Starting with a Wei Wu soldier

Chapter 290 Hidden Crisis

The 23rd day of the ninth month in the fourth year of the Qiming era. Autumn Equinox.

Outside Bianzhou city, on the boundless fields, golden ears of grain bent the stalks low, rustling in the wind like flowing pieces of gold. Farmers were busy harvesting, sickles flashing, bundles of grain piling up, their shouts, laughter, and the neighing of cattle and horses blending together.

Chen Xing stood on the edge of the field, gazing at the bustling scene, but his brows furrowed slightly.

"Your Majesty," the accompanying Vice Minister of Revenue leaned closer, pointing to a field in the distance that had been harvested exceptionally neatly, "that's the official land in the pilot area for the equal-field system. They used the newly made curved-shaft plow from the Directorate of Works, which is 30% faster than the old plow. This year's harvest is more than 20% higher than before the pilot program."

Chen Xing nodded without saying a word.

Beside him, Murong Mingyue whispered, "Is something troubling Your Majesty?"

Chen Xing was silent for a moment, then suddenly asked, "Zitong, look at the grains in this field, aren't they beautiful?"

Murong Mingyue followed his gaze and saw the golden ears of grain gleaming warmly in the sunlight, with farmers busily moving among them—it was indeed a scene of abundant harvest.

"It looks good," she said.

Chen Xing nodded, then shook his head.

"I'm watching too. But what I'm looking at isn't just the grain."

He paused, then lowered his voice:

"I'm watching to see who will end up with these grains."

The prefect of Bianzhou, surnamed Zheng and named Tong, was one of the most outstanding local officials since the implementation of the Equal-Field System. Last year, he piloted the "Equalization of Land Tax and Poll Tax" in Bianzhou, surveying the land and uncovering more than 3,000 mu of land that had been hidden by powerful families, which was then redistributed to landless farmers. Bianzhou ranked among the top in the performance evaluation reported by the Ministry of Revenue.

Zheng Tong is forty-five years old this year. He has thick eyebrows, big eyes, a loud voice, and is decisive in his work. He accompanied Chen Xing for a whole morning on the ridges of the fields, talking endlessly about the achievements of land redistribution and tax reform, his words full of pride.

"Your Majesty, I dare say that in Bianzhou today, eight out of ten farming families are able to eat their fill. Last winter, not a single person froze or starved to death. This spring, more than three hundred households of refugees have returned from their famine..."

Chen Xing listened, nodding occasionally, but never spoke.

At noon, Zheng Tong invited Chen Xing to have lunch at the prefectural government office. Chen Xing waved his hand and said, "Let's eat here on the edge of the field."

Zheng Tong was stunned, but quickly recovered and ordered someone to bring over a few stools and several large rough porcelain bowls, which were filled with some simple food.

Chen Xing held his bowl and ate a few mouthfuls of brown rice with pickled vegetables. Murong Mingyue sat beside him, also holding the same bowl, eating leisurely.

Zheng Tong stayed by his side, not daring to say anything.

Halfway through the meal, Chen Xing suddenly asked, "Prefect Zheng, are the powerful local tyrants in Bianzhou still causing trouble?"

Zheng Tong was taken aback, then replied, "Your Majesty, it did cause trouble at first. When the land was being surveyed, some people blocked the government office and cursed at me, some threw manure into my house, and some even submitted a joint petition accusing me of being a cruel official who preyed on the local people. But I had the court's backing, so I wasn't afraid of them. After a few incidents, no one paid any attention, and it all calmed down."

Chen Xing nodded and asked again, "Now that things have calmed down, does that mean you've really given up?"

Zheng Tong remained silent for a moment, then said carefully, "Whether they submit or not, I dare not say. But that's enough that they dare not openly cause trouble now."

Chen Xing looked at him, his gaze deep.

"Prefect Zheng, remember this—when things are turbulent, it's easy to see who's friend and who's foe. But when things are calm, it's hard to tell who's friend and who's foe, and that's when it's most difficult."

