Chapter 503: The Dragon Has a Reverse Scale

Zhu Ping’an’s safe return transformed the edge of Xiahe Village’s fields into a sea of joy. Only after the villagers’ excitement gradually ebbed did they remember that there had been another “main character” in today’s drama. And so, the mud-streaked, thoroughly trampled Clerk Feng once again returned to everyone’s notice.

“This humble scholar pays his respects to Your Excellency.”

At this moment, Clerk Feng looked utterly wretched. His clothes were stamped with countless footprints, his hands smeared with mud from being stepped on, and cold sweat streamed ceaselessly down his forehead.

“Oh? And what is the meaning of this?” Zhu Ping’an stood before him, the corner of his lips lifting slightly. With a faint smile, he looked down at the kneeling man. “A xiucai need not kneel to an official—why such a grand gesture?”

“My lord has escaped calamity and returned safely… this humble one is overjoyed beyond measure and could not help himself…”

Kneeling on the ground, Clerk Feng’s voice trembled, still shaken by lingering fear.

With his pitiful appearance—covered in footprints, drenched in sweat, voice quivering—he might have seemed worthy of sympathy. But there was a saying: pitiful people often have hateful sides.

If Zhu Ping’an had not returned today, this man would undoubtedly be wearing a completely different face—arrogant, overbearing, lording his authority over others. Who knew how his parents and family would have been humiliated or oppressed?

Petty clerks like him were the hands through which state power directly touched the common people. In this era, tragedies where such men ruined families and destroyed livelihoods were far from rare.

Zhu Ping’an had struggled through the imperial examinations first and foremost to protect his family, to improve their lives. He could endure insults directed at himself—but insults toward his family?

That was intolerable.

The dragon has its reverse scale—touch it, and it will rage. His family was that scale.

If this man dared stir trouble at his home merely because of a rumor of his death, then what of those with no power or backing? He would surely be even more ruthless toward them. Who knew how many families had already suffered at his hands?

So Zhu Ping’an had no intention of repaying malice with kindness.

He was no saint.

“A xiucai does not kneel before officials, except when honoring a teacher or worshipping Confucius,” Zhu Ping’an said, bending slightly at the waist, looking directly at Clerk Feng with a faintly teasing smile. “I am not your teacher—so by kneeling to me, are you claiming that I am arrogant enough to compare myself to the Sage Confucius? Hmm?”

“I wouldn’t dare! I wouldn’t dare!”

Clerk Feng was utterly dumbfounded. How did it come to that? he thought in panic. Yet under Zhu Ping’an’s questioning gaze, sweat poured even faster from his brow, and he began knocking his head against the ground repeatedly.

“Look at you—why are you kowtowing again?” Zhu Ping’an stepped slightly aside, avoiding him. “I’m certainly not so arrogant as to compare myself to Confucius.”

“I wouldn’t dare… I truly wouldn’t dare…”

Scrambling to his feet, Clerk Feng hastily bowed instead, apologizing over and over, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. His heart felt as though it might leap out of his chest at any moment.

“Mm. That’s better.” Zhu Ping’an nodded.

Hearing this, Clerk Feng finally let out a small breath of relief. The tension that had gripped his heart loosened just a fraction.

But in the very next instant, Zhu Ping’an casually continued, as if nothing had happened:

“Now then, where were we? Ah, yes—I remember. You said my family must pay taxes now. When exactly did the court issue such a policy? How is it that I’ve never heard of it?”

Before the words had even fully settled—

Thud.

Clerk Feng, who had just managed to stand, collapsed to his knees once again. His entire body trembled uncontrollably, his face flushed as red as a monkey’s backside, yet not a single word could leave his mouth.

What policy? There had never been any such policy. It was all his own fabrication.

Under Zhu Ping’an’s questioning, he could do nothing but shake and remain silent.

The villagers of Xiahe, seeing his pitiful state, burst into laughter and mockery. Just moments ago, he had strutted about like some mighty figure—now he looked like a mouse trembling before a cat.

“What is it?” Zhu Ping’an bent down slightly again, smiling faintly. “Have you forgotten?”

Clerk Feng stammered, unable to answer.

“Very well. Then let me ask another question,” Zhu Ping’an said lightly. “Who sent you here?”

“Th-this humble one… this humble one was acting under the orders of the county magistrate…”

Even as he spoke, his voice lacked conviction.

In truth, he had received no such orders. This had been entirely his own doing—a scheme to squeeze out money and line his own pockets. He had done such things more than once, always hiding it from the magistrate and merely borrowing the magistrate’s name to intimidate the ignorant villagers.

After all, what did common folk know? When they saw officials from the yamen, they believed whatever they were told.

As the saying went: No matter how clean an official may be, he cannot withstand the slickness of his clerks. Even a just magistrate could not always prevent underlings from exploiting the people—let alone an ordinary one.

From Clerk Feng’s eyes and tone, Zhu Ping’an could already tell—this was a private scheme.

“Oh? So the county magistrate sent you?” Zhu Ping’an nodded thoughtfully.

“Yes, yes…” Clerk Feng wiped his sweat and nodded repeatedly, sneaking a cautious glance at Zhu Ping’an. Seeing no immediate change in his expression, he let out the faintest breath of relief.

“If that is the case,” Zhu Ping’an said with a faint, knowing smile, “then the magistrate must be aware of this taxation policy. In that case, I’ll trouble you to invite him here.”

“The magistrate… the magistrate is very busy with official duties. I’m afraid… I’m afraid he may not have the time…”

Even kneeling as he was, Clerk Feng nearly collapsed again at the question, sweat pouring down his face.

After all—Zhu Ping’an was a sixth-rank official. The county magistrate was only seventh rank. Even in a higher county, the magistrate would barely reach the lower sixth rank—but Huaining was not such a place.

If Zhu Ping’an summoned him, the magistrate would have no choice but to come—no matter how busy he was.

And once he came…

Everything would be exposed.

Not only would Clerk Feng face Zhu Ping’an’s wrath—he would also suffer the magistrate’s fury.

“Take my seal and invite the magistrate to my humble home,” Zhu Ping’an said, removing a small personal seal from his waist and handing it to a yamen runner. His tone turned formal. “Tell him I will prepare simple refreshments and await his arrival.”

“Yes, sir!” The runner accepted the seal without hesitation.

“Mercy, my lord! Mercy!”

At that moment, Clerk Feng completely broke.

Without another word, he slapped himself hard across the face, then began begging for forgiveness, his voice frantic.

“This humble one was blinded by greed, disregarded the law, and was enticed by your elder uncle, Zhu Shouren! I committed this foolish act—please spare me, my lord!”

The crowd fell silent.

A heavy stillness descended, so complete that even the air seemed frozen. One could almost hear a pin drop.

Then—

A faint sound of footsteps.

Everyone turned their heads.

In the crowd, a figure stood out in striking contrast—tall, conspicuous despite his attempt at stealth.

It was Zhu Shouren.

Sneaking away, step by careful step.