Jiang Mingxi was calculating in her heart how she should report back to Xiao Zhu.
At first glance, when Xiao Zhu said that Young Master Xiao wanted local records, it seemed like a broad and easy goal to achieve.
But precisely because it was so broad, it was even harder to fulfill.
In her previous life, Jiang Mingxi loved reading newspapers.
As a famously prominent young master among the country’s elite families, Young Master Xiao was always the darling of the press; whether big or small, his affairs could always occupy a section of the newspaper.
So she knew that Young Master Xiao had earned a doctorate from a foreign school, and after returning to the country, he apprenticed himself to several great masters of Chinese studies, becoming a renowned scholar versed in both Chinese and Western learning.
But as someone who could only read a bit of newspaper and was half-illiterate, how could she accurately pick out a book from the vast sea of local records that would move him?
So Jiang Mingxi had never intended to find a book for Young Master Xiao.
Because she had a better option.
In her previous life, a terrible case had occurred in Langling County.
Someone bought some Dragon Bone at the Temple Fair for calming the nerves, and when he decocted medicine a few days later, he discovered some strange symbols on the bone.
He mentioned it offhand to his neighbor as an oddity.
The next day, the man was found dead at home, and the murderer turned out to be his neighbor.
Two years later, the murderer was arrested and the truth finally came out. It turned out that the Dragon Bone had brought disaster upon the victim.
The strange symbols on the Dragon Bone were a type of ancient Chinese character, originating from the legendary Shang Dynasty.
Scholars named it Oracle Bone Script, and it was a highly valuable historical artifact.
When Jiang Mingxi learned of this back then, she was utterly shocked, her heart aching with regret.
Because she, too, had seen such inscribed Dragon Bone at a medicine stall during the Temple Fair, but she’d thought they were defective and would affect the medicine’s efficacy, so she never bought them.
Now, given a second life, Jiang Mingxi naturally would not let this opportunity slip by.
On the fifteenth of every month, Langling County would hold a two-day Temple Fair.
This was the liveliest time of the month in Langling County— not only city folk, but people from neighboring villages would all come to join the festivities.
By her calculations, the victim in her previous life had bought the inscribed Dragon Bone at this very month’s Temple Fair.
The one selling the Dragon Bone was an old farmer from a nearby village, who set up a stall at the Temple Fair every month, selling medicinal herbs and local specialties.
Before leaving home, Jiang Mingxi hesitated for a moment but ultimately changed into her finest attire.
Wearing such clothes to the Temple Fair was like parading as a fat sheep, certain to be fleeced. But wearing ordinary clothes meant risking being stopped by soldiers for a household check.
Jiang Mingxi could only comfort herself: she’d lose a little now, but she’d earn it back a hundredfold from Young Master Xiao later.
Young Master Xiao was so wealthy— just a bit leaking through his fingers would be enough for her to make her fortune.
……
At the intersection before the Temple Fair, Jiang Mingxi stopped in her tracks and frowned.
It was too quiet.
In her memory, the Temple Fair was never this silent.
Quiet business like fortune-telling or selling medicine was one thing, but performances and acrobatics needed the clamor of drums and loud shouting, the noise carrying down the street to draw the crowds.
Jiang Mingxi’s heart tightened.
A vendor pushing a cart of baked flatbread came toward her, looking utterly dejected. Jiang Mingxi quickly asked, “Brother, why are you coming back? Is the Temple Fair over?”
“It’s not over, but it can’t go on either. Lately, public security’s been bad, the Wang family’s searching the whole city for a criminal, and the officials have decided to raise taxes. This morning, before I even opened for business, the Public Security Bureau came to collect extra security fees. Three times today, different bureaus have come, and I’ve had to pay three times.”
The vendor’s face was full of worry. “There are soldiers all over the street today, everyone’s on edge, and hardly anyone’s at the Temple Fair. I’m losing more than I’m earning.”
Jiang Mingxi fell silent, then took out two Copper Coins from her pocket. “Give me a flatbread.”
“Alright.” The vendor forced a smile, but it was lifeless. His eyes were dull and vacant as he deftly wrapped two flatbreads in straw paper.
Jiang Mingxi asked again, “Is Old Huangtou, the medicine seller, still there?”
The vendor sighed, and for a moment, a glimmer of moisture flashed in his well-like eyes. “Old Huangtou couldn’t afford the security fee. The Soldier Commander confiscated his stall. Before I left, Old Huangtou was still kneeling, begging the Soldier Commander for mercy.”
He gritted his teeth, muttering in a voice that was both fearful and self-encouraging, “Just a few more days. As soon as they catch the female bandit who killed Zhang Laoye, we’ll have good days again.”
Watching the vendor’s hunched back as he struggled to pull his cart, Jiang Mingxi felt a surge of anger with nowhere to go.
Was it her fault? Because she killed Zhang Nan?
In her previous life, the Temple Fair was held as usual, without so many miscellaneous taxes.
The vendor should have sold his last flatbread, and Old Huangtou would have packed up and gone home long ago, without needing to kneel and beg.
