Before he had even left the mountains, Chen Ping'an could already feel the seismic changes sweeping through the small town. From the summit of True Ground Mountain, he looked out to see dust clouds rising everywhere. Near Distant Curtain Peak, he spotted nearly a hundred young laborers —most of them former kiln workers, strong and accustomed to hard toil —busily felling enormous trees.
Chen Ping'an approached and found a familiar face —a former coworker from the same kiln. One question revealed the full picture: the town was simultaneously constructing the county office, the Wenchang Pavilion, the Martial God Temple, and the City God Temple. Leading the effort was the young new superintendent, a man named Wu Yuan. As for the magistrate title —what sort of official it entailed, what a county office actually was —the townspeople didn't understand and didn't care. All they knew was that there were suddenly new iron rice bowls to be had, and the wages were far more generous than anything the dragon kilns had ever offered.
After the kiln operations had been severed and the kiln fires extinguished, the kiln workers had spent their days toiling in the fields, barely scraping by. Earning a few extra copper coins had been nearly impossible. Now, morale was soaring from top to bottom. They regarded Official Wu as a god of wealth. The old families of the four surnames and ten clans —reclusive, wealthy lords who rarely emerged —showed this young man, who was a generation or two their junior, a deference that went beyond mere courtesy. Their words carried the warmth of closeness between official and people, though their eyes held unmistakable traces of flattery. The townspeople may have been frogs at the bottom of a well, but their powers of observation were sharp.
Magistrate Wu had the heads of the great families hire five to six hundred young laborers to fell trees deep in the mountains and haul them out. A special slide track had been carved into Distant Curtain Peak for this purpose —many of the massive logs destined for pillars and beams were too heavy to carry down by human shoulders alone, so they could be sent sliding down the track to the mountain's base. The result was that Distant Curtain Peak now bore a visible scar across its face.
Beyond the timber operations, work was also underway along the waterways. Male laborers hauled sand and stone from the stream, carrying them to the eastern gate of the town where the county office was to be built. The old yellow-mud cottage that Zheng Dafeng had once occupied was demolished, its foundation re-compacted. Even the weathered wooden gate, which had stood through countless storms, was dismantled entirely.
Chen Ping'an exited the mountains not by taking the winding mountain paths but by hopping directly along the streambed stones downstream —a shortcut that saved considerable time. The townspeople who spotted the boy carrying his basket didn't react with surprise. They all knew that the orphan from Mud Vase Lane had been gathering herbs and charcoal in the mountains since childhood, nimble as a monkey that no one could catch.
At the confluence of two streams, Chen Ping'an stopped. Below him, perhaps two zhang further down, was a stretch of pockmarked stone ledge where a group had gathered. On the bank and on a flat rock jutting from the water stood two burly young men, each wearing a gold-wrapped saber at their waist. They were dressed in clean, practical black robes with a sheer blue outer layer, their hair tied back with hairpins. An aura of sharp menace radiated from them.
The instant the straw-sandaled boy appeared, both men simultaneously shifted their gaze, locking onto Chen Ping'an with fierce intensity. Their hands moved to their saber hilts.
Chen Ping'an, carrying a basket full of herbs, stood motionless, his expression unchanged.
He had survived two desperate life-and-death struggles in alleyways against Cai Jinjian and Fu Nanhua. He had been hunted through the mountains by the mountain-moving ape of Righteous Peak. He had even fought his own age-mate, Ma Kuxuan, at the Immortal's Grave. His opponents had been lofty immortals, battle-hardened beasts of the great wilderness, or one of fate's chosen favorites —and Chen Ping'an had still emerged alive.
So the menacing stares of two saber-wielding guards couldn't move him.
But he had no desire to provoke an incident. He was about to climb onto the bank and take the mountain path back to town when a young man at the center of the group —clearly the one being attended upon —spoke a word to the guard standing in the stream. The guard immediately released his grip on the hilt. The man who had been sitting cross-legged rose slowly, revealing himself to be half a head taller than his two bodyguards. His skin was fair as a woman's, his features somewhat delicate. He waved at Chen Ping'an in a friendly manner, switching to the local dialect: "Don't be afraid. Continue on your original route —we're not bad people."
