Chapter 550: River Sacrifice

After the case was solved, the Chun’an County Magistrate immediately ordered the riverway cleared and restored traffic along the water route without delay.

Before Zhu Ping’an boarded the ship again, the magistrate personally came over to express his thanks for assisting in solving the case.

Naturally, because he did not wish to delay the travelers’ onward journey, the magistrate merely offered a few brief words of gratitude. Yet to Zhu Ping’an, those simple words struck with the force of thunder.

It was much like the scene from the famous tale of “boiling wine and discussing heroes,” when Liu Bei accidentally dropped his chopsticks upon hearing Cao Cao’s probing words. Even after boarding the ship again, Zhu Ping’an still had not fully recovered from the shock.

Hai Rui!

That Chun’an magistrate had actually been Hai Rui!

In ancient scholarly etiquette, one referred to oneself by given name and others by courtesy name. Earlier, when the magistrate thanked him, he had introduced himself simply as “Hai Rui.”

That name alone was practically a living emblem of the Ming Dynasty.

Only now did Zhu Ping’an realize it.

Thinking back carefully, the signs had been there all along—the patched official robes, the unyielding uprightness radiating from the man’s entire bearing, his fearless refusal to bend before power or compromise justice for personal interest.

He should have guessed it sooner.

Especially considering Chun’an County itself—it was precisely the first post Hai Rui had held after entering officialdom.

Although Zhu Ping’an had already met towering historical figures such as Yan Song, Xu Jie, Gao Gong, and Zhang Juzheng, seeing Hai Rui still stirred his emotions tremendously.

After all, Hai Rui was one of the very few officials in Chinese history whose reputation for incorruptibility rivaled that of Bao Zheng himself. He was the archetype of the righteous magistrate, one of the rare “blue-sky officials” still remembered fondly by ordinary people centuries later.

Countless folk tales and legends had spread among the common people because of him.

Of course, Hai Rui was also a highly controversial historical figure.

There was no shortage of strange stories and criticisms surrounding him in unofficial records and folk accounts.

For example, there was the infamous tale about Hai Rui supposedly forcing his own five-year-old daughter to starve to death.

According to the story, Hai Rui once had a young daughter—innocent, lively, and adorable. One day, a male servant gave her a pastry to eat. While the child was happily eating it, Hai Rui discovered her and demanded to know where it had come from. The little girl answered honestly.

Hai Rui allegedly flew into a rage.

He scolded her harshly, saying that for a girl, “starving to death was a minor matter; losing virtue was the greater one.” How could she casually accept food from a male servant? If she truly understood shame and propriety, then even starving to death would be preferable—and only then would she deserve to be called Hai Rui’s daughter.

The child was supposedly frightened into tears and refused to eat thereafter… eventually starving herself to death.

If that story were true, then Hai Rui would be utterly unreasonable to the point of monstrosity.

A sanctimonious, twisted hypocrite hiding behind rigid morality.

However… the more Zhu Ping’an thought about it, the more absurd the story sounded.

In the past, he had specifically researched the matter himself. None of the official Ming historical records mentioned such an incident at all. The story of Hai Rui starving his daughter only appeared much later in Wanli Yehuo Bian, a collection of unofficial anecdotes and hearsay rather than formal history.

Furthermore, the author of that work had been only a nine-year-old child when Hai Rui died. In other words, the story did not even appear in writing until over twenty years after Hai Rui’s death. Even the author himself admitted it was merely something he had “heard,” an unverified rumor passed through gossip.

Most likely, it had simply been slander fabricated by political enemies seeking to tarnish Hai Rui’s reputation.

Of course…

That did not necessarily mean it was impossible.

Modern people could no longer verify the truth.

But Zhu Ping’an could.

After all, he had just met Hai Rui in person.

Since fate had allowed him to exist within this era, he naturally had the opportunity to compare the historical records—both official and unofficial—against reality itself.

As for the story about Hai Rui starving his daughter…

Well, first Hai Rui would actually need to have a daughter in the first place.

As far as Zhu Ping’an remembered, the official histories did not even record Hai Rui as having a daughter.

Thinking this, Zhu Ping’an shook his head and chuckled softly to himself before finally calming his emotions and lowering his head to continue eating breakfast.

The meal had just been specially delivered by the ship owner.

Four dishes and a soup—surprisingly lavish.

Fresh fish soup caught directly from the river, seasonal vegetables still carrying the fragrance of the earth, delicately prepared side dishes… the flavors were fresh and delicious.

Ever since learning that Zhu Ping’an was an official from the Hanlin Academy, the ship owner had adamantly refused to let him continue staying in the ordinary shared cabin. Instead, he had personally ordered the best and most comfortable room aboard the vessel to be cleaned and prepared for Zhu Ping’an’s use.

Even this breakfast had only just been specially sent over moments earlier.