Zheng Tong was stunned, cold sweat beading on his forehead.

"Your Majesty... Your Majesty will remember."

As evening fell, Chen Xing and his party checked into a post station outside Bianzhou City.

The post station was small, consisting of only three courtyards. Chen Xing lived in the main house in the back courtyard, Murong Mingyue lived in the east wing, and Su Xiaoxiao, Lin Wan'er, and Lan Fenghuang lived in the west wing. Guards stood watch at each location, maintaining strict security.

As night fell, Chen Xing sat under the lamp, flipping through the account books of Bianzhou submitted by the Ministry of Revenue. The account books were thick, the records were detailed, the numbers were clear, and there were no problems to be found.

But he always felt that something was wrong.

A soft knock came from outside the door.

"Come in."

The door opened, and Lin Wan'er entered. She was dressed in simple clothes and carrying a stack of manuscripts.

"Your Majesty," she said softly, "these are some folk songs that I copied down in Bianzhou City today. Would you... like to take a look?"

Chen Xing took it and examined it closely under the light.

Those folk songs were written in dialect, the language was rough, but the meaning was clear. Some praised the equal distribution of land, some lauded the new emperor, and some... but they all carried an indescribable meaning.

One of them reads:

"Equal distribution of land, equal distribution of land, the government owns the land. The poor are given land, the rich are forced to pay compensation. Paying compensation is fine, all we ask for is peace. If peace is not found, another year will come."

Chen Xing stared at it for a long time, then looked up and asked, "Where did this come from?"

Lin Wan'er said in a low voice, "I took a walk in the city today. At a tea stall in the West Market, I heard someone singing. The singer was an old farmer. Everyone around laughed, but no one said anything."

Chen Xing paused for a moment, then asked, "Anything else?"

Lin Wan'er hesitated for a moment, then handed over another piece of paper.

There were only four sentences on it:

"When the Bian River is clear, the Bian River is muddy. When it's clear, officials come to collect grain; when it's muddy, officials come to collect bones."

Chen Xing stared at the four sentences, remaining silent for a long time.

"Wan'er," he finally spoke, "what do you think these words mean?"

Lin Wan'er pondered for a moment and said, "Your Majesty, I dare not presume to speculate. But I believe... folk songs, though rough, are often the most straightforward. There is resentment in these words."

"What are you complaining about?"

"The complaints are... that although the equal distribution of land is good, when it is handled by officials, there are bound to be those who are greedy, embezzle, or show favoritism. The complaints are that although the tax reform reduced the number of categories, local governments created new categories, which only confused the people more. The complaints are... that the court's good intentions often turn out differently when they reach the local level."

Chen Xing nodded without saying a word.

Lin Wan'er hesitated for a moment, then said, "Your Majesty, I have another matter to report."

"explain."

"Today at the tea stall, I met someone. He was dressed like a merchant, but his speech and mannerisms were unlike those of an ordinary merchant. He asked me where I was from. I said I was a traveling merchant from Jiangnan. He then asked what I thought of the equal land distribution and tax reform. I gave him a few perfunctory answers, and he didn't press me further."

Chen Xing frowned slightly.

"What did that person look like?"

"He was in his early forties, of medium build, with a short beard, and spoke with a slight Hokkien accent. His eyes... his eyes were very bright, and when he looked at people, it was as if he could see right through them."

Chen Xing was silent for a moment, then suddenly asked, "Wan'er, what kind of person do you think that is?"

Lin Wan'er shook her head: "I can't guess. But I feel... something's not right about him."

At midnight, Chen Xing was still sitting under the lamp.

Murong Mingyue brought in a bowl of hot soup and gently placed it on the table.

"Your Majesty, it's late, you should rest."

Chen Xing shook his head and pointed to the stack of folk songs on the table.

"Zitong, look at this."

Murong Mingyue took it and flipped through the pages one by one. When she saw the poem "The Bian River is clear, the Bian River is muddy," her hand paused slightly.

