ITIEQ C45

Chapter 45 – Cangzhou Governor

The splendid white stallion pulled the ornate carriage, its iron-shod hooves striking the blue-stone road with a rhythm like drumbeats.

The young Commandant*¹ lifted the curtain. On both sides of the road were commonfolk in plain clothing, some holding their children by the hand, others cradling them in arms, all gathered to see off their governor, who had held office for merely three years.

“It’s only a handover of office, I’m not gone forever. Why such a grand send-off?” He laughed and waved to the crowd. “Disperse, disperse now—don’t let too many people crowd together, a stampede would be disastrous!”

On his way in, he had been bedraggled, but who would have thought, now he would have the honor of being sent off with cheering crowds down the long street. Truly, fortune turns like the wheel of heaven.

Along the roadside, people thronged shoulder-to-shoulder. In the noise, no one heard what exactly the young Commandant said; they only saw his smile and assumed he spoke to them, and so they erupted in a thunderous cheer loud enough to startle every bird from the trees.

One child, in his mother’s arms, dropped his candied hawthorn from fright. Blinking, he looked up, “Mama, who is that?”

“That’s Lord Xiao Shen. Erwa, you must study hard, and grow up to be a good official like Lord Xiao Shen, you hear?”

The little boy blinked, “Oh! I’ll study hard.”

His elder brother snickered. “Next year, you’ll be going to school too. I’ll even leave you all my study notes.”

The little boy wrinkled his nose, chewing another hawthorn berry, eyes still fixed on the departing carriage.

Although Cangzhou lay remote, and though considered one of the poorest of Great Yong’s provinces, it was by no means small. But eight parts of it were mountain, one part river, and a paltry scrap of fertile land. Added to that, the soils were degraded with high sand content, making arable land even fewer than other provinces. With no prosperous industries, and no noteworthy figures emerging from it, its very existence was oft forgotten; when Cangzhou was mentioned, people would scratch their heads and only after a while recall where it lay, let alone its subordinate counties.

Leaving Qiuchuan behind, the countryside outside was mostly verdant mountains, or else barren fields of drifting sand. The scenery, monotonous after a while, bred boredom. Fortunately, Shen Qinghe had thought ahead—he commissioned a small, travel-sized mahjong set. After all, Dan Bowen had to remain at the academy, Xu Lang had gone with another to Jiaozhou, so he only brought Gao Rong and You Luo, with Xue Bufan—making four, perfect for a table.

They learned the rules quickly, and within two games they were already deep into it. By the time Nanhong lifted the carriage curtain, the four of them had scraps of paper stuck across their faces, lost in play. Amused, Nanhong murmured: “My lords, we’ve arrived.”

The provincial capital was set in Chaoping County. Shen Qinghe remembered that back when he first took office, the Cangzhou Governor had sent him a letter—ordinary words of comfort. At the time, he had offended many, been relegated, those who didn’t kick him further only mocked. Compared against that, the governor had seemed decent enough.

Chaoping County’s people were simple and honest. Warm summer breezes curled at their sides as they stepped off the carriage.

At that instant, something he had long forgotten resounded—the voice of the system.

【Sub-Quest Activated: Smooth in All Directions. The whole world are brothers—who will be your fellow traveler? In officialdom, one must learn upward networking. Dear Host, quickly find a new ally!】

Shen Qinghe blinked. “I’d nearly forgotten you even assigned quests.”

The system peeked out, gleeful. “Hurry, hurry! A quest, a quest! I thought it would be another ten years before I was called again!”

It had used up its final points earlier this month, and had “died” peacefully, like a gourmand satisfied after a last dessert, returning to raw data form.

If it still had a physical manifestation, it would be clinging shamelessly to his leg right now, begging him to quickly earn points again to rebuild its “golden body.”

“You glutton. If you’d eaten a little less, maybe you’d still have some low-power standby left.”

