Chapter 119: Conflict

The old man’s rambling words made Di Ying’s eyelids twitch.

He adjusted the old man on his back and asked, seemingly nonchalant, "Grandfather, when those scoundrels commit their wicked deeds, why doesn't the local government step in?"

"Step in? How can they?" The old man sighed. "Young man, you don't understand our Ningzhou region. It's home to many ethnic minorities. There are Hui people like us, as well as Tibetans, Tu, Uyghurs, Kazakhs, Manchu, Mongols, Bao'an, Zhuang, Salar, Koreans, and many others. In these parts, the word of you Han officials doesn't hold much weight."

"You have no idea—they start brawling at the slightest provocation. I fought in my younger days, too, and my body still bears the scars of it. Later, seeing the number of people dwindle, I lost the heart for it. But my sons went anyway, and for the sake of something as trivial as a fart, they lost their lives, leaving me an old man all alone. Young man, I don't fear being overheard; I'm at this age, and death is just death. I only wish for a fine young man like you to not stay in this place. Leave—go far away and live a good life."

Di Ying listened, only shaking his head in silence. Ethnic tensions were always a monumental issue within the empire. Where people live together, friction and conflicts of varying sizes inevitably arise. Countless wars have been ignited by clashes of faith and ethnic discord. Looking at the mountain path beneath his feet, Di Ying knew that to govern Ningzhou well, he first had to figure out how to gather these ten fingers into a single fist.

The previous governor of Ningzhou had essentially been coasting. He never involved himself in anything, never harmed the people, and by acting as a "peaceful official," he was promoted to the Ministry of Revenue once his term ended. Di Ying had no interest in being that kind of official. To live a life without accomplishment is no better than being a blade of grass.

Just then, the sound of rapid hoofbeats approached from behind. Di Ying turned to see Peng Liang catching up.

After dismounting, Peng Liang took the old man onto his own back and said to Di Ying, "The Luan family is fine and safe. They are heartbroken to hear that Luan Chao is dead, but I couldn't learn anything from them. They said Luan Chao rarely came home and never brought friends or colleagues for them to meet. However, they lived quite comfortably, so I asked about that. They said it was all money Luan Chao brought back. How he got it or where it came from, they had no idea. They said that whenever they pressed him, Luan Chao would explain that it was a reward from his superiors for handling his official duties well. They believed him. I asked if Luan Chao had any enemies, but they shook their heads, saying they didn't know. Luan Chao hardly ever talked to them about his own affairs."

Di Ying remained silent for a long time. It seemed Luan Chao cared deeply for his family and protected them well, but this undoubtedly made the case much more difficult. Now, with Luan Chao dead, they could only wait to see what Zhao San and the others might uncover. There should still be hope; after all, the time between Luan Chao’s interrogation and his death was very short—less than an hour—and he had shown no signs of abnormality beforehand. This meant that within that short window, someone had threatened Luan Chao, forcing him to slit his own throat. There must be clues; what is done cannot be undone.

As Di Ying and Peng Liang spoke, the old man suddenly asked, "Luan Chao? That interpreter Luan? Is he dead? Well, I suppose bad people eventually get what’s coming to them."

Di Ying immediately pressed, "Grandfather, you knew him?"

"I did," the old man nodded. "He was of our Hui people, too. In the nearby villages, forts, and hamlets, there were a few who couldn't speak or hear, and he would take them away. Once he took them, they did evil things. Their heads were eventually chopped off—I saw it with my own eyes. After that, I wouldn't let him near us again. I even led people to settle the score with him, but he called the guards to beat us. He wasn't a good man. Sigh, every nationality has its good and its bad."

The old man sighed heavily, his chin bumping into Peng Liang’s shoulder. Fortunately, Di Ying quickly reached out to cushion the impact. Seeing this, the old man smiled sheepishly, a hint of a blush appearing on his weathered face, which was covered in brown spots like tree bark. He patted the young man's shoulder and apologized profusely.

Peng Liang comforted him, "Grandfather, I'm sturdy. Feel free to bump into me; it doesn't hurt."

"You are both good men, such fine young men," the old man mused, adding once more, "I can see you're from out of town—hurry away, go somewhere else and live a good life."

"No rush; let us get you home first," Di Ying said, changing the subject.

The seven or eight miles were not far. As they spoke, the clustered dwellings of Liu Village became visible among the terraced mountain fields. The old man pointed and said happily, "We're there, almost there. I'm a bit heavy; I’ve troubled you. I have two sheep; you must take one with you when you leave."

"I can't carry a sheep, but I can carry you," Peng Liang quipped.

The joke made the old man laugh, but his smile froze abruptly. Not far ahead, on the ridge between the terraced fields, two groups of men were arguing. They held hoes and shovels, their faces flushed with rage, clearly on the verge of a brawl.

The old man pointed and said, "Young man, please carry me over there. I have to go and talk them out of it; they mustn't fight."

Peng Liang quickened his pace, while Di Ying began to jog. As they approached the ridge, the two leaders were already shoving each other. The old man shouted with all his might, "Liu Quan! Suohulang! Stop this at once!"

Hearing the old man's voice, the middle-aged men, Liu Quan and Suohulang, both stepped back. Seeing the old man on someone's back, Liu Quan asked urgently, "Uncle, what happened? Why are you being carried?"

The old man glared at him and signaled for the young man to set him down, then turned to Suohulang and asked, "Suohulang, is it you who started this again today?"

How could Suohulang admit to that? He grabbed his thick beard and retorted, "Uncle Liu, you judge this fairly. The field on the left of this ridge belongs to your Hui village, Liu Village, and the one on the right belongs to our Tu fort, Suo Fort, right? The mountain stream is in the middle; whichever side needs water opens the sluice gate. But look here—today it was our turn to use the water, yet you went ahead and blocked it and even stationed men here to guard it! How are we supposed to farm? Is there any sense of justice left?"