Chapter Thirteen: Yan Fangzheng’s Dilemma

The Qin Residence at Chengqing Alley.

“Hiss…” Zhu Cilang immersed both hands into the medicinal water. The dull ache and weakness filled his arms, the soreness from shoulders to elbows surging up all at once, making him draw in a sharp breath.

Beside him, the chief attendant, who had been busy preparing the medicine, glanced at Zhu Cilang’s reddened, swollen fingers and the pained expression on his face. His own voice wavered with concern, almost to the point of tears. “Your Highness, My Lord, Crown Prince—Her Ladyship especially instructed us to care for your health. It’s only been a single day at the Ministry of Revenue, and already you’re so worn out. If this goes on, what will become of you? I’ve managed plenty a troop of monkey brats in my day, and I know this for what it is—those brazen fools are clearly making things hard for you. Your Highness, just say the word, and I’ll take some men to the Ministry and drag those rascals here for you. Do as you wish—vent your anger as you please. But you mustn’t torment yourself so, My Lord!”

As he spoke, Si En actually fell to his knees, his voice breaking into genuine tears.

Zhu Cilang’s fingers still throbbed, so he could only lift Si En by the arms, forcing a wry smile. “Chief Attendant, do even you doubt my path in the Ministry? This little hardship is nothing—hardly cause for such an uproar. If I let you do as you say, by tomorrow the Crown Prince of Great Ming would be the laughingstock of the land.”

At these words, Si En opened his mouth, hesitated, then said, “Then must Your Highness endure this again tomorrow? I heard you say the Left and Right Battalions of the Five Military Camps have accounts piled up like a small mountain. When will it end? How can Your Highness risk yourself so? Might as well let this old servant find some seasoned accountants to do the work at home.”

Zhu Cilang shook his head. “The court regards the ledgers as confidential. Not a single page can leave the office.”

“This old servant is useless, unable to share Your Highness’s burdens—such a crime.” Si En hung his head in dismay.

Zhu Cilang, however, smiled with undiminished optimism. “Chief Attendant, did not the Second Sage say: ‘When Heaven entrusts a man with great responsibilities, it first tries his resolve, exhausts his sinews and bones, starves his body, deprives him, and frustrates his actions, so as to strengthen his will and temper his character, increasing what he lacks’? This little test, I can still bear. Be at ease—how could I, Crown Prince of the realm, be truly thwarted by such petty men?”

His words rang out with such conviction that Si En was left utterly speechless.

“Ah—hiss…” Zhu Cilang clenched his fist for emphasis, trying to reinforce his point, but accidentally pressed a sore spot. All his bravado vanished in an instant. “Let’s just keep soaking in the medicine.”

As chief attendant to the Crown Prince, Si En was indeed capable. Even without relying on royal authority, the medicine he prepared himself was remarkably effective.

By the next day, as Zhu Cilang resumed his accounting, the pain and swelling in his fingers had lessened by nearly eighty percent.

At home, Zhu Cilang might speak with lofty confidence, but in truth, there was no such thing as true kingly authority here. The abacus clattered restlessly, yet in the office of the Yunnan Department, filled with the sound of counting, Zhu Cilang’s presence was utterly unremarkable.

While others worked in groups of three or five, racing through their ledgers, Zhu Cilang’s progress began to lag swiftly behind. After three days, when the others had already breezed through a third or more of their accounts, Zhu Cilang had managed to reduce his pile by only a tenth.

Though, for a single person, his speed matched that of a seasoned veteran, the sheer volume of the capital’s military accounts was enough to make anyone dizzy.

It was as expected. When Inspector Chen Gaowen made his rounds and passed by Zhu Cilang’s desk, he let out a cold snort that seemed to chill the entire room.

Chen Gaowen strode to the head of the hall, cleared his throat, and all the clerks immediately rose to attention.

The clerks of the Ministry of Revenue operated in organized teams, each led by their respective supervisors, forming ranks at the inspector’s command.

Zhu Cilang massaged his aching fingers, looking blankly at the assembled ranks, unsure where he belonged.

Within the crowd, Lin Guchong and Wang Rui glanced at the absent-minded Zhu Cilang and snorted derisively.

Zhu Cilang looked across the unfamiliar, indifferent faces. Even Xie Yi, who had kindly lent him an abacus, gave only a fleeting glance before turning away.

With no other choice, Zhu Cilang placed himself at the very end of the line, though not a single person stood before him.

Chen Gaowen’s long, stern face grew even more forbidding as he surveyed the crowd. No one dared utter a sound, all awaiting his orders.

“This audit leaves no room for leniency. The Grand Minister of Agriculture demands utmost precision—any carelessness, and I will not hesitate to lay the rod upon you. In ten days, I expect every one of you to have finished your accounts. Any who fall behind will be whipped until your flesh splits. Fail your duties, and do not blame me for showing no mercy as I cast you out of the Yunnan Department!”

“We obey, Inspector!” the crowd answered in unison.

“Dismissed!”

The assembly quickly dispersed, but the sharp-eyed noticed Zhu Cilang’s slow steps and vacant stare.

March 15th, fifteenth year of Chongzhen’s reign—the fifth day since Zhu Cilang became a clerk in the Ministry of Revenue—before the gates of the Qin Residence in Chengqing Alley, East City.

Si En, standing alone as doorman, wore a stern expression as he watched the alley warden, Yan Lu, approach with hesitant steps. He guessed that news of Zhu Cilang’s situation at the Ministry had already spread.

The clerks of the Ministry were largely dominated by men of Zhejiang, their positions often inherited from father to son—unlike the civil service examinations of later eras. Even if the Ministry truly lacked staff, they would simply summon the sons of established families to fill the roles. Thus, for an outsider like Zhu Cilang to enter was a rare and curious thing.

Yan Lu, the alley warden, held a position akin to a modern-day township chief—especially under the emperor’s nose, and thus was well-informed. It was only natural for him to have learned of Zhu Cilang’s difficulties at the Ministry.

Having heard of Zhu Cilang’s appointment, Yan Lu had been enthusiastic, eager to befriend such a promising and potentially wealthy neighbor. Even neighborhood banquets were organized with meticulous care. But once he learned that Zhu Cilang had offended his superiors and colleagues upon entering the Ministry, Yan Lu’s outlook darkened, convinced that Zhu Cilang’s prospects were bleak and that he would soon be forced to resign. He even heard that Zhu Cilang’s predicament had become the subject of gambling in the local dens—a thousand taels wagered, with the odds so low that few believed in his success.

As a result, Yan Lu’s attitude toward Zhu Cilang cooled considerably. Yet today, recalling the one-tael commission per craftsman that Zhu Cilang had promised, his heart was once again stirred by the prospect of profit.

Seeing Yan Lu hesitate, Si En, inwardly resentful, decided to break the stalemate. He stepped forward and called out, “Warden Yan, are you here to see my young master? Today is a rest day for the Ministry—my master is at home. Just yesterday he instructed me that he would seek you out, and our household has already prepared the materials for making rare items. We’re just waiting for you to bring the craftsmen so that work can begin!”