Between This and Giving It Away?
Feng Jun smiled slyly.
"With your brains, Brother Liang, you can't have forgotten that a magistrate can actually renew his own term. You're just too close to the problem to think straight. Take a breath—think back. At Donglin Academy, when we were drinking with the others, someone mentioned it, remember? The longest-serving county magistrate in Ming history…"
Liang Shixian blinked. "There… really was one?"
He frowned, riffling through the filing cabinets of his memory.
Tea talks, gossip over wine, footnotes of history flickered past like lanterns in a storm. Then—click—a name locked into place.
"Bai Zheng, styled Siqi. Born in Fengrun County, Shuntian Prefecture. Appointed magistrate of Huarong in the twelfth year of Yongle. Honest, prudent, beloved by the people. Served twelve years before promotion, but the locals begged the court to keep him. The Ministry of Personnel compromised—made him Tongzhi of Wuchang Prefecture while still concurrently magistrate of Huarong. Another ten years."
Liang paused for effect. "Twenty-one years total. Record holder."
A spark lit in his eyes.
"Of course! If I invite the local gentry and common folk to write a petition of popular will, pleading that I stay for the sake of the county's peace, the court might approve another term! Though…" He sighed. "I doubt anyone would actually write that for me."
Feng Jun leaned closer, voice dropping conspiratorially.
"Brother Liang, your Chengcheng County is so well-run even the chickens line up by tax class. The people adore you. Getting signatures won't be hard. And if we nudge a few Donglin Academy friends, it'll glide through the Ministry—no need to bother His Majesty at all."
Liang looked uneasy.
"Troubling old classmates for a little extension—it feels improper."
"Improper?" Feng Jun chuckled. "Brother, this is the imperial service, not a temple fair. Postings are life and death! Even if you wanted a promotion instead, your friends would still be glad to lend a hand."
Liang froze.
Wait—this was faction-building. The very disease that once rotted the court.
He hissed softly through his teeth. "Tss…"
Feng Jun misread it as reluctance.
He's too upright, he thought. Too clean for his own good.
But Feng Jun needed Liang in Chengcheng.
Because if Liang left, Gaojia Village was right next door—and their militia had five hundred muskets and a thousand suits of armor. If they decided to "visit," Feng Jun's Heyang County would be the first to go up in smoke.
One magistrate versus a private army? He could already see his own tombstone: Here lies Feng Jun, slain by bureaucracy and better equipment.
So he forced a grin.
"Brother Liang, here's the plan. Don't rush to the capital. Delay your report. I'll draft the petition and handle the rest."
Liang hesitated. Principle said no. Survival said yes.
After a long pause, he sighed. "Then I'll trouble you, Brother Feng."
From high above, Dao Xuan Tianzun sighed as well.
Keeping Liang in office was good—but doing it through factional strings felt dirty.
Ah, bureaucracy… even the honest drown in it.
At that same moment, a man dragging a wooden cart was trudging toward Gaojia Village.
If Gao Yiye were here, he'd recognize him instantly—the owner of the Water-Fresh Dumpling Shop from Heyang County.
On his cart clattered a traveling kitchen's worth of gear: a giant pot, a slotted ladle, long chopsticks, stacks of bowls. Everything a man needs to make a living from boiling water.
He'd finally made up his mind—time to test his luck in Gaojia Village.
After Gao Yiye's visit and that glorious week when the Gaojia Militia ate him nearly out of supplies, business in Heyang had collapsed back into silence. The county's economy was still crawling out of the ashes. Some days he didn't even earn enough for a bowl of noodles.
So he bit the bullet. To Gaojia it is.
Dozens of li later, he was gasping for breath at the village gate.
What he saw nearly made him drop the cart.
Smooth cement roads. Towering fortified walls. Rows of brightly painted houses in that unmistakable "Tianzun Blue". New concrete homes rose like mushrooms after rain. It didn't look like a village anymore—more like a city under construction.
He swallowed hard.
Can a small dumpling seller even survive in a place like this?
While he stood there sweating, a patrol of young men marched over. Each wore an armband printed with three bold characters: Discipline Committee.
He didn't know what it meant—but his instincts screamed authority. He pasted on his best smile and tried to edge away.
Too late. They were already heading for him.
The leader, a cheerful middle-aged man with sun-browned skin, grinned.
"You're from out of town, right? Here to make a living?"
The dumpling-seller nodded quickly. "Yes, sir. And you are…?"
"I'm Zhang Laowu, head of the Gaojia Village Discipline Committee." He puffed his chest a little. "The Third Steward originally called us the 'Village Management Corps,' but Dao Xuan Tianzun didn't like the sound of it—too bureaucratic. Divine decree changed it to Discipline Committee. Rolls off the tongue better, doesn't it?"
The shopkeeper still had no idea what that meant, but he smiled wider.
"Pleased to meet you, Director Zhang…"
"Name? Origin? Purpose of visit?" Zhang asked briskly, already pulling a registration ledger from his belt. "Once you're registered, you qualify for the Basic Living Allowance—enough grain to keep you fed but not fat. Getting rich still requires work."
The man hurried to answer. "My name's Liu You, from Heyang County. I want to open a small shop here—selling Water-Fresh Dumplings."
Zhang blinked. "Water-Fresh what? Never heard of it."
Liu You enthusiastically described the whole process—the clear broth, the springy dough, the filling that bursts like hot soup inside your mouth.
By the time he finished, every member of the Discipline Committee was practically drooling.
Zhang clapped him on the shoulder. "Brother Liu You! What are you waiting for? Come on! We'll take you straight to the Gaojia Commercial District, find you a storefront, and get that dumpling shop open today!"
The committee cheered in agreement, already pushing his cart forward.
Liu You stumbled after them, half in awe, half in terror.
Is this a village… or a divine economic zone?