It was also on this day that the little maid Shen Mingming lay battered and bruised in bed. Miss Shen, risking her own life, finally managed to get a Mongol Doctor who treated livestock.
After examining her, the doctor was surprised to say that her organs were unharmed; it was just a broken right arm and three fractured ribs—she could still live.
“You’re tough to kill,” that half-baked doctor sighed, speaking with a compassion as if he could see the fate of her whole life. “Sometimes, dying is actually a kind of release.”
In the years that followed— when Zhang Nan dragged her by the hair and slammed her head against the wall, when she was sold to a brothel, when people cursed her as a lowlife to her face, when she starved so badly she ate snow, when she lay feverish and alone in a mass grave— Jiang Mingxi thought of death countless times.
But she survived, again and again.
She couldn’t even say clearly what kept her going.
She didn’t particularly want to live. But if she died, she’d feel unwilling, as if she’d conceded defeat.
So, countless times, Jiang Mingxi told herself to endure a little longer, to hang on, that things would get better.
As long as she met a good official.
As long as the taxes were a little less.
As long as there was no more war.
As long as she didn’t get sick.
As long as she worked a little harder and found a new job.
As long as…
Just like the flatbread vendor, Jiang Mingxi once used all those “as long as” to hypnotize herself.
Did any of those “as long as” come true?
Some did.
She worked hard.
When ordinary effort wasn’t enough, she doubled her efforts.
She did manage to change jobs again and again.
But she was still poor.
Because—
As long as she played by the house’s rules, she would never turn her fortunes around.
Because—
In this game, no matter who won or lost, the house always took everything.
The emperor had abdicated, but the old rules still operated.
In a world without an emperor, it was still the predators of the old world who made the rules. The violent moved unimpeded, and every kind of scoundrel had their place.
And the gentle, the kind, the honest, the diligent, the simple— those things Shen Mingming held brightest in her heart— were all fragile and easily destroyed in the face of absolute, cruel, bloody violence that could dictate everything.
Whenever the predators’ knives fell, they would harvest a field of grass. By the next year, new grass would grow again.
They were these endlessly multiplying wretches.
But still—
Jiang Mingxi thought—
Was it only the poor who died?
Death, perhaps, was the only true equality in this world.
So, Shen Mingming died.
And Jiang Mingxi raised her knife.
……
The Temple Fair was now shrouded in a harsh, chilling silence.
A magician, having just paid the management fee, glanced at Old Huangtou being paraded in humiliation not far away. A flash of pity crossed his face.
The soldier collecting money immediately sneered, “What, you feel sorry for him? Then why don’t you pay for him?”
The magician instantly shrank back, silent as a cicada in winter, and scurried off with his head down.
Old Huangtou was still kneeling on the ground.
He had been stripped of his clothes, his chest bare, his hands tied behind his back.
He was already very old.
Wrinkled flesh clung to his bones, looking like a date pit sucked clean, each rib distinct and clear. On those ribs, fresh whip marks stood out.
His head had been smashed open, a swollen bruise rising on his forehead. Blood, mixed with tears and snot, smeared his whole face.
Someone approached.
The heels of their shoes clicked on the ground.
The shoes were polished to a shine, their reflection dazzling Old Huangtou’s eyes.
“Old man, you’re already halfway into the grave. What do you need so much money for? How about this— hand over the money now, and I’ll let bygones be bygones and spare you this time.”
Old Huangtou stared wide-eyed at those shoes.
What fine shoes they were—long boots made of good cowhide, silver-plated spurs gleaming brightly.
“I need to buy my youngest a good pair of shoes,” Old Huangtou mumbled, blood clogging his throat and making a gurgling sound. “I’ve already prepared the coffin and bought the burial clothes— just missing a pair of shoes.”
“Crack!”
The whip came down, slicing through his shriveled flesh like a knife. Old Huangtou jerked forward with a shudder.
“You think your son’s death means you don’t have to pay taxes? Let me tell you— even if your son is dead, even if you die, you still have to pay taxes!”
Old Huangtou rambled on, as if he had a lot to say.
He said his eldest and second sons were killed by foreigners, his wife died of illness, his third daughter died in childbirth, and his youngest— diligent, filial, strong and capable—was his last hope…
“Crack!”
Another lash of the whip.
How could the gentleman in the fine boots have the patience to listen to the endless complaints of a destitute old farmer?
Old Huangtou finally collapsed.
His swollen forehead struck the ground, the splattering hot blood blurring his vision.
He blinked, struggling to see those beautiful boots clearly, his throat full of blood, his voice stained with it, scraping out from his torn throat, “I asked him to buy me a flatbread. On the way, he ran into a dog biting someone. My youngest didn’t know it was Zhang Laoye’s dog, so he picked up a stone and killed it, and Zhang Laoye demanded my son’s life for his dog…”
“You old bastard, stop playing dumb! If you don’t pay the tax, I’ll skin you alive!”
The whip fell like rain.
Old Huangtou lay sprawled on the ground, his torn flesh twitching and writhing like bloodsucking worms crawling over him.
“Why did I want to eat flatbread?” he muttered blankly. “At my age, still greedy— truly shameless…”
He said in a daze, “It’s me who deserves to die.”
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