His local dialect was slightly halting, but Chen Ping'an understood every word. After a moment's hesitation, he offered the tall man a smile, then pointed toward the bank, indicating he would come ashore shortly and not disturb their conversation.
Before the man could say anything else, Chen Ping'an vaulted onto the bank with a few agile leaps, his lean figure vanishing swiftly into the greening woods.
The man with feminine features withdrew his hand in mild disappointment. His attendants stifled laughter. He said awkwardly: "That herb-gathering boy has real skill —see? I told you this place produces exceptional talent. So don't complain about it being less glamorous than the capital. Small places have their own kind of grace."
His attempt at deflection only provoked a burst of unrestrained laughter.
The tall man was none other than Wu Yuan —the townspeople's "god of wealth," kiln-bureau superintendent, and the first magistrate of Longquan County. Facing his subordinates' ridicule, he showed no annoyance. He sat back down and resumed the previous topic: "Longquan County Office, Wenchang Pavilion, Martial God Temple, City God Temple —four buildings in total. Just the plaques alone will require at least fifteen or sixteen. His Majesty was so pleased with the smooth descent of the Lizhu small chiliocosm and its integration with Great Li's territory —with the geography preserved at seventy or eighty percent, without a single major earthquake —that he personally bestowed the plaque 'Reviewing the Old to Learn the New' upon the Wenchang Pavilion..."
At this point, a refined young man smiled: "Wurlan, didn't you ask His Majesty for a calligraphic plaque for our county office as well?"
Wu Yuan sighed. "Of course I did. But His Majesty refused. What could I do? Besides, it's hardly his fault —if a humble county office received His Majesty's personal calligraphy, what would that make all the governors and provincial commanders who didn't receive such an honor? I still want to have a career in government, you know!"
Everyone shared a knowing smile.
Wu Yuan continued encouragingly: "Fortunately, Mr. Liu and Grand Ritualist Qi of the National University have each agreed to provide plaques. Two sets will arrive, to be hung at the county office and the Martial God Temple. The problem now is that the Wenchang Pavilion is short three plaques, and the City God Temple needs two more. Perhaps those of you present could brainstorm? Surely you don't expect me to pick up a brush myself? My handwriting is so abysmal it makes even my own teacher despair. Of course, if you don't mind the embarrassment, I certainly don't —this might be my only chance in life to have my calligraphy turned into a grand plaque!"
The refined young man considered: "I could write to my grandfather. He's on good terms with the reclusive Master Bai Qiu. Perhaps he could arrange something to bring glory to our magistrate."
Wu Yuan patted his shoulder. "Then my honor is in your hands. If the plaques fall short, the magistrate's face will be impossible to pick up off the ground —and I'll hold you personally responsible."
The young man's expression stiffened, realizing he had dug his own pit.
The other young officials —all of similar age —looked on with sympathy. Their magistrate was famously opportunistic: give him an inch and he'd take a mile. Who could possibly out-face him?
These young men bore a title popular in the northern kingdoms of the Baoping Continent: secretariat attendant. The role came in two varieties —civil and military. Civil secretariat attendants served as advisors and strategists, while military attendants —like the two burly young men with gold-wrapped sabers —served as personal guards. Though the position fell under the clerk class rather than the regular civil service, noble families often employed or hired such attendants for their scions. The court also allocated positions —anywhere from two to twenty —all drawing a Great Li salary.
Wu Yuan came from humble origins and could not afford to hire private attendants. These civil secretariat attendants were all court-appointed. Normally, a county of Longquan's size —not even a commandery —would qualify for only one civil and one military attendant. But those two military attendants with their gold-wrapped sabers were clearly distinguished Great Li military veterans —ordinary guards had no right to carry such blades.
That Wu Yuan had been appointed the first magistrate of Longquan County spoke volumes about his backing.
His teacher was none other than the figure known as the "Embroidered Tiger" —Great Li's State Tutor.
His future father-in-law was a Pillar of the Realm who had spent half his career on Great Li's border battlefields.
After the light-hearted exchange, Wu Yuan turned serious. "These four buildings represent a massive undertaking. Moreover, the chosen sites at Immortal's Grave and the Old Porcelain Mountain have been met with deliberate foot-dragging by the town —from Master Ruan himself down to the four surnames and ten clans of Fulu Street and Peach-Leaf Lane. It won't be smooth going. There will be friction. But the truly weighty matter —and the truly troublesome one —is that the Ministry of Rites, the Imperial Observatory, and the Academy will all converge here for the ceremony of appointing the mountain and river spirits. If not for the fierce opposition to the Mountain God appointment —opposition so strong it gave even His Majesty pause —the Emperor himself would have come to Longquan County."
