Why Does Mr. Xie Favor Me? Chapter 3
byChapter 3: Waiting for the River to Run Clear
While all seek his death, I alone cherish his talent
Perhaps due to the Cold Food Powder, Xie Heng slept soundly last night. Early in the morning, he sat alone in his study, his fingertips brushing over the Cangwu Marsh Naval Battle Records on his desk.
Today was the anniversary of the Battle of Cangwu Marsh. The great families in Guzang were holding grand memorial services for the fallen heroes.
Back then, it was his younger brother who led the Beifu Army—which Xie Heng had founded—to repel the northern nomadic cavalry and save the Southern Dynasty. But his brother had sacrificed his life in the process.
“Vice Director, an urgent report from Xudu.”
A personal guard presented a secret letter, his voice kept low.
The letter was a private missive from the Governor of Xudu, the handwriting hurried and anxious. Scions of the Qinghe Cui clan had forcibly seized reclaimed wasteland from refugees, driving three hundred households to protest. A civil uprising was imminent.
Xie Heng set down the letter, his gaze sweeping over the mountain of documents on his desk.
Provisions for the northern expedition, water transport in Jianghuai, and now the conflict between the nobility and refugees—this country was like an old robe covered in patches; no sooner was one hole mended than another seam would rip open.
“Prepare the carriage. We are going to Xudu.”
On the official road to Xudu, the autumn rain had just ceased. Xie Heng’s green-canopied carriage traveled through the mud for days. He deliberately avoided the welcomes and send-offs of the local prefectures, stopping only briefly at post stations to rest.
At every stop, he summoned local farmers to ask about their harvests, a trace of solemnity occasionally flickering in his usually cold eyes.
On the afternoon of the second day, the carriage finally entered the Xudu region.
“Stop.”
Xie Heng said suddenly.
By the ridges of the roadside fields, several ragged farmers were kneeling in the mud, weeping bitterly.
Before them lay a wheat field trampled into a mess by horse hooves, the young seedlings mixed into the sludge, marked by deep wheel ruts.
“What happened?” Xie Heng stepped out of the carriage, oblivious to the mud staining the hem of his black formal robes.
Seeing the jade belt at his waist, an old farmer looked up and kowtowed repeatedly. “Great Lord, please see justice done! The young masters of the Cui family came to hunt the day before yesterday, and their horses ruined all our wheat…”
Xie Heng leaned down to pick up a winter wheat stalk covered in filth. “Is this the wasteland you reclaimed?”
“Yes… yes,” the old farmer’s voice trembled. “This was originally a useless marsh. Three generations of my family worked to drain and fertilize it, and with great difficulty, we finally…”
“Say no more,” Xie Heng interrupted him, turning to his guard. “Go and invite the head of the Cui clan to the Governor’s office to answer for this.”
His voice remained calm, but his knuckles holding the wheat stalk turned slightly white.
The atmosphere in the main hall of the Xudu Governor’s office was heavy.
The Cui clan had sent a young lord dressed in fine silks, who entered with a nonchalant smile.
“It is merely a few refugees causing trouble. Why must Vice Director Xie involve himself personally?” He gave a casual salute. “Those lands were originally the property of the Cui family…”
“Oh?” Xie Heng looked up. “Where is the deed?”
The young lord was speechless.
Xie Heng pushed a register across the desk. “This is the land registry of Xudu from the second year of Yuanxi. It clearly records this area as official land.” He pushed another scroll forward. “And this is the registration document for the refugees’ reclamation of the land last year, stamped by the Governor’s office.”
With every document presented, the young lord’s face grew paler.
“According to the laws of our dynasty, what is the penalty for forcibly seizing official land?” Xie Heng’s voice wasn’t loud, but it made every official in the hall hold their breath.
“Eighty strokes of the cane and three years of exile…” the Governor of Xudu answered softly.
The young lord finally panicked. “Vice Director Xie! My father and the Old Master Xie are old friends…”
“Old friends?” Xie Heng repeated the words softly, suddenly standing up. “Then please tell your father that I fear I must offend him today.”
He walked to the front of the hall, looking at the refugees gathering outside.
“Pass the order: return the land to the refugees immediately. The Cui clan shall compensate them with two hundred dan of wheat seedlings. The involved scions are to be dealt with according to the law.”
The final words were spoken with decisive weight.
After handling the matter, Xie Heng stood alone by the window of the post station.
