Transmigrated to the Northern Song Dynasty as a County Magistrate (GL) - Chapter 19

19: The Stone-Thousand-Feet Inn at Longjin Bridge

Her height only reached Jiufang Xiyan’s nose or mouth. If even she—at this stature—struggled to marry, Jiufang Xiyan’s towering frame would be hopeless. Thankfully, the latter didn’t need to wed.

Dressed, Tian Qingyi adjusted the folds over her chest—just as Yun Jingchu noticed, recalling that earlier touch. Soft, yes, but undeniably small. Seems twenty-one years of meals went solely into vertical growth.

Qingyu’s hair-styling felt like a massage, lulling sleep-deprived Tian Qingyi into drowsiness. Only when tying the final knot did she rouse herself. Glancing back, she saw Yun Jingchu—free from morning obligations—sleeping soundly.

In truth, Yun Jingchu had feigned sleep upon sensing her turn. Since discovering Jiufang Xiyan’s true s3x, her mindset had shifted. Gone was the instinctive wariness, replaced by curiosity about this woman.

Under Qingyu and Wei Shier’s urging, Tian Qingyi’s leisurely pace quickened. She skipped breakfast entirely, rushing out of Yuzhu Residence—only to encounter Steward Liu at the gate.

After bows, he cut to the chase: Jiufang Xin had sent him to inquire about her official appointment. She repeated the Personnel Evaluation Bureau’s verdict verbatim.

Expecting dismissal, she was surprised when he escorted her out, showering her with praise for Jiufang Xin—how he’d spared her last night’s interrogation considering her late return, how he’d fret over her dining comfort abroad.

Whether true or not, only Steward Liu and Jiufang Xin knew. Tian Qingyi listened attentively—and didn’t care.

Under his lingering gaze, she rode off, her retinue shrinking into the distance.

By the time the Doctoral Graduate finished their palace gratitude ceremony, noon approached. They had lunch at the Qiji Office, whiling away the day with food, drink, and chatter. Tian Qingyi returned to Yuzhu Residence late at night. Learning Yun Jingchu had retired, she bathed and slipped into the side chamber.

The next morning, blessedly free of formal events, Tian Qingyi seized half a day’s leisure. After breakfast, she ventured out alone—no horse, no carriage.

Yun Jingchu, an early riser, wasn’t far behind. Baoqin informed her Jiufang Xiyan had slept in the side chamber and left at dawn—thanks to prior instructions enabling her own early rest.

Tian Qingyi meandered along East Avenue, pausing at curiosities, then circled half of West Avenue before reaching Longjin Bridge. There, she entered the Stone-Thousand-Feet Inn.

The woman at the counter—mid-calculation—hurried over, clasping her hands. “Blessings upon you, Young Master Jiufang. The usual today?”

“The same, but swap wine for tea. Add one vegetarian and one spicy dish.” Tian Qingyi headed straight for her habitual second-floor booth overlooking the street.

Early hours meant sparse patronage. Her order arrived swiftly: milk-steamed lamb tripe, pan-fried lamb sausage, and hanging-thread lamb head—Jiufang Xiyan’s favorites.

In the Northern Song, lamb was pricey yet adored, especially among scholar-officials. Thus, Tian Qingyi had eaten more mutton these days than in her entire previous life. Pork, once staple, remained untasted here.

Though delicious, even delicacies grew tiresome daily—especially for someone without Jiufang Xiyan’s lamb obsession. Tian Qingyi preferred fish and craved chili peppers. Absent the latter, any spice would suffice—hence the spicy dish.

Were abrupt taste changes less suspicious, she’d have ordered all spicy fare to gauge Northern Song’s heat levels. For now, mere pungency soothed her palate.

The final dish, jiangla geng, was touted by the waiter as their signature: fish stewed with premium aged ginger. The vegetable was stir-fried seasonal greens.

Waiters here bore grandiose titles like “Drunken Scholar” or “Tea Doctor”—service-sector honorifics that, without the original’s memories, would’ve tripped her up.

