Transmigrated to the Northern Song Dynasty as a County Magistrate (GL) - Chapter 34

34: Thinking of You, Sitting or Walking

In her past two relationships, Tian Qingyi had invested vast time, money, and genuine affection—only to end in failure. The invisible scars left behind still influenced her unconsciously.

“Was my thinking too shocking? Did I scare you?” Yun Jingchu asked cautiously after Tian Qingyi’s prolonged silence, her voice trembling like a defendant awaiting judgment.

These thoughts hadn’t come to her overnight. But Jiufang Xiyan, raised on Confucian classics, surely held different views. Blurting out her deepest feelings might have backfired—yet words spoken couldn’t be taken back.

Tian Qingyi shook her head, then realizing Yun Jingchu might not see in the dim light, turned to face her. Under the faint glow, Yun Jingchu lay on her side, wide-eyed and expectant, making Tian Qingyi blush. “No, because I’ve had similar thoughts. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have risked imperial wrath to take the imperial exams. After reading that unnamed book, I guessed you might… care for me. But I wasn’t sure until your letter.”

“Actually, receiving your letter and confirming your feelings made me happy—ecstatic, even. But upon reflection, my uncertain identity made me fear dragging you down. I thought you deserved better and assumed what you wanted without asking. I took things for granted and didn’t reply. I’m sorry.”

“Your words just woke me up. Why must bound by others’ rules? The future is inherently uncertain! Like is like, dislike is dislike—why overthink? If love is true, we’ll face hardships together. If not, we part ways without regrets, having tried our best.”

“Besides, where there’s a will, there’s a way. So my answer is: Not only do I know your heart, but mine also echoes—‘Dawn’s light or dusk’s clouds, walking I think of you, sitting I think of you.’”

The moment she finished, Tian Qingyi wanted to slap herself. The poetic line she’d quoted was by Tang Bohu—a Ming dynasty figure! Yun Jingchu, well-read, might ask its origin. How would she explain?

She’d mentioned the exams to justify her motives and because the original Jiufang Xiyan, far surpassing ordinary men in talent yet barred from high office, must have harbored resentment.

Yun Jingchu’s anxious expression melted into joy, as if the world had brightened. What could be happier than a longed-for wish fulfilled? If someone had told her she’d one day cautiously adore a woman, she’d have called them insane.

Bathed in sweetness, Yun Jingchu took a moment before replying, half-shy, half-excited: “At first, I also felt unworthy. You’re so talented and kind, while I had nothing. Yet I was drawn to you—curious about your days, your world.”

“Especially after we parted, I couldn’t stop thinking of you. At meals, I wondered if you’d eaten, if Huating’s fare suited you. In the rain, I imagined you listening. At Rain Bamboo Residence, everything reminded me of you. Gradually, I realized worthiness is proven through time, so I gathered courage to write that letter. If doom comes one day, what’s there to fear in facing it together?”

What she left unsaid was her initial plan upon discovering Jiufang Xiyan’s true gender: playing the deceived bride, pleading ignorance to escape repercussions.

“Don’t talk nonsense,” Tian Qingyi chided, voice lowering. “If that day comes, I’ll bear full blame. You must insist you were deceived—that’s safest. If you escape unharmed, and if mother is safe… please care for her, for my sake.”

Their mutual confession should have been joyous, yet the mood turned somber. Noticing this, Yun Jingchu frowned. “Enough gloom. The emperor is benevolent and rules with filial piety—things may not go so badly. You’ll be fine. So will mother and I. Don’t overthink it.”

Privately, though, she resolved to secureFan Zhuzhu’s safety first. After doing what she must, outcomes would be beyond her control.

Relieved, Tian Qingyi smiled. “Alright, no more of that. Stay optimistic—maybe luck will favor us.”

“Who knows? I hope so. By the way, that beautiful verse you quoted—I’ve never heard it. Did you write it?” The imagery had deeply moved Yun Jingchu.

“Not mine. Probably from some miscellany or that unnamed book. I don’t recall.” Flustered, Tian Qingyi feigned exhaustion. “We’ve had a long day. Tomorrow’s early. Let’s sleep.”

How did things turn out like this? Tian Qingyi lamented internally. So much for not falling for Yun Jingchu! According to the grandfather paradox, since Tang Bohu would write those lines, quoting them now shouldn’t alter history—she hoped.

“Goodnight.” Yun Jingchu, recalling Jiufang Xiyan’s penchant for eclectic reading, accepted the explanation without probing. The day’s travels had indeed wearied her.

Though their relationship was now certain, Tian Qingyi hesitated to take further steps—not from lack of desire, but because Yun Jingchu seemed too young to her modern sensibilities.

—

The next morning

Yun Jingchu awoke to temple bells, finding Jiufang Xiyan already gone—having risen at dawn to attend to official duties. After breakfast, she summoned Qingyu and Xiazhu separately to review household accounts and learn of Tian Qingyi’s recent activities.

Both attendants, aware of their mistress regard, answered fully. Expenses since arriving had been minimal, and Tian Qingyi’s routine was simple: official duties, painting, reading, or playing the flute in the rear courtyard. Satisfied, Yun Jingchu dismissed them.

—

At the Central Harmony Hall

Magistrate Tian Qingyi (in summer green robes), Clerk Li, and Sheriff Wu (in blue) wore grim expressions. Zhang Sancheng looked equally grave.

“Speak freely if you have ideas,” Tian Qingyi urged. “Even unusable ones may spark solutions.”

The summer tax collection, due by early July, was nearly overdue. One wealthy salt merchant, the Pu family, had repeatedly evaded payment—unleashing vicious dogs and barricading themselves behind high walls. Even Clerk Li’s attempts had failed.

Traditionally, defaulted taxes were covered by the village chief (a rotating duty requiring wealth). This year’s chief, having paid from his pocket before, could no longer afford it. Without Pu’s taxes, Huating would miss its quota—risking reprimands up the bureaucratic chain.

In dramas, magistrates prioritized lawsuits. But in reality, tax collection was paramount—the key to promotions. Tian Qingyi aimed only for adequacy, yet allowing the rich to shrink while the poor paid was unjust.

Sheriff Wu proposed brute force: overwhelming Pu’s defenses with all hundred-plus archers. Zhang Sancheng demurred: “Storming harms Your Honor’s reputation. Better lure them out.”

“Then… fire?” Zhang Sancheng suggested mildly.

“Brilliant!” Sheriff Wu enthused. “Who wouldn’t flee flames?”

With Clerk Li’s agreement, Tian Qingyi delegated: “Sheriff Wu handles the fire and arrests. Clerk Li oversees tax collection. Proceed swiftly.”

Both left, relieved. Previous magistrates had been either negligent or arrogant, leaving them powerless. Tian Qingyi’s trust and delegation were refreshing—they’d serve such a superior willingly.

Had she known their thoughts, Tian Qingyi would’ve called it a happy accident. Lacking experience, she relied on her seasoned deputies to maintain her “mediocre but competent” balance.

By noon, the strategy proved successful. As Tian Qingyi happily returned to the rear courtyard, Zhang Sancheng shook his head fondly: “Absence makes hearts grow fonder—even his steps seem lighter.”