Chapter 0062: Finding the Meaning of Officialdom, Advancing with Down-to-Earth Steps
The flood control methods for the Min River left the scholars in deep reflection, even sparking a newfound curiosity about nature.
How were mountains formed? Where did water come from? Why did winds blow in different directions? Why did lightning appear before thunder during storms?
Why could some eggs hatch into chicks while others couldn’t? Why could some crops only be planted in spring? Was there any way to make them grow year-round?
Were there any soil-loosening tools that could make farming easier for peasants? Or irrigation tools that could simplify watering? Were there methods to make soil more fertile?
As the scholars pondered these questions, they suddenly realized that the classics had only taught them self-cultivation, family regulation, state governance, and bringing peace to the world—making them hold their heads high to look down upon and reject those they deemed vile and lowly.
Yet they hadn’t been taught what the common people—who formed families, counties, cities, and supported the entire Jian’an Dynasty—truly needed.
They needed tangible fertile soil, labor-saving farming tools, stone houses that neither leaked nor flooded, and means to ward off winter’s cold.
While civil and military officials stirred storms in the court and pacified the realm, these local officials should instead focus on practically studying geography, phenology, and mathematics to improve outdated living tools.
Only when each level of government fulfilled its duties could true welfare be brought to the people.
This was the true meaning of holding office.
Many scholars felt this journey had been immensely rewarding, as if they had discovered the purpose of learning. Some grew curious about the talented individual named “Li Bing”—who exactly was he?
They longed to consult him about geography and phenology, broadening their knowledge for future public service.
Yet despite thorough inquiries and meeting many villagers named Li Bing, none turned out to be the expert they sought.
With such talent and generosity in sharing Min River’s flood control methods, he shouldn’t be petty—so why did he remain elusive?
Did Li Bing truly exist?
As the scholars speculated, the weather turned colder, heralding the harsh winter. With their savings nearly depleted and the Spring Examination approaching, they could only regretfully begin their journey home.
Hearing of their departure, Xie Chengze specially funded a farewell banquet at the inn.
Seated at Bian Yangchun’s table, Chengze drank and chatted merrily with the scholars. His striking appearance, generous demeanor, and frequent appearances beside Governor Liang had left a deep impression. Even knowing he was a merchant’s son from Yuzhou, no one looked down on him; instead, they conversed warmly.
Upon learning that Zhu Xiaobiao was his servant and Jing Ze his sponsored scholar, the scholars exchanged meaningful glances, teasingly probing, “Brother Cheng, could you be Li Bing?””
Otherwise, why couldn’t they find this Li Bing?
“Hahahaha, you all overestimate me. I’m just a pleasure-seeking dandy who enjoys traveling and sightseeing.” Xie Chengze waved his hand with a bitter smile, denying the claims. “I know you’re all looking for Lord Li, but he truly has unavoidable difficulties preventing him from meeting your expectations, dear friends.”
After all, that was a historical figure from his own world.
The scholars didn’t press further, assuming Lord Li must be seriously ill, and said, “We only hope Lord Li Bing remains in good health and continues to bring prosperity to our Jian’an.”
After three rounds of drinks, the scholars finally dispersed, returning to their rooms to sleep and dream.
On the way back to the government office, Zhu Xiaobiao asked Xie Chengze, “Your Highness, why don’t you admit that you are Li Bing?”
Xie Chengze, having drunk a little, walked as if floating on cotton, his fair cheeks flushed pink. He fanned his heated face with a gold-threaded fan and mumbled, “I told you, I’m not Li Bing.”
“Alright.” Zhu Xiaobiao changed his question. “Then, Your Highness, why don’t you admit that you taught me the flood control methods?”
“Because one should remain humble,” Xie Chengze giggled, tapping Zhu Xiaobiao’s head. “Xiaobiao, Jing Ze, remember this: one must conceal their brilliance and learn to be tactful to survive in the palace…”
“No, no, no…” He shook his head again, feeling as if his head were sloshing with wine, growing increasingly dizzy.
He spoke intermittently, “This only applies to me. You… can become whoever you want to be, because I will protect you.”
“As long as I’m here… I won’t let anyone bully you…”
After saying this, he swayed too much from shaking his head, lost his balance, and stumbled forward.
Zhu Xiaobiao and Jing Ze hurriedly reached out to catch him, but someone was faster.
Zhu Xiaobiao looked up and saw it was Wuhen, one of Xie Chengze’s personal guards.
Wuhen caught the drunken Xie Chengze with his back and then carried him piggyback, walking with steady, silent steps toward the government office.
Zhu Xiaobiao and Jing Ze quickly followed. Zhu Xiaobiao glanced at Wuhen, who wore a black eye veil, and couldn’t help covering his mouth to whisper quietly to Jing Ze, “Jing Ze, how do you think he sees where he’s going with that eye veil on every day?”
Jing Ze shook his head. “I don’t know. Probably only those who know martial arts would understand.”
Zhu Xiaobiao could only nod.
The four returned to the government office and noticed an extra light at the entrance. Looking closer, they saw it was Lord Shen Yuan standing at the door, holding a bright yellow lantern as if waiting for someone.
When the four approached the entrance, Shen Yuan’s gaze lightly fell upon Wuhen’s back. Seeing Xie Chengze fast asleep, he frowned slightly. “What happened?”
“His Highness had a bit too much to drink,” Zhu Xiaobiao quickly explained.
Shen Yuan’s frown deepened.
“Xie Chengze” never drank alcohol because “he” believed it led to trouble—just like women—so he never touched either women or wine.
Well, nor men either.
Shen Yuan silently added this last thought.
If Xie Chengze was “playing the role of Xie Chengze,” he was doing a terribly incompetent job, full of holes and inconsistencies.
Was it because they were now in Yi Province, far from the court’s conflicts, that he could afford to be so unrestrained?
Sighing softly, Shen Yuan entered the government office holding the yellow lantern in his hand, his tone light as he said, “Let’s go, I’ll light the way for you.”
Even in the middle of the night, he didn’t remove that tattered eye veil. Though he knew Wuhen’s eyesight and memory were excellent, and that moderately thick eye veil was somewhat transparent—allowing faint outlines to be seen—it was essentially complete darkness at night.
As for how Shen Yuan knew this… in his previous life, after killing Wuhen, he had deliberately pulled it down to take a look.
Thinking this, Shen Yuan’s footsteps paused slightly again, and a doubt arose in his heart.
If Xie Chengze wasn’t “Xie Chengze,” then why would Wuhen and Wuji follow his orders?
Had they not noticed anything unusual, or…
Was he actually Xie Chengze after all?