Chapter 500: People from the County Magistrate’s Office Have Arrived
Just after breakfast in Xiahe Village, the morning sun had only just risen, its round, rosy face glowing warmly in the sky. Layer upon layer of golden light spilled over the village, wrapping every thatched roof, every courtyard wall, and every patch of earth in a soft, radiant halo.
“Mother, have some porridge,” Juan, Dachuan’s wife, said gently at the table. Her face was full of concern as she held out a bowl of freshly cooked rice porridge. Inside, she had thoughtfully added dried jujubes and other nourishing ingredients, hoping to tempt Madam Chen’s appetite.
But Madam Chen only shook her head weakly. Her face was pale and drawn, her eyes dulled with exhaustion and worry.
“Mother, I had a dream about Dachuan last night,” Juan continued, placing the bowl carefully in front of her, her tone deliberately light, as if making casual conversation. “He told me he had found Second Brother.”
For a fleeting moment, Madam Chen’s eyes lit up, a spark of hope igniting in their depths. But just as quickly, that light faded. Her gaze dimmed, and tears began to gather again at the corners of her eyes.
“Dreams are always the opposite…” she murmured, her voice trembling. “My Zhì’er…”
It was a common belief—one without any real basis—that dreams were reversed reflections of reality. Many people, knowingly or not, clung to this idea. Madam Chen was no exception. If the dream said he had been found, then in truth… he had not.
Hearing her daughter-in-law’s words did not comfort her—it only deepened her anxiety.
Such is the chaos of a worried heart.
Seeing her distress, Zhu Ping’an’s father stepped forward, trying to console her in his own clumsy way. “I… I had a dream too,” he said. “I dreamed Dachuan didn’t find Zhì’er.”
No sooner had the words left his mouth than Madam Chen shot him a furious glare. Her face flushed with anger, and without hesitation, she reached out and pinched his arm hard, her eyes brimming with tears.
“Have you lost your wits?! Do you even know how to speak properly?!”
Zhu Pingan’s father hurriedly apologized, flustered. He had only meant well—when he heard that she believed dreams were the opposite, he thought that if he said Dachuan hadn’t found Zhì’er in his dream, then perhaps, in reality, he had. Wouldn’t that ease her worries?
But clearly, reality was far harsher than his intentions.
At that moment, he must have truly understood what it meant for hopes to be full, yet reality painfully lacking.
Just as the family was trying every possible way to coax Madam Chen into drinking a few sips of porridge, hurried footsteps sounded from outside. Someone rushed in through the courtyard gate.
“Shouyi’s family! People from the county yamen—people from the yamen have come!” a villager called out breathlessly.
The county yamen?
Madam Chen’s heart leapt. She shot to her feet in an instant, hope surging through her chest as she asked eagerly, “Has the government found my Zhì’er?”
“…No.” The villager scratched his head awkwardly, clearly reluctant to shatter her hope. But with the officials already at the village entrance, he had no choice but to explain. “They’re… measuring land at the village gate. There are several of them. The one leading is a household clerk from the yamen—Li Ertou recognized him.”
“Measuring land? What land is there to measure? All our fields are already registered at the yamen—we have our land deeds,” Zhu Pingan’s father said as he stepped out.
“Second Brother, I don’t know about that,” the villager replied, shaking his head. Then, with urgency, he added, “But there are quite a few yamen runners with them—carrying papers, pens, and measuring ropes. They’ve already gone to the fields. You’d better go take a look!”
In those times, hierarchy was strict, and the authority of officials ran deep in people’s minds. Even a mere household clerk—technically a minor, unofficial functionary—was regarded by villagers as a figure of great power. After all, he was involved in collecting taxes and grain for the entire county, seated within the yamen, commanding numerous underlings.
Though the county magistrate held nominal authority, it was the clerks and functionaries of the six offices who truly handled daily affairs. To common folk, these men were the ones who wielded real power.
Officials from the yamen measuring land—this was no small matter.
Hearing this, Zhu’s family could not help but take it seriously. Land was the foundation of survival, the root of a family’s livelihood.
Without further delay, the entire family followed the villager toward the fields at the front of the village.
They had barely gone far when they encountered members of the old Zhu household hurrying over as well, having heard the news—Old Master Zhu among them, and of course, the eldest uncle, Zhu Shouren.
Like Zhu Pingan’s father, Old Master Zhu wore a look of astonishment, clearly shaken by the sudden news. But Zhu Shouren, ever the scholar, appeared remarkably composed. His hands were clasped behind his back, his expression calm, as though unmoved by wind or rain, as if he had long expected such a development.
“Shouyi, what’s going on? I heard people from the yamen have come?” Old Master Zhu asked anxiously.
“I don’t know either, Father. They say they’re measuring land,” Zhu Pingan’s father replied, shaking his head.
“Measuring land falls under the household office,” Zhu Shouren began, stroking his beard thoughtfully as he walked, his tone measured and deliberate. “Perhaps it is an official from that department. They are responsible for grain levies and taxation…”
Taxation?
At those words, Old Master Zhu’s expression grew heavy.
By the time they reached the fields, they found a large crowd of villagers already gathered. Seeing the Zhu family arrive, the villagers greeted them and stepped aside, opening a path for them to move forward.
At the center of the field stood four yamen runners and one official clad in a blue uniform—the household clerk.
He was currently directing the men as they measured the land. One pushed a wheelbarrow carrying a wooden measuring device. Inside it lay a coiled rope measure, resembling the spindle of a spinning wheel. One man fixed the rope into the soil to mark a point, another stood still to record the count, while two others stretched it across the field.
“You are the parties concerned?” the clerk asked, lifting his chin slightly as he looked at Zhu Pingan’s father and the others approaching.
“May I ask, sir, for what purpose you are measuring our land?” Zhu Pingan’s father stepped forward and asked.
“By order of the county magistrate,” the clerk replied, cupping his hands in the direction of the yamen in a formal gesture, his tone official and detached, “we are here to measure your land as a basis for tax assessment.”
Tax?
A murmur spread through the gathered villagers. Zhu Ping’an was a top scholar—a zhuangyuan—and already an official. Wasn’t it said that officials were exempt from taxes?
Hearing the whispers, the clerk stroked his beard and spoke unhurriedly, “Naturally, when Lord Zhu was present, taxes could be waived. But now that Lord Zhu is no longer here, the exemption no longer applies.”
How quickly warmth fades when a person is gone.
Not long ago, officials from the yamen had frequently visited Zhu Ping’an’s home—bringing gifts, offering congratulations. And now, only days after his misfortune, they had already come to collect taxes.
Such is the coldness of the world.
“Who says my son is gone?!”
Madam Chen, hearing those words, was furious. Gritting her teeth, she stepped forward, her eyes blazing with anger, as though she might scratch the man to pieces. “How dare you say my son is gone again and again!”
“And who are you, village woman?” the clerk sneered.
“And who are you? Even your county magistrate would have to bow to me—” Madam Chen shot back, her tone sharp, showing not the slightest respect.
“Second daughter-in-law!” Old Master Zhu quickly stepped forward, alarmed by her boldness. Afraid she might anger the official and bring trouble upon the family, he rebuked her before turning to the clerk with an apologetic bow. “She is just a woman, ignorant of proper conduct. Please don’t take offense, sir.”
“Hmph. Let it pass,” the clerk said casually.
As he spoke, he cast a sideways glance at Old Master Zhu. Their eyes met briefly—and Old Master Zhu instinctively shrank back, his earlier courage dissolving in an instant.
He had only stepped forward out of concern that Madam Chen might cause trouble. But now, faced directly with an official, all that resolve had quietly slipped away.