"this……"

"You also think it's not right, don't you?" Chen Xing looked at her.

Murong Mingyue nodded, then shook her head.

"I can't explain it. But I feel that these folk songs don't sound like something ordinary people would casually sing."

Chen Xing's gaze sharpened: "What do you mean?"

Murong Mingyue pointed at the song "Bian River Clear": "These lines are too neat. Ordinary people singing folk songs, how could they have such neat verses? It's more like... someone deliberately made it up for the people to sing."

Chen Xing was silent for a moment, then suddenly laughed.

There was no joy in that smile, only a knowing acceptance.

"I knew it," he said. "Those powerful figures didn't dare to cause trouble openly, so they used another method."

Murong Mingyue was taken aback: "Your Majesty means..."

Chen Xing stood up and walked to the window. The moonlight outside was like water, spilling into the courtyard of the inn, casting a cool, clear glow.

"They had the people sing these folk songs, directing their resentment towards the imperial court. The equal distribution of land and tax reform were clearly good things, but they turned them into bad things by singing them. The people didn't understand the intricacies of the stories, but after hearing them so many times, they naturally started to believe them."

He turned around and looked at Murong Mingyue.

"Zitong, you just said that there was resentment in those words. You're right. But that resentment wasn't necessarily all directed at the court. Some was directed at the officials in charge, some at the powerful and influential, and some was just grumbling. But because of these people's rhetoric, all the resentment has become directed at the new policies."

Murong Mingyue frowned as she listened.

"So... what should we do?"

Chen Xing did not answer immediately. He walked back to the desk, picked up the stack of folk songs, and read them again.

"Investigate," he said. "Send people to investigate where these folk songs came from. Once you find them, follow the trail and see who's behind them."

He paused.

"But we mustn't alert them. I want to see what they're up to."

On September 24, Chen Xing and his party left Bianzhou and continued their journey eastward.

Zheng Tong escorted him for thirty li, bowing repeatedly. Chen Xing simply nodded and said nothing more.

Inside the carriage, Chen Xing closed his eyes to rest, gently tapping his knees with his fingers.

Murong Mingyue sat to the side, looking at him, wanting to say something, but held back.

After a long silence, Chen Xing suddenly spoke:

"Zitong, tell me, have I done the right things all these years?"

Murong Mingyue was taken aback, not expecting him to ask that.

"His Majesty is certainly right. The equal distribution of land, the imperial examination system, tax reform, road construction, opening markets… aren't all these benevolent policies that benefit the people?"

Chen Xing shook his head, without opening his eyes.

"Good governance is not necessarily right. Right governance may not be successful. And successful governance may not be able to continue."

He opened his eyes and looked out the window at the endless fields.

"What I'm worried about isn't opposition. What I'm worried about are those who outwardly support me but secretly sabotage me. They don't make a fuss, they don't argue, they don't rebel, they just quietly... turn my good intentions into their own selfish interests."

Murong Mingyue was silent for a moment, then said softly:

"Your Majesty, I remember that on the eve of your ascension to the throne, you stood alone in the Ganlu Palace for a long time. At that time, I asked you what you were thinking about, and you said that you were thinking about how to proceed in the future."

Chen Xing nodded.

Murong Mingyue continued:

"The road back then was the road to war, the road to killing. If you won, you won. The road now is the road to governing the world, the road to not killing. If you win, you don't really win; if you lose, you are doomed."

She paused.

"But someone has to walk this road. If you don't, someone else will. If you walk it well, those who come after you will be able to walk it more smoothly. If you don't walk it well, those who come after you can still see from your footprints where there are pits and bumps."

Chen Xing looked at her, his gaze softening.

"Zitong, you're getting better and better at talking."

Murong Mingyue smiled slightly but did not reply.

The carriage continued eastward. Outside the window, the autumn sun shone on the fields, turning them golden.

In the distance, the outline of a city can be vaguely seen.

That's the next stop—Yangzhou.