1627, the seventh year of the Tianqi reign.
Shaanxi Province, Chengcheng County.
Gao Chuwu arrived at the county seat with three young men from the Gao clan.
All four were village lads who had never stepped foot outside Gaojia Village before. The thirty-odd li from home to the county felt like a great expedition. They navigated the trip entirely with the only tool they possessed—sweet tongues—asking anyone they met for directions. They took the wrong path more than once, but their persistent questioning always brought them back on track.
By the time they passed through the city gate, the sun stood dead overhead.
It was noon—scorching, merciless noon—when the air simmered at nearly forty degrees. The four youths were wilted like old eggplants, heads drooping, legs wobbling, spirits evaporated into the heat.
"Chuwu-ge… if we're going to find the county's secretary, we have to go to the yamen, right? I'm scared of yamen officers…"
"I heard the County Magistrate eats people. Whole."
"And the yamen runners too. They say they chew bones like peanuts."
The three youngsters trembled like quails.
Truth be told, Chuwu was just as frightened. A boy who had never gone farther than ten li from home, suddenly standing among towering mansions and stone-paved streets—his knees had been shaking since they left the gate.
He stuck a hand into the cloth bag at his waist and squeezed the chunks of white rice inside—the rations the village elder had slipped them before they left. Each man carried five pieces for emergencies.
The familiar touch steadied him.
"What's there to be scared of? We've got the Heavenly Lord backing us."
The words worked magic. The other three straightened their spines a little, courage leaking back into them like water into a dry sponge.
Using their trusty sweet tongues again, they asked for directions all the way to the county yamen.
And the moment they arrived, they walked straight into a spectacle.
A plump, pale-faced middle-aged scholar stood before the yamen gate, wailing dramatically:
"County Lord! Please don't dismiss me! I've served you with all my heart—my loyalty until death! How can you toss me aside like this? This is the very definition of 'cooking the hare once the hunting dog is no longer needed!'"
He practically shouted the last four characters, complete with theatrical hand-waving.
The guards at the gate shook their heads.
"Mister San, stop crying here. The County Lord said he doesn't want you anymore, so he doesn't want you. Wailing won't change it. Keep at it and you'll be thrown into a cell. Won't that be worse?"
Those words made Gao Chuwu's eyes light up.
"You hear that? They called him Mister San. That must be the one the village elder mentioned—the Magistrate's adviser. San Shier."
The other three gaped.
"The adviser? Crying? Looks like the Magistrate doesn't want him anymore."
Chuwu shrugged.
"Doesn't matter. We just need to bring him back. Keep an eye on him. Once he steps into an alley, we grab him."
He hefted a thick wooden club—picked up on the road that morning.
San Shier's weeping won absolutely no sympathy. Magistrate Zhang Yaocai was already sick of him; the louder he cried, the more annoyed His Honor became. Two yamen runners came out and beat him soundly until his face swelled like a pig's.
Realizing the Magistrate truly wanted him gone, San Shier let out a long, tragic sigh and shuffled away from the yamen. He walked down the street, turned a corner, and slipped into a narrow alley—planning to take a shortcut home.
He had barely taken a few steps when a young man suddenly appeared ahead, holding a big wooden club.
San Shier jumped out of his skin and turned to flee—only to find three more young men blocking the other end of the alley.
His terror multiplied.
One glance at their clothes and he instantly classified them: four poor peasants.
He raised both hands in frantic surrender:
"Don't hit me! I'm on your side! That heavy taxation—that's all the Magistrate's doing, nothing to do with me! I've always advised him against it! I was trying to seek justice for the common folk! Yes! Exactly that!"
Chuwu blinked innocently.
"Really? There's such a thing?"
"Of course!" San Shier babbled. "That's why he dismissed me! Because I spoke for the people! This is called 'martyring oneself for righteousness!'"
Chuwu scratched his head.
"I don't understand a word, but it sounds very scholarly."
"Yes, yes! I am a scholar! You cannot treat a learned man so roughly—put down that club and we can resolve this peacefully! This is called 'ending conflict and restoring harmony!'"
Chuwu grinned.
"Great. We need a scholarly man. Come with us to Gaojia Village."
"Eh? Gaojia Village? W-wait—no! I'm not going! This is called 'marching to—'"
Thwack.
A club smacked the back of his head.
San Shier collapsed without even a grunt.
The young man behind him casually swung the club back onto his shoulder.
"No idea why, but every time he starts reciting things, I want to hit him. Those four-character sayings… what was he even talking about?"
Chuwu nodded vigorously.
"I was thinking the same thing."
Two of them hoisted the unconscious adviser like a rice sack, and the four headed toward the city gate as fast as their legs would take them.
But halfway down the road, a patrol of yamen runners approached. From afar, they saw four muddy peasants carrying a well-dressed man who looked unconscious.
It was a perfect picture of a kidnapping.
One runner shouted, "You four! What are you doing?"
Chuwu's group froze instantly, trembling. Their first instinct: run.
But something unexpected happened.
The lead yamen runner looked closely—then blanched.
"You—aren't you… from Gaojia Village?!"
Chuwu looked again, squinting.
"…Yesterday's yamen runner?"
Indeed.
This was the very officer whom Li Daoxuan had lifted two fingers off the ground like a chick. He'd spent the whole night sleepless, terrified of divine punishment—too frightened to leave the city unless surrounded by comrades.
Behind him stood the other four runners who had been blown into the sky the day before. They, too, looked like men who had stared death in the face and lost.
To suddenly encounter villagers from Gaojia Village—
Had the Heavenly Lord sent inspectors to monitor them?
All five officers turned pale.
Chuwu and the others were equally terrified.
He stammered, "Our… our friend fainted from the sun. We're taking him… to the river… to wash his face."
The five runners bobbed their heads rapidly.
"Y-yes. Go ahead.
Yesterday's… event… we said nothing. Not a word…"
Both parties trembled like leaves in the wind as they carefully passed each other.
The moment they crossed—
The yamen runners bolted.
And Gao Chuwu's group also bolted.
Two groups, running in opposite directions, fleeing for their lives from absolutely nothing.