“What’s the point of being human then? And I did help a lot of tasks for you! No system in existence is bullied as much as I am. Now that I’ve finally squeezed out a sub-quest, you must finish it!”

Shen Qinghe teased, listening to it whine and roll in tantrum, before magnanimously agreeing.

“No one nags a man about performance on the very same day he arrives. This time, you’re helping me carry the load.”

The villain Shen Qinghe!!

Their silent bickering went unnoticed, for just then a runner from the prefecture came to greet them, leading their carriage right through the gates into the official compound. Bowing deeply, he said: “My lord has long awaited you. Please, this way to the main hall.”

Handing over office meant submitting reports of one’s term’s achievements, cases adjudicated, policies carried out—all composed into a dossier, sealed in boxes, for the provincial office to investigate. The review process would take several days.

With Xue Bufan by his side, Shen Qinghe said warmly: “You all wait for me. Eat and drink merrily.”

Then he chuckled. Once, when mentors led meetings, he and his fellow disciples used to sneak into the tea breaks. Now, someone else would play the academic scavenger.

The two entered the grand hall, a servant lifting their wooden boxes. The chamber was already full—presiding at the highest seat sat the Cangzhou Governor, Gongyang Ci, dressed in deep-green robes, upright and dignified. He was only in his thirties, beardless, refined, and youthful in manner.

Qiuchuan lay in the farthest reaches, so Shen Qinghe was the last to arrive. As soon as he stepped in, Gongyang Ci set down his cup and beckoned:

“Commandant Shen has come! Come, sit.”

“Greetings to you all.” Shen Qinghe saluted before going straight to a front seat on the left.

The gathered county governors exchanged looks. Previously, Qiuchuan’s commandant was always placed at the lowest seat. Why the reversal now? And they noticed the files—an entire heavy chest! Their eyes widened.

In Cangzhou, bereft of superiors to lead, there were rarely any good tasks assigned. To produce striking achievements was near impossible; more done meant more mistakes made. At best, after three years one might pad the records a little. Yet even so, few could fill half such a chest of reports.

They inspected him. Naturally, they assumed—he must be from an influential family. This explained it. They sneered inwardly. With such connections, why accept a bitter posting in Cangzhou? Next year he’d surely be transferred out.

But Gongyang Ci gestured for the chest to be stored in the archives. Then, smiling to all, he said: “Don’t judge this young man by his age—his governance is exceptional. Not to mention anything else, his county’s tax revenues are always submitted first and in full. The rest of you could learn from him.”

Shen Qinghe only smiled, accepting the praise. The chest contained nothing more than the small matters—Qiuchuan’s major industries he had reported directly to the throne. Three years of busyness, tossed together, naturally filled the box.

Even Xue Bufan had a small desk at his side, sitting companionably. Originally, everyone had thought he ought to have filled Qiuchuan’s post. Yet now that another had been planted there, surprisingly he seemed unbothered.

While others observed him, Shen Qinghe too sized them up.

Cangzhou consisted of five or six counties. The others were all fellow county governors, clad in the same stone-blue uniform. But his robes gleamed new, patterns bright. Their garments, despite careful upkeep, were clearly faded, worn soft, lacking crispness—old clothes.

Clearly, their days were rough.

Cut off from the empire’s center, and separated by roads long and harsh, the counties had little opportunity for factional entanglements. Even Gongyang Ci appeared relaxed—only nodding occasionally to others’ words. This was a body of fellow workers; you good, me good, everyone simply coexisting.

In their talk, Shen Qinghe gleaned more. Most in Cangzhou had risen by seniority, not connection. Few had powerful clans at their backs.

If there were no entrenched local magnates—could Qingbei Academy not also take root here?

Once the tone was clear, Shen Qinghe slipped easily into their conversations. At first suspicious, the others expected lofty arrogance from a “nobleman’s son.” But instead, he was approachable, able to contribute on any subject. Soon, they found themselves agreeing with his words, warming toward him, lessening their guard.

