Transmigrated to the Northern Song Dynasty as a County Magistrate (GL) - Chapter 36

36: Will You Treat Me Like He Did?

In Yun Jingchu’s heart, Jiufang Xiyan was the most outstanding and extraordinary woman in the world—someone unforgettable, someone she longed for endlessly.

“Thank you!” Tian Qingyi said joyfully, cupping Yun Jingchu’s face. Yun Jingchu’s large eyes, still red and moist from crying, looked especially pitiful and endearing. Tian Qingyi’s gaze lingered on her plump, rosy lips, and she nearly gave in to the urge to kiss them. But in the end, she restrained herself, settling for a gentle kiss on Yun Jingchu’s forehead.

Since she had already resolved to wait until Yun Jingchu turned twenty, she would adhere to her principles—even if they were self-imposed, even if no one else knew.

The second account in the book told of a heartless man who, for the sake of power and wealth, abandoned his wife and children and resorted to any means necessary, only to meet a gruesome end. Tian Qingyi had heard too many such stories—the most famous being Chen Shimei, the ultimate scoundrel. Come to think of it, Chen Shimei was from the Song Dynasty—perhaps even this very era.

Having heard too many tales of scoundrels, Tian Qingyi found them tedious and uninteresting, so she remained indifferent throughout. But Yun Jingchu grew visibly angry. “Even wild beasts spare their own offspring, yet this monster would harm his own wife and children? He doesn’t deserve to be called human!”

Tian Qingyi nodded in agreement. “Calling him a beast or worse is an insult to actual beasts. A mere beheading was too lenient for scum like him. Such creatures deserve to be struck by lightning.”

Pleased that her beloved shared her views, Yun Jingchu smiled, then suddenly turned to Tian Qingyi and asked, “If you were him, would you treat me like that? Did you take the imperial exams just for power and wealth?”

“No! Absolutely not! I’d sooner cherish and protect you than harm you. I took the exams to prove I’m no less capable than men and to do something meaningful for the people. If I could earn an honorary title for my mother, that would be even better. Power and wealth? I’ve never given them a thought.” Though caught off guard by the sudden shift in topic, Tian Qingyi’s survival instincts kicked in—her response was immediate, earnest, and nearly accompanied by a vow.

Yun Jingchu laughed at Tian Qingyi’s almost-vowing expression, covering her mouth with her hand. “Alright, I believe you. But remember your words—be a good magistrate. I don’t care for honorary titles; I see them as shackles for women. But if mother wants one, you should strive to earn it for her.”

Had others been present, Yun Jingchu might never have voiced such thoughts. She knew such views would draw criticism. Only with Tian Qingyi did she dare reveal her true self—because Jiufang Xiyan, who dared disguise herself as a man to take the imperial exams, was no ordinary woman. She wouldn’t be easily shocked.

“Your perspective is unique—utterly different from most women. You’re absolutely right: honorary titles for women may seem glorious, but they’re just another form of restraint. Don’t worry, I won’t forget. I’ll be diligent in my duties and strive to be a magistrate who… serves the people.” Tian Qingyi nearly slipped and said “serves the people” as she would in modern times but caught herself just in time.

Internally, she acknowledged she would try to serve the people, but beyond that, she had no grand ambitions. She only wanted to be a “mediocre” magistrate—no striving for excellence or accolades.

What surprised her was Yun Jingchu’s astute understanding of the feudal system’s nature. Yun Jingchu was three years younger than the original host, yet she seemed to see through the era’s hypocrisy, hiding her true self because she lacked the power to change things.

“With your talent and ability, I’m sure you’ll be an excellent magistrate. From now on, call me A’Dan. It’s late—let’s sleep.” Yun Jingchu yawned, her ears reddening as she stood and headed for the bed.

“A’Dan” had been her childhood nickname, given by her mother because she was born on New Year’s Day. Her father, Yun Changliang, who had hoped for a son, left for the pleasure quarters upon learning she was a girl, so even he didn’t know this name. Only her grandmother and mother had ever called her that.

She had intended to let the name fade with her mother and grandmother’s passing. But realizing that palace women and officials had affectionate names for each other, she felt that continuing to address each other formally despite their relationship was too distant. Hence, the suggestion.

“Of course. Is A’Dan your childhood name? Then you can call me Qingyi—a name I recently chose for myself. Not many know it.” Having learned about ancient naming conventions, Tian Qingyi asked casually. The name “Qingyi” was improvised on the spot—a way to hold onto her modern identity and family.