The innkeeper gave two appetizers: spicy pickled vegetables and spicy greens. The names alone whetted her appetite—but before tasting, the counter woman emerged from a hidden door.

After a hushed greeting, she sat opposite. Tian Qingyi’s early outing had one purpose: meeting the original’s other two trained agents. The stroll and meal were mere cover.

“Congratulations on your double joy, Young Master.” Stone Thousand (Shi Qian) produced a bulging pouch from her sleeve. “A humble token from my brother and me.” Its clink confirmed substantial contents.

At fifteen, Shi Qian was the youngest of the four. She and seventeen-year-old Shi Wan were siblings—bright, loyal, and deeply bonded.

The original hadn’t trained them outright. Like her own education, theirs came in covert phases, assessing strengths and weaknesses. Early stages taught general knowledge; failures were sold off.

Only after selecting Qingyu’s quartet did the original shed disguises, bestowing surnames: Liu for Qingyu’s pair, Shi (her mother’s name) for the siblings.

To avoid exposure, training locales changed frequently, with well-paid rotating tutors—officially, relatives seeking patronage.

Five years ago, their education complete, the original divided them by aptitude: Qingyu’s team served domestically; the Shi siblings ran businesses abroad, funding intelligence-gathering. Capital came from the original, profits split 20-80.

Intel-wise, they excelled. Commerce proved rougher—two failed ventures hemorrhaged funds until this inn turned fortunes around.

“Your thought is appreciated, but keep this.” Tian Qingyi pushed the pouch back. Taking 80% already felt greedy.

“You refuse? Do you scorn us?” Shi Qian’s eyes welled up—a comical contrast with her dusky complexion.

Suppressing laughter at this routine dramatics, Tian Qingyi gazed outside. “Keep the money. What of the intelligence I requested?”

Instantaneously professional, Shi Qian produced folded papers. “All here.”

The documents detailed Yun Jingchu’s life—birth, the stepmother’s disdain, familial sexism, even her sale of her mother’s perfume recipes. Thorough work.

“Well done. Consider this pouch your reward.” Tian Qingyi returned the papers.

“Thank you, Young Master.” Shi Qian accepted glumly. Her brother had insisted on gifting the money—now the mission failed.

Duty discharged, she departed unhappily, urging Tian Qingyi to eat before the lamb cooled.

She’d nearly asked about his sudden spice tolerance—formerly nonexistent—but held back. Their training emphasized obedience, not inquiry. If the master wished to share, he would.

Alone, Tian Qingyi ate. The lamb had chilled; two bites sufficed. The ginger-fish stew, mustard-spiced pickled vegetables, and spicy greens, however, vanished entirely.

This meal was her most satisfying since transmigrating. Though the heat fell short of ideal, its presence delighted her unchoosy palate.

Descending to settle the bill, she found the dining area livelier—several tables now occupied.

Spotting her, Shi Qian rushed over, discreetly discounting the total to 300 wen. Tian Qingyi, finding copper coins cumbersome, had brought only 200. Her hidden pouch held five gold leaves—each worth ten guan (10,000 wen).

But gold couldn’t transact directly—exchange at a bullion shop was mandatory. Hauling that weight was impractical. How I miss mobile payments, she lamented, stranded by wealth.

Reading her discomfort, Shi Qian offered, “Young Master may tab it—settle next visit.”

“Put it on the account.” Tian Qingyi resolved to bring Wei Shier as a money-mule henceforth.

“Farewell, Young Master! Our doors always welcome you!” Shi Qian saw her out cheerfully.

With business concluded and time to spare, Tian Qingyi resumed sightseeing. A music shop’s enthusiastic proprietor waylaid her, touting lutes and pipas until she custom-ordered a flute.

After paying a 200-wen deposit and scheduling a pickup, she headed home to change for Taiping Xingguo Temple—until stomach pains waylaid her.