He saw their expressions growing heavier and bit into a piece of flatbread, speaking lightly: "Whether the great temple of the Mountain God ends up on Cloud-Wrap Mountain, and whether it becomes Great Li's new Northern Peak —that's not something for the likes of us to concern ourselves with. We're small fish in a county office pond. Stop worrying about matters above your pay grade and let the yellow-robed and purple-robed lords duke it out."
The tension eased slightly.
Wu Yuan chewed his flatbread in silence, then said vaguely: "There's news —part good, part bad. After the fall of the Lu kingdom, how to resettle the displaced subjects has been an ongoing dilemma. Longquan County will receive between five and ten thousand convict laborers —a mixed bag of all sorts. Great Li's military will escort them here under strict supervision. For us, this cuts both ways. The upside is that Longquan will finally begin to resemble a proper large county. The downside is that things will become considerably more chaotic, and we —already strangers in a strange land —will have even less leverage. We'll need to work harder to win over those local powers who chose to stay."
A young man from a noble family who served as a secretariat attendant asked: "Could we divide and conquer the great families?"
Wu Yuan shook his head without hesitation: "Difficult. When we've just arrived, who would trust us?"
He lowered his voice: "Rather than overplaying our hand and alerting them, we should take our time. We've come to a place of extremely complex historical currents. You are all here to build your careers alongside me, Wu Yuan. But we must understand one thing: only through great trials in times of great adversity can one earn great rewards. So if anyone here expects to rise in rank and grow wealthy in a year or two —I suggest you turn around now. I'll pay for your travel expenses."
The six secretariat attendants —civil and military alike —showed iron resolve. Not one wavered.
Wu Yuan said quietly: "Remember this above all: do not act rashly."
This was no idle talk. Shortly after arriving in town, Wu Yuan had already learned a painful lesson. The decision to deploy Great Li's official forces to suppress the Purple Smoke River cultivator had been his own —a calculated gamble taken at the risk of censure from the court, made to break the stalemate and win Master Ruan's favor. The Emperor, as it turned out, had notpursue him for blame. But Master Ruan's reaction at the time had left Wu Yuan drenched in sweat, wishing he could slap himself.
Someone asked curiously: "Are those convict laborers meant to serve the cultivators as laborers, helping to clear thewild mountains?"
Wu Yuan nodded. "Along with that, the court will deploy two young golden-line apes under the command of cultivators, as well as Daoist talisman-faction soldiers and mountain-breaking puppets. The goal is to fully develop all sixty-plus peaks within ten years. Taoist temples, Buddhist monasteries, pavilions and terraces —everything that should be built, will be built."
The young men around Wu Yuan all displayed expressions of longing.
In the town below, buildings would rise from flat ground. Deep in the mountains, immortal dwellings would emerge among the peaks.
They exchanged knowing smiles, all understood without words. As the first generation of officials in the history of Great Li's Longquan County, they were destined to be inscribed in the annals of history. How could they not work with one heart, how could they not pledge their utmost loyalty to the iron-willed Wu Yuan who was their anchor and their future?
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Atop Cloud-Wrap Mountain, the fair-featured youth with the mole between his brows waved one sleeve, parting the sea of clouds at the mountain's midsection. He peered as far as his gaze could reach. At the horizon's edge, a horse cart and an ox cart appeared.
He smiled with satisfaction: "The bet is on, the bet is on. Qi Jingchun —if I win this wager, the two sticks of incense you worked so hard to preserve will be snuffed out entirely. How tragic, how tragic."
The youth pinched a small seal between two fingers. The seal script bore four characters: "The World Welcomes Spring."
His two fingers clamped down with sudden force. The seal shattered, crumbling to fine powder that dispersed swiftly into the void between heaven and earth.
The ease with which he crushed the seal stemmed from the fact that the four characters' true essence —like the fading of a heart growing cold and despairing —had already dissipated on its own.
He withdrew his gaze at last, catching one final sight: a boy carrying a basket, walking alone toward the town.