A guard reported that the Cui family had already rushed back to Guzang. One didn’t need to think to know that tomorrow, memorials accusing him of mistreating the nobility and indulging refugees would fly toward the Emperor like snowflakes.
This country was riddled with holes, but someone had to mend them.
Even if it meant offending the entire aristocratic class, even if he had to endure the hidden arrows and open blades from all sides alone.
He would do it.
As his mind wandered, the sound of galloping hooves suddenly came from the distance. A lone rider broke through the twilight, holding a scroll of yellow silk high. “An Imperial Decree has arrived—”
Xie Heng’s hand paused slightly as he adjusted his robes. It had come sooner than he expected.
He walked slowly out of the room, the setting sun stretching his shadow long. His slender figure stood before the steps like a stalk of green bamboo standing firm in the wind and rain.
The messenger eunuch unfurled the decree, his shrill voice particularly piercing in the dusk. Xie Heng’s gaze, however, looked past the eunuch’s shoulder toward the distance.
A young figure was galloping toward them, his black armor reflecting the dazzling light of the setting sun.
It was Xiao Jue.
The corners of Xie Heng’s lips curved imperceptibly.
The eunuch’s voice rang out: “By Imperial Decree: Xie Heng, Vice Director of the Left of the Secretariat, in handling the refugee matters in Xudu, though possessing a heart of compassion for the people, acted with excessive haste, harming the decorum of the nobility. He is hereby ordered to reflect on his errors behind closed doors for three days and contemplate the proper way for a minister to serve his sovereign.”
Xie Heng bowed his head to receive the decree, his black robes remaining motionless in the evening breeze. This result was better than he had anticipated; it was merely three days of confinement. It seemed the Emperor was still weighing the balance between him and the great families.
“Vice Director Xie, please accept the decree.” As the eunuch handed it over, he lowered his voice. “The Cui family is already active in Guzang. You… take care of yourself.”
Xie Heng was about to speak when the rapid sound of hooves drew near.
“Vice Director!”
Xiao Jue practically tumbled off his horse, his black armor covered in the dust of a thousand-mile journey. He didn’t even look at the messenger eunuch, rushing straight to Xie Heng, his voice filled with uncontrollable rage. “Are they making things difficult for you?”
The youth’s hand rested on his sword hilt, his gaze sweeping over the eunuch like a blade, causing the man to stumble back.
Xie Heng lightly pressed down on Xiao Jue’s wrist. “The decree has been issued. Say no more.”
His fingertips were slightly cool, touching Xiao Jue’s wrist which was hot from gripping the sword hilt, causing the youth to shudder.
“But…”
“Quiet.” Xie Heng turned to the eunuch. “Trouble the messenger to report back to His Majesty: This minister accepts the decree and thanks him for his grace.”
His posture while saluting remained elegant and composed, as if he were receiving a reward rather than a reprimand.
Inside the room, Xiao Jue paced back and forth, the plates of his armor clinking softly. “How could they do this! You clearly did it for the people…”
“Sit down.” Xie Heng was reviewing official documents with his brush, not looking up. “Are you trying to stomp a hole through the floor with all that agitation?”
Xiao Jue sat down reluctantly but couldn’t help saying, “Vice Director, are you not angry at all?”
“Angry?” Xie Heng’s brush paused, and he looked up. “Do you think the Cui family is only impeaching me, Xie Heng?”
He set down the brush and pushed a secret report to the other side of the desk. “Take a look.”
Xiao Jue took it and read carefully, his face darkening as he went. This was not just the Cui family’s revenge; it was a joint pressure campaign by several major clans, led by the Wang clan of Langya.
They were dissatisfied with Xie Heng’s recent promotion of commoners and his auditing of hidden lands, and they were using this incident to strike.
“They… they want to force you to back down?”
“More than that.” Xie Heng looked out at the heavy night sky. “They want me to understand that this country cannot function without the great families.”
His voice was very soft, yet it sent a chill through Xiao Jue.
“Then you…”
“I intend to make them understand,” Xie Heng turned, the candlelight dancing in his eyes, “that this country belongs to all the people under heaven.”
Xiao Jue stared at him blankly. At this moment, Xie Heng was no longer the cold and noble leader of a great family, but rather a gambler who knowingly headed toward the tiger’s mountain.
“Follow me back to Guzang. I have a plan.”