Transmigrated to the Northern Song Dynasty as a County Magistrate (GL) - Chapter 37

37: At Least a Gentleman

Seeing Zhang Sancheng had no objections, Tian Qingyi concluded, “Clerk Li’s suggestion is excellent. I will make my decision in the main hall shortly. Are there other urgent matters?”

Sheriff Wu immediately added, “The salt fields have been unsettled lately. I recommend increasing patrols—both to protect the fields and Supervisor Wang’s safety, and to prevent troublemakers from causing disturbances.”

“Approved. But follow proper procedures. Submit a written request first; I’ll sign off before implementation. If you personally lead the patrols, negotiate with Supervisor Wang to see if he can expedite payments to the salt workers.” Tian Qingyi had only learned about Huating’s salt fields during her journey, from Zhang Sancheng’s explanations.

Though the fields were managed by a dedicated supervisor with his own guards, the magistrate still held oversight. Sheriff Wu had previously reported that salt workers hadn’t received their wages in over a year, pushing many families to desperation. Recent unrest had grown severe.

“As you command.” Sheriff Wu had no objections. As deputy officials, he and Clerk Li existed to assist the magistrate. Once orders were given, execution was his duty.

After confirming no further reports, Tian Qingyi stood. “I’ll accompany you to the main hall. Starting tomorrow, we’ll revert to signature roll calls instead of morning assemblies.”

Clerk Li showed no reaction—he’d anticipated this when Tian Qingyi first changed the system. Strict morning assemblies worked short-term but harmed long-term morale in county offices. Sheriff Wu, however, looked surprised the reversal came so soon.

The group proceeded to the main hall, where over two hundred clerks and officers already waited—just the regular staff, excluding patrol archers or village heads. The noisy courtyard fell silent at their arrival.

Seated on the dais, Tian Qingyi observed quietly. She’d initially assumed these clerks and runners received salaries—only to learn they served unpaid, even providing their own uniforms and meals. Jiufang Xin’s notes hadn’t mentioned this, focusing solely on governance and networking.

When she’d tentatively asked others, their reactions suggested this was common knowledge, making her earlier ignorance embarrassing.

Originally strict, Tian Qingyi softened after realizing these men were paid to serve. The Song Dynasty expected self-funded labor from its clerks—a concept clashing with her modern “fair compensation” values. Her disciplinary zeal waned further; morning assemblies were always meant as temporary measures.

Song household registries categorized residents as urban (taxed by property value) or rural (taxed by landholding). The clerks before her were all wealthy households fulfilling mandatory service.

As Tian Qingyi mused, the clerk finished the grueling roll call. “Magistrate, two are absent due to illness. All others present.”

“Noted. File the roster as usual.” She recalled the two—frail men who’d fainted from heat stroke yesterday. She’d granted them a day’s leave.

After a month of oversight, Tian Qingyi no longer felt the nervousness of her first session. Below her, clerks kept their eyes downcast, obedient to every order—though their thoughts remained opaque.

Scanning the room, she announced sternly, “After a month of assemblies, I trust punctuality is now habitual. Henceforth, we resume signature roll calls under Clerk Li’s supervision. Let me reiterate: follow regulations. Corruption will be punished harshly—no exceptions.”

Though unpaid, Song clerks weren’t penniless—hence the saying “easier to meet Yama than his little devils.” While Tian Qingyi refused bribes herself, she couldn’t control subordinates beyond repeated warnings.

“Aye, Magistrate!” the clerks chorused dutifully, masking private thoughts.

Their compliance stemmed from an early lesson. At Tian Qingyi’s first assembly, lax attendance and sloppy appearances had provoked her to order a scorching half-hour standoff. Behavior improved thereafter.

Zhang Sancheng shuddered at the anti-corruption decree. Had he known the consequences, he’d have curbed his greed. He’d assumed Jiufang Xiyan would emulate her father’s venal, ambitious ways—yet in two months, she’d taken no bribes nor networked beyond obligatory meetings.

Deprived of illicit gains and burdened by rules, the clerks initially resented Tian Qingyi. Learning she rejected even merchants’ gifts softened some hostility. Now they just hoped to survive their service terms or see her transferred before bankruptcy.

Preparations complete, Tian Qingyi dismissed most staff, retaining only Clerk Li and Sheriff Wu as observers. The hall, now lined with bailiffs and scribes, assumed an imposing air.

“Bring the Pu family forward,” she ordered, tossing a command tablet.

The bailiff retrieved it—a discourtesy Tian Qingyi disliked but tolerated as period custom.

Modern ambitions had given way to simpler desires: freedom and survival. If she could shed her Liao spy identity, a quiet life with Yun Jingchu would suffice.

Despite a month in office, this was her first real case. Song law suspended civil lawsuits from spring planting to autumn harvest, explaining the lack of petitioners.

Soon, thirteen Pu men were escorted in. At the bailiffs’ intimidating chant, all but the patriarch trembled—a child even clung to an adult.

Expecting kowtows, Tian Qingyi was pleasantly surprised when they merely clasped hands in salute.

Dispensing with formalities, she ruled: “The Pu family evaded taxes for three years. By law, adult males are sentenced to sixty cane strikes and public humiliation. All arrears must be paid by sunset today, or penalties will increase.”

Her sentencing was deliberate—Song law converted “sixty strikes” to thirteen actual blows.

“I was wronged!” the patriarch wailed dramatically. Tian Qingyi ignored him, exiting without a glance.

Sheriff Wu, overseeing the punishment, scowled at the protests. “Wronged? You know the truth. Any further complaints will earn special attention during the flogging.”

The implied threat silenced them. Thirteen strikes weren’t fatal, but vindictive bailiffs could ensure weeks of agony.

The patriarch seethed inwardly. This greenhorn magistrate will pay for this humiliation.

Unaware of his thoughts—or secretly hoping they’d get her dismissed—Tian Qingyi returned to paperwork.

—

Yun Jingchu awoke to gongs and drums. Yuanqi explained: a salt merchant named Pu, tax-delinquent for three years, had been arrested and sentenced to public flogging.

Her maid’s animated retelling painted Tian Qingyi as a heroic figure. Yun Jingchu’s spirits lifted—her earlier suspicions of corruption seemed misplaced.

She’d also noticed all Tian Qingyi’s blank fans now bore bamboo paintings, even her handkerchiefs embroidered with the motif. To Yun Jingchu, a bamboo admirer might not be a paragon of virtue, but was at least a gentleman.

Her new worry was retaliation. A freshly arrived magistrate challenging local powerbrokers risked backlash. Did the Pu family have connections? Would they strike back?