Zhu Ping’an had declined several times out of courtesy, but the ship owner simply would not accept refusal. Left with little choice, he could only reluctantly accept the kindness.

This… was the privilege of status.

No wonder countless people desperately fought their way through the imperial examinations just for the chance to enter officialdom.

Not long after Zhu Ping’an finished breakfast, Yingtian Prefecture came into view in the distance.

Another quarter-hour of sailing later, the ship finally arrived.

After docking, Zhu Ping’an packed his belongings and stepped out of the cabin. Outside, the ship owner was already waiting respectfully on deck, personally holding Zhu Ping’an’s horse by the reins.

His attitude was exceedingly attentive.

He escorted Zhu Ping’an off the ship with great enthusiasm and even insisted on presenting him with fifty taels of silver as travel expenses after they disembarked.

Zhu Ping’an firmly refused.

Being allowed to stay in the finest cabin and eat someone else’s carefully prepared breakfast already made him feel indebted enough. How could he possibly accept money on top of that?

He was not some corrupt official.

After leaving the docks, Zhu Ping’an had no intention of lingering long in Yingtian Prefecture.

Out of courtesy, however, he planned to pay a brief visit to his uncle and the other fellow townsmen before continuing northward toward the capital.

Finding their inn was not difficult.

After thinking for a moment, Zhu Ping’an headed directly to the same inn where his uncle had stayed during the previous county examinations. Sure enough, after asking at the front counter, he quickly learned that his uncle and the others had once again chosen to stay there this time.

Unfortunately, his uncle was absent.

Together with several fellow townsmen, Zhu Shouren had apparently gone out yet again to support some newly famous courtesan.

According to the inn staff, the group had spent the past several days leaving early each morning and only returning before curfew—or sometimes not returning until the next morning entirely.

Zhu Ping’an could only sigh helplessly.

Yes… this was very much like his uncle Zhu Shouren.

Without even waiting for the examination results, Zhu Ping’an could already predict the outcome for him.

A courtesan?

What nonsense was this?

If one came to take the examinations, then one should actually behave like an examination candidate! Why obsess over courtesans and poetic beauties? Did they think this was some kind of government-funded sightseeing vacation?

They never learned their lesson.

If Grandfather and Grandmother found out about this, they would probably be so angry they’d fall ill on the spot.

Since his uncle was absent, Zhu Ping’an could not be bothered to wait.

He had absolutely no interest in places of romance and pleasure, nor any desire to witness the embarrassing spectacle of his uncle and the others fawning over female entertainers.

Just imagining it hurt his eyes.

So, in the inn’s main hall, Zhu Ping’an left behind a short note—only a few simple lines informing them that he had come by—and asked the inn servant to pass it to his uncle upon his return.

After that, he departed directly.

Leaving Yingtian Prefecture behind, Zhu Ping’an mounted his horse and continued northward.

By day, he traveled the roads.

By night, he sought lodging wherever he could—sometimes at courier stations, sometimes at villagers’ homes, occasionally even at temples. Rarely did he sleep out in the wilderness. Even if it meant traveling farther into the night, he would still search for a household willing to offer temporary shelter.

As he journeyed onward, the differences between north and south became increasingly apparent.

The Jiangnan region overflowed with irrigated rice paddies, while northern lands were dominated by dry farmland.

The farther north he traveled, the fewer rice fields he saw.

Whenever he stayed with villagers or encountered farmers along the road, Zhu Ping’an would always chat with them for a while, asking about harvest yields, taxes, local governance, and daily life.

Because he looked like nothing more than an honest young traveler, most people spoke openly around him without much suspicion.

And through these countless conversations, Zhu Ping’an gradually gained a deeper understanding of how ordinary people throughout the Ming Dynasty truly lived.

In an era ruled by men rather than systems, the quality of local life depended enormously on the character of the local magistrate.

Taxes.

Corvée labor.

Government decrees.

Legal judgments.

All of it.

Each night before sleeping, Zhu Ping’an carefully recorded everything he had seen and heard during the day, including the complaints and concerns casually mentioned by common folk.

He intended to study it all slowly once he arrived in the capital.

One day, while traveling, Zhu Ping’an passed through a village called Majiazhuang.

The village felt eerily deserted.

Not a single person could be seen anywhere.

Had it not been for the occasional barking dog or the sounds of livestock echoing faintly from within the houses, Zhu Ping’an might have believed the entire settlement abandoned.

Yet the moment he left the village outskirts, he suddenly heard tremendous noise ahead.

Voices surged like waves.

Gongs and drums thundered loudly through the air.

A massive crowd had gathered by the riverside, packed shoulder to shoulder in a dense sea of people.

So that was where everyone had gone.

Judging by the atmosphere, something major had happened.

And from the look of it…

It seemed they were conducting some kind of river sacrifice ritual.