At dawn the next day, before the sky had lightened, there was a faint knock at the door. Jiang Chengyuan, always a light sleeper, rose, threw on a robe, and stepped outside.
Closing the door behind him, Chen Ping handed him a slip of paper, his expression grave: “My lord, the covert scouts report that in the past two days, nearly a hundred people have poured into Rong County, mingling among the disaster victims. They urge you to be cautious.”
Jiang Chengyuan’s face betrayed no emotion. This was expected. Relief efforts in Rong County had begun the previous June. Before his arrival, the court had already allocated funds twice, yet the results were poor. The county’s condition had not improved—in fact, it had worsened.
“Has the Vice Minister shown any movement lately?”
Chen Ping replied: “In recent days, the Vice Minister has personally taken part in relief work, quite diligent and responsible.”
Jiang Chengyuan gave a cold, ironic laugh: “Have some elite guards protect Madam and Cousin. Remind the soldiers to strengthen defenses and prepare for any sudden incidents.”
After Chen Ping departed, Jiang Chengyuan looked at the sky. He had no intention of returning to bed. Instead, he went to the county magistrate’s quarters.
This magistrate of Rong County was known for his cleverness. During the two years of drought, he had had to balance between appeasing the capital’s officials above and calming the suffering people below. A single misstep could have made him the scapegoat.
The magistrate’s room was still lit. At such an early hour, was he simply an early riser—or had he not slept at all?
Hearing the knock, the magistrate startled, then rose and asked softly at the door: “Who is it?”
“It’s me.”
Hearing it was the Prime Minister, the county magistrate hurriedly opened the door and ushered Jiang Chengyuan inside: “My lord, you labor day and night. Why not rest a little longer?”
Jiang Chengyuan sat casually in a chair, his tone deceptively mild: “Magistrate Zhong, you’ve served in Rong County for about five years now, haven’t you?”
Magistrate Zhong replied: “By this September, it will be exactly five years.” He sighed with emotion: “In the past, Rong County was blessed with abundant harvests, and the people lived in peace. Who would have thought last year’s drought would strike so hard…”
Jiang Chengyuan’s voice sharpened: “The drought was severe, yes. But the court allocated relief twice—first one hundred thousand dan of grain, then fifty thousand, transported from various provinces to Rong County. In addition, three hundred thousand taels of silver. And yet, this failed to ease the disaster? How is that possible?”
His words cut like a blade, his deep gaze fixed on Magistrate Zhong, forcing the magistrate to lower his head.
Magistrate Zhong had anticipated this moment ever since hearing that the Prime Minister himself would oversee relief. Now past fifty, he had hoped to serve a few more years before retiring peacefully. But the drought had left him no escape.
Jiang Chengyuan pressed: “Magistrate Zhong, I am only asking about the disaster. Why does your hand tremble?”
He gave him no time to think.
Magistrate Zhong knew well the Prime Minister’s reputation—he would not have come without at least seventy percent certainty. His purpose was not merely to aid the victims, but to expose the corruption hidden in the grain supply.
A minor official, Magistrate Zhong faltered under the pressure. With a thud, he dropped to his knees: “My lord, the court did allocate grain and silver. But by the time it reached Rong County, less than one‑tenth remained.”
After washing and dressing, Yun Shuyue carried the new tunics into the adjoining room. The two little ones were still asleep. She carefully checked the garments to make sure no needles remained before feeling reassured.
For the past two days, the old matrons of the yamen had helped her care for the children. One of them now brought warm water to wake them for washing, but Yun Shuyue stopped her: “They’re sleeping soundly. Let them rest a while longer.”
The children were frail, evidence of how much hardship they had endured. Better to let them recover slowly.
After giving instructions, Yun Shuyue planned to step outside the yamen to see the situation. That morning, when she opened her eyes, Jiang Chengyuan was already gone—avoiding the awkwardness that sometimes arose from their sleeping positions.
She had noticed that she often ended up pressed close to him in bed. Whether it happened while he was still there or only after he left, she couldn’t tell. She had tried various methods to prevent it—placing pillows between them, gripping the bedrail tightly before sleep, even forcing herself to stay awake past midnight. None of it worked. Once asleep, her body seemed to move on its own, like a wild horse breaking free.
Since leaving the capital, circumstances had forced her into many compromises: sharing a room with him, relying on his care when injured in the cave. At first, she resisted, but the situation demanded caution. Their delicate relationship could not be exposed. Balancing everything, she had no choice but to accept it.
As the yamen gates came into view, Chen Ping hurried up to stop her: “Madam, my lord asks that you remain indoors these days. Please don’t wander outside.”
“Why?” Yun Shuyue protested. Her wound was nearly healed—how could she stay cooped up all day?
Chen Ping explained: “Rong County is full of disaster victims. Some may act desperately. My lord fears for your safety. Please, return inside.”
Just then, the Vice Minister of Revenue and his entourage emerged. They bowed respectfully to Yun Shuyue: “Madam, truly, you embody the spirit of a heroine. Though only just recovered, you still come to ease the Prime Minister’s burdens.”
Yun Shuyue replied modestly: “You jest. I am but a weak woman, able only to do small things within my means. How could I compare with you gentlemen?”
The Vice Minister of Revenue continued warmly: “Madam, are you going to find my lord? Magistrate Zhong said he left early to inspect conditions. If you wish to go, you may accompany us.”
Suddenly, Yun Shuyue remembered: in the original story, two months after Jiang Chengyuan returned to the capital from Rong County, more than ten officials—including the Vice Minister—were executed, their families implicated.
She had overlooked this detail until now, because in the original tale, Yun Shuyue never came to Rong County, nor did she care about its affairs as she did now. It had seemed distant, like a misfortune heard secondhand, too far away to stir empathy.
But now, standing on this barren land, she had seen hell on earth: people displaced, half‑naked, bark stripped from trees for miles, countless families torn apart—including the two frail children in her care.
Yun Shuyue declined politely: “No, you gentlemen have official duties. I shouldn’t intrude. Please, go ahead.”
The Vice Minister pressed: “Not at all, you wouldn’t intrude. If you came, my lord might be even happier.”
His enthusiasm felt excessive. Yun Shuyue grew wary. Beside her, Chen Ping remained silent but signaled with his eyes that she should stay within the yamen.
Yun Shuyue smiled calmly: “You all know the Prime Minister’s conduct better than I. He is strict in separating public and private matters. If I were to go, he would not be pleased—he might even be angry. It’s getting late; please, gentlemen, go on.”