Yet, despite their flush of camaraderie, the system did not react.

Apparently mere casual talk was not “making friends.”

He recalled the quest text carefully.

It wasn’t just networking—it said “upward networking.”

But hadn’t he corresponded as penpal with the emperor himself these past three years? How much higher could he climb?

The system murmured: “…Maybe it only counts from when the quest started…”

Glancing at his serene superior, Shen Qinghe began calculations.

The semi-official meeting adjourned, and Shen Qinghe gained several promises of exchanging name cards. As he returned to his rooms, he was stopped by the prefectural adviser.

“My lord says he felt instant affinity with you, and invites you alone to tea.”

“Affinity?” Shen Qinghe chuckled. “Very well, I’ll go.”

But Xue Bufan caught him aside, whispering: “It’s Gongyang Ci. I’ve dealt with him before. Came up in the old rank system, only to middle rank. Later by fortune married a girl of the Wei clan. He’s decent, no filthy reputation.”

“Wei clan? From the Five Surnames and Seven Clans*²?”

“Yes.”

Shen Qinghe raised a brow. “I’d heard the aristocratic women never marry out of their families? Even to imperial kin they choose carefully.”

“I don’t know. Maybe she insisted to marry him.” Xue Bufan shrugged. The marriage had been scandalous at the time—his own female kin had discussed it, overheard by him. “I did hear the lady is frail, rarely mixing with her birth family since marriage.”

Whether she stayed away by choice or was shunned—who knew?

Shen Qinghe tucked that note away, bumping elbows with his companion and curling an arm around his neck. “Brother, you’re good to me. When I have good tidings, you’ll hear first.”

Xue Bufan disliked such physical closeness, swatting the hand from his shoulder with a side-eye. “What good tidings will you ever have? Just don’t cause trouble.”

“Ha! I’m your superior, Xue! You’d rebel against the constellations themselves?”

Xue Bufan ignored him.

The adviser, unaccustomed to such banter, watched two officials like sworn brothers. When Shen Qinghe glanced, the adviser hurried a laugh: “Please, this way.”

The courtyard was deep; winding paths lined with bamboo groves. No gaudy luxury, only neat, rustic elegance.

“Lord Shen has arrived,” called the adviser, ushering him within.

Shen Qinghe brushed aside a bamboo leaf. Gongyang Ci sat in the courtyard, his green official robes replaced by a pale robe with broad sleeves, inner layers of azure and white, outer veil of translucent gauze. A silken sash trailed freely, scholar-like and refined.

“No need for formality. Sit,” Gongyang Ci said softly. His tone was not the warm “instant affinity” described.

“I’ve heard your ancestry is from Zhuozhou. I too hail from Zhuozhou.”

“My father served as Prefect there. To my shame, I remember little of the place.”

The governor nodded. “I hear you quelled the famine refugee crisis in Changzhou back in the capital. Remarkable.”

“Only fair, only fair.”

Shen Qinghe could not read him. Neither cordial, nor cold—always kept at a gauzy distance.

Just then, delicate footsteps approached through the hall. Gongyang Ci immediately sat straighter.

A lady entered in dazzling attire, a golden lotus crown upon her head, arched brows painted dark, cheeks touched with rouge—like some celestial maiden.

It had been long since Shen Qinghe had seen such finery. Though splendid, her lips were pale, and an aura of frailty poured from her furrowed brows. Could this be the Lady Wei herself?

How odd. She seemed so much like…

…a patient with heart disease?

Footnotes:

1. Commandant (郡守): The administrative governor of a county/commandery during imperial bureaucracy. Equivalent to a chief civil officer. 
2. Five Surnames, Seven Clans (五姓七望): A collective of ultra-high aristocratic families in medieval Chinese dynasties (e.g., Wei, Wang, Cui). They were famed for closed aristocratic marriage circles, rarely marrying outside their lineage, let alone to commoners.