If her beloved called her that, perhaps she could still be the same person, pretending her parents and sister were nearby and she was still the carefree youngest child.

“How did you know it was my childhood name?” Yun Jingchu, momentarily forgetting her shyness, turned back curiously—then immediately regretted it. Since Tian Qingyi already knew her formal and courtesy names, deducing her childhood name wasn’t difficult.

Recognizing her embarrassment, Tian Qingyi quickly played along. “I guessed. Impressive, right?” She tucked the book away, preparing to hide it again.

“Very impressive.” Yun Jingchu turned away to undress, her exaggerated tone masking her relief. Tian Qingyi hadn’t mocked her for the silly question—instead, she’d gracefully defused the awkwardness.

By the time Tian Qingyi finished hiding the book and approached the bed, Yun Jingchu was already lying on her side, facing away. Tian Qingyi exhaled quietly. Even if Yun Jingchu wasn’t sleepy, she was—afraid that lingering might invite more unpredictable questions.

She truly had no aspirations for power or wealth. If she could resign as magistrate, she’d celebrate with firecrackers. But this was her reality now, whether she liked it or not.

Even the original host had only taken the imperial exams under duress—for a mission. Otherwise, wouldn’t a comfortable life as a wealthy official’s child have been preferable? Only a fool would choose hardship over ease, let alone someone as shrewd as the original host.

Lying on the outer side of the bed, Tian Qingyi felt a pang of guilt for keeping so much from Yun Jingchu. She didn’t want to hide things, but her time-traveling and espionage for the Liao Dynasty were secrets too dangerous to share. Would Yun Jingchu even believe her? Worse, would it endanger her?

If Yun Jingchu came to harm because of her, Tian Qingyi would never forgive herself. Her two failed relationships had left scars but also taught her to recognize her flaws and cherish the present.

After careful consideration, she concluded that secrecy was the lesser evil. She resolved to take these secrets to her grave—or, failing that, bear the consequences alone.

—

The next morning

Tian Qingyi woke to the clock tower’s chimes outside the yamen. Without opening her eyes, she rolled over to sleep more—only to find someone warm and smooth-skinned in her arms. Startled fully awake, she saw Yun Jingchu’s face up close: long lashes, fair skin—irresistible.

Her sleep-addled brain acted faster than reason. Only after kissing Yun Jingchu’s cheek did she freeze, barely daring to breathe until certain Yun Jingchu still slept. Then she slipped out of bed quietly.

By breakfast in the side room, she was still dazed, nibbling lamb noodles absently while ignoring the congee, side dishes, and eggs. Only when Wei Shier rushed in to announce Clerk Li and Sheriff Wu’s early arrival at the Central Harmony Hall did she snap back to reality.

Officials and yamen runners started work at 5–7 AM, hence the term “morning roll call” (dianmao). The previous magistrate had been lax, but under Zhang Sancheng’s advice, Tian Qingyi enforced strict attendance. Before roll call, she always met with her deputies to discuss important matters and review progress.

Normally, Clerk Li and Sheriff Wu arrived around 6:30 AM. Today, it wasn’t even 6:00. An emergency? Tian Qingyi considered finishing breakfast but, remembering yesterday’s promise, lost her appetite. After wiping her mouth and rinsing, she left for the hall.

When she arrived with Wei Shier and Zhou Ba, Clerk Li and Sheriff Wu didn’t seem anxious—if anything, they looked pleased. They bowed. “Greetings, Magistrate.”

As they approached, their body odor—normally an afternoon nuisance—assaulted her senses. She held her breath, subtly retreating to her seat. Did they even bathe last night?

“Is there urgent business?” she asked, relieved to put distance between them.

Sheriff Wu couldn’t contain his excitement. “No emergency, but Zhang’s plan worked! Before dawn, I confirmed the Pu men were home, set a fire, and shouted—they all ran out. We arrested every last one. They’re jailed now, awaiting your judgment.”

Clerk Li added, “After the arrests, Madam Pu promised to pay all back taxes today. We recommend public flogging per Song law—as a warning to others.”

Tian Qingyi respected their competence—they might not be geniuses, but they got things done. Clerk Li’s suggestion was reasonable, so she usually accepted such advice.

Though she disliked public corporal punishment, this wasn’t the modern era. Flogging was mild by local standards, and setting an example would ease future tax collection. She had no grounds to refuse.

Just as she was about to approve, Zhang Sancheng arrived, fan in hand. After greetings, Wei Shier briefed him. Unusually, Zhang offered no opinion—Clerk Li’s proposal was already sound.