enough. I'll handle this myself, don't you worry. Honestly—you're an official too! Not only did you let a mere Huang family climb over your head, but you let them threaten you into backing down. How did you end up such a spineless mess? I can hardly believe it."
The deputy prefect said, ashamed, "The Huang family is powerful, and they were also on good terms with the previous prefect—I simply couldn't touch them."
Fang Zichen waved a hand. "Enough, enough. Powerful? More powerful than me? On this very Hezhou, I'm the one in charge. Watch me deal with them."
Hearing that, the deputy prefect felt relieved.
Fang Zichen said, "That's all the business I have. You can all head back to where you came from. I'm reasonable—I won't keep you from going home for the New Year."
From Hezhou to places like Beian took three or four days' travel, and it was nearly New Year's now—everyone was happy about that.
These officials weren't corrupt—they'd paid for their gifts out of their own pockets. And this time, Fang Zichen wasn't about to send them back empty-handed. Zhao Ger had prepared gifts for each of them—modest but thoughtful: a catty of sweet potato noodles, a roast duck, two catties of toilet paper, and some local pastries and specialties from Hezhou.
Earlier, the magistrate of Beilu County had made a trip to the latrine. He'd arrived yesterday, and for some reason, everyone was claiming stomach trouble and needing to use the outhouse.
Normally, that would be considered rude. When meeting a superior, one would try not to eat beforehand, because excusing oneself in the middle of meeting was bad manners—the lord might take you for some incontinent good-for-nothing.
Why? Because only good-for-nothings had weak bladders.
So, to make a good impression, they'd rather go hungry. But everyone could tell that Fang Zichen wasn't that picky, so the excuses came pouring in:
"My lord, I drank too much water—I need to pee."
"I ate too many buns—my stomach's off."
"I'm not used to the water—got the runs."
"I didn't sleep well last night—need to visit the latrine."
"I swallowed some north wind on the road and it didn't sit right—better go to the outhouse."
Fang Zichen's face darkened.
Do I have the word 'idiot' written on my forehead? You dare feed me this nonsense?!
Couldn't you come up with a more believable excuse?
The outer courtyard's outhouse was constantly occupied. Da Li reported to Zhao Ger that the toilet paper was used up and they needed to bring two more stacks over.
Zhao Ger nearly burst out laughing right there.
Knowing how much they liked it, he included some in the farewell gifts.
With the cold weather, the roast duck and pastries wouldn't spoil on the journey back.
In years past, they'd always come bearing gifts and return empty-handed. This year, they received gifts in return. Never mind the value—it was the thought that counted. It meant their prefect held them in some regard. Everyone was pleased.
The night before their departure, they visited the deputy prefect to fish for information.
After some probing, they understood.
So that's why the prefect said they didn't need to send people to learn—he wanted to keep this business for himself!
They'd use the allocated funds to build the factories, but in the end... they'd all become the prefect's property.
Suddenly, the taste in their mouths turned sour. At first, they thought he was a wonderful prefect—a blessing for them and the people. But now... then again, on second thought, the prefect was still better than his predecessors. He was taking the Emperor's money, not the people's. And everything these factories produced benefited the common people. Besides, they hired locals—giving people work and wages—and that was good too. What's more, the cement produced at the factory—the prefect didn't charge a single copper for it!
Well, originally he had wanted to charge, but Zhao Ger wouldn't let him. Fang Zichen had been terribly upset about that, feeling like he'd lost a fortune. He couldn't enjoy his meals, couldn't drink his water, lost interest in everything, lay in bed staring blankly at the ceiling, feeling like he was on his deathbed. But then Zhao Ger tallied up all the land and factories he'd already pocketed, and Fang Zichen felt rather guilty. They ran the numbers—he was still making a handsome profit.
That morning he'd been in a foul mood and barely ate two bowls of rice. But after mulling it over, he dashed off to the kitchen in a rush.
Zhao Ger could only shake his head. This man never let troubles linger past nightfall. Sure, his family had money back in the day, but he'd never known real hardship. After coming here, he went through a lean spell, learned just how much silver mattered, and turned into this—greedy as could be, wanting every good thing for himself, and moping miserably if he couldn't stuff it into his own pockets.
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