Wu Shen stood frozen, the "divine monk" still echoing in his mind like the aftershock of a thunderclap.
Calm down, he told himself. You've done nothing corrupt. No bribes, no embezzlement. A clear conscience fears no ghost, right?
He tried to sound convincing even to himself.
"Master," Wu Shen finally managed, bowing slightly, "may I ask who you are—and what wisdom you bring?"
The monk—Dao Xuan Tianzun in the flesh of mischief—smiled under his frayed hat. His fan fluttered like a lazy butterfly. "Who I am doesn't matter," he said. "What matters is that I've come to give you a little advice."
Wu Shen leaned in, cautious. "Please, speak."
Dao Xuan Tianzun's grin turned sly. "You seem... rather pleased with yourself, walking around with a hundred thousand taels jingling in your purse, hm?"
The words hit harder than any imperial reprimand.
Wu Shen coughed. "This humble official merely carries out His Majesty's command—to relieve the people's suffering. I dare not take pride in it."
Classic bureaucratic reflex: when cornered, quote virtue.
Dao Xuan Tianzun chuckled. "One hundred thousand taels to save an entire province? Let's do the math, shall we? Give one tael to each person—how many can you feed?"
Wu Shen blinked, stalling for arithmetic.
"Right," Dao Xuan Tianzun went on. "At current prices, one dou of rice in Shaanxi costs seven hundred to a thousand wen. That's about one and a half dou per tael—less than twenty jin of grain. So tell me, Censor Wu—how long will that last?"
Wu Shen's mind whirred like an abacus in panic mode. "Fifty days," he admitted. "At best."
Dao Xuan Tianzun spread his hands. "Fifty days of rice for a hundred thousand people... in a province of ten million. Congratulations, you've invented symbolic charity."
Liang Shixian, finally catching on to the act, stepped forward, bowing. "Imperial Envoy, if I may—those funds must also resettle surrendered rebels, not just feed the hungry. His Majesty decreed it himself: land, oxen, seed grain—everything."
Wu Shen froze mid-breath. "That's right…" he murmured, paling. "If I use the treasury's silver for all that... it won't even cover the livestock."
Dao Xuan Tianzun tilted his head. "So tell me, Great Envoy, what happens when you pacify rebels but don't feed or settle them?"
Wu Shen hesitated. "I... suppose they would—"
Liang's adjutant, Fang Wushang, cut in, his voice booming like a war drum. "They become official bandits!"
Wu Shen stared at him.
Fang went on, fire in his words. "Fan Shan Yue of Heyang was pacified once. The moment he got his title, his men scattered, looting and killing in the name of 'collecting provisions.' The county bled for months. I fought his rabble for half a year before order returned."
Wu Shen's jaw dropped. "Official bandits… good heavens."
Dao Xuan Tianzun's tone softened. "You've been too long in marble halls, Wu Shen. The world you think you serve—the 'Empire of Order'—is run by hungry men with knives."
Wu Shen bowed deeply. "Master, please—teach me. What should I do?"
Dao Xuan Tianzun shrugged. "You can't save Shaanxi with pocket change. Go ask Zhu Youjian for more."
Everyone froze.
He'd just named the emperor like a drinking buddy.
But after seeing a man hover in midair, who dared correct his etiquette?
Wu Shen sighed. "His Majesty won't release more funds. The treasury's empty."
Dao Xuan Tianzun fanned himself. "Then Shaanxi is too."
And with that, he lifted off, the wind swirling beneath his tattered robes. His mocking song followed him skyward:
"My shoes are torn, my hat is old,
My robe's in rags, but my heart is bold…"
The melody drifted away, leaving stunned silence behind.
Wu Shen's officials stood frozen. The man himself slowly exhaled. "The divine monk appeared not to condemn me," he murmured, "but to enlighten me. Our methods are useless. I must change them."
He snatched a brush, ink flying.
'Your servant humbly reports: one hundred thousand taels feeds only one hundred thousand people, for fifty days. It is insufficient to save the realm. Should His Majesty not grant more, even the imperial treasury should be opened.'
He thrust the memorial at a trusted aide. "Ride. To the capital. Now!"
The courier galloped off, hooves drumming against destiny.
Wu Shen watched him vanish down the road—then turned toward the green fields of Chengcheng County.
"Magistrate Liang," he said slowly, "your land is untouched. Could it… accommodate some of the displaced?"
Liang's heart jumped. So that's it.
He finally understood Dao Xuan Tianzun's little "performance." The monk act, the arithmetic lesson, the moral theater—it had all led here.
To this moment.
"Indeed, Imperial Envoy," Liang said, bowing with fervor. "Chengcheng County has land, food, and faith enough to shelter them. We will do our utmost."
Wu Shen nodded, a plan crystallizing in his mind. "Then I'll send the refugees here. Let the empire's forgotten find their fortune under your protection."
Liang smiled. "Dao Xuan Tianzun's will be done."
Somewhere, far above, a faint laugh echoed through the clouds.