Chapter Five: The Great Seed Scandal

Di Ying crouched before an old man weeping bitterly on the ground and spoke gently, trying to reason with him.

"Look, look, what is there left to see? Whose son are you, barging in here to make a scene like this? Are you here to laugh at our misery?"

The old man, seeing that Di Ying was young and that his straw raincoat and clothes were new—nothing like those of a poor farmer’s son—immediately decided he was just another idler come to gawk. Furious, he growled, seized the two catties of grain he was clutching, and hurled them at the young man.

This rice was not sprouting at all; it had soaked for days and was no longer even fit to eat. What was there left to see? If he wanted to look, then let him look to his heart’s content!

Di Ying took the blow full in the face and landed hard on his backside. Yet he did not get angry; he hurriedly caught the sack, opened it, reached inside, and grabbed a handful. After examining it, he fell silent. He put it back, took out another handful, looked again...

After tying the sack back up, he placed it at the old man's feet, rose, and went to consult with others, hoping to examine the rice in their sacks as well.

Some pushed him away, some kicked him, some flung rice in his face, and some spat at him...

Di Ying bore it all, only pleading again and again, humbly begging to take a look.

Some, softening, let him see; others, impatient, simply tossed the sack for him to inspect himself.

For those who had thrown the rice at his face so that it landed on the ground, Di Ying crouched down and examined each grain one by one.

There was nothing good...

No matter whose he looked at, all had been soaked; some had even lost their husks, and none showed any sign of sprouting.

Each sack also contained plenty of small stones and clumps of earth. Every grain of rice was dull and blackened.

These were old grains, their age unknown, sunk and forgotten for years. Even if they hadn’t been soaked, they were no longer fit to eat, much less to plant.

After inspecting dozens of sacks, Di Ying clenched his jaw tightly and turned away, heading for another grain shop.

There was no exception...

It was the season for sowing, the busiest time for farmers, yet crowds gathered at every grain shop’s door, clutching or carrying sacks of seed grain, standing in the rain, each pleading to be heard.

After inspecting a few more, Di Ying returned to his modest courtyard, his face bruised and battered. He locked himself inside and did not emerge.

The attendants who had followed him everywhere, yet had never stepped forward to protect him, exchanged mocking glances and scattered. Some people, they thought, just have to learn the hard way, getting their noses bloodied before they’ll give up. Such folk were truly not worth serving—they’d rather go brew some tea and have a drink themselves.

...

Bingzhou, fertile lands and abundant waterways. Along the river’s edge, wharves large and small bustled as cargo boats came and went, goods loading and unloading in a lively scene. Quarrels were rare.

Soldiers from the Governor’s Office, armed with long spears, patrolled the banks ceaselessly. Some stood guard at either end of the wharves, others lounged in small groups beneath rain shelters.

The only ones who could converse freely with them were bailiffs and garrison troops in the distinctive uniforms of the Prefect’s Office.

At the end of the long stone steps leading from the wharf, in a bustling street, two young men sat beside a second-story window of the largest teahouse, facing the wharf as they sipped their tea at leisure.

It was now late afternoon, and the teahouse was not crowded. Besides these two, only a chubby old man slumbered at the next table, snoring with his back to them.

The two young men paid him no mind and chatted idly.

"Brother Xinggui, how is that new judicial officer in your Governor’s Office? I hear his arm is long—he’s cleared out all the old cases that had piled up over the years. Are you sure you don’t want to rein him in? I’ve lost some of my own people to him, and I believe you have too? If we let him continue unchecked, we’ll all be tightly constrained."

The speaker, a rather presentable young man with slightly slanted eyes, addressed his companion.

The one called Xinggui, whose small eyes gleamed with a hint of menace, chuckled offhandedly. "No need to trouble yourself, Brother Yanbo. Look how much livelier and more prosperous the wharf is than in years past, and you’ll see that no matter what that magistrate does, he won’t be able to meddle too much. He’s only responsible for criminal cases—my father won’t let him interfere in other matters. Still, I admit, his boorish vigor has caused us no end of trouble. You’ve lost some men, and so have we. But the man who recommended him is a heavyweight, someone who’s often in the Emperor’s presence, and has plenty of powerful followers. For now, we simply can’t touch this brute. Fortunately, it’s only small fry we’ve lost—if anything, it makes Bingzhou seem even more peaceful and secure, drawing in more shipping traffic. Isn’t that a fine thing?"

"Brother Xinggui speaks wisely. When trouble arises, you always handle it promptly. Yesterday’s rabble-rousers were quite fierce—my father says you deserve an extra share of the profits this time."

As She Yanbo spoke, he cupped his hands respectfully to Ma Xinggui.

"A mere trifle, not worth mentioning. Tonight, let me host you—we’ll take a pleasure boat and admire the canal scenery."

Ma Xinggui feigned indifference, though pride flickered in his eyes.

"Let little brother handle the arrangements for the rest," She Yanbo quickly replied.

With that, their conversation turned to matters of pleasure and indulgence.

Meanwhile, the chubby old man at the next table finally woke, wiped the drool from his mouth, put on his broad bamboo hat, picked up his walking stick, and left.

Only after slipping out of sight did Di Ying toss aside the stick, tear off the fake beard, and peel away the wrinkled false skin from his face. Shedding a thick outer robe, he grabbed some dust from the ground and smeared it across his face, neck, and hands, then used lime from the wall to whiten his eyebrows and temples.

Thus, the chubby old man transformed into a slightly plump, somewhat aged middle-aged man. As for his girth—Di Ying was naturally a bit stout, a trait he had carried since childhood, unrelated to his diet. In these days, stoutness was considered beautiful, for men and women alike; no one gave it a second thought.

Once he was properly disguised, Di Ying headed straight for the "All-Ways Carriage and Horse Agency" at the north city gate.

For transporting valuables—people or goods—over long distances, one usually hired an armed escort agency. For more ordinary, bulk goods, carriage agencies handled the transport. Despite the name, they also included river transport, and were the most frequent means of trade.

The "All-Ways Carriage and Horse Agency" was not large, employing only a few dozen men, but apart from Bingzhou, it had small branches in three neighboring prefectures.

As soon as Di Ying arrived, still wearing his broad hat, a beaming attendant greeted him.

"Sir, how may I assist you?"

Di Ying did not reply, but placed his right hand over his chest, tucking his thumb into his palm—a gesture as fleeting as it was deliberate.