Transmigrated to the Northern Song Dynasty as a County Magistrate (GL) - Chapter 78

78: I Believe in You, So Believe in Me

Though He Fang was Jiufang Xin’s retainer, his advanced age and Jiufang Xin’s retired ailing state meant they didn’t meet daily. He knew nothing of the letter’s contents or Jiufang Xin’s arrangements.

He only recalled being summoned urgently last July. As he prepared to leave, Jiufang Xin had solemnly entrusted him with this letter, insisting it be delivered to Jiufang Xiyan only after Chancellor Wang’s memorial visit following his death.

Jiufang Xin had looked terrible that day—eyes clouded, complexion ashen—yet firmly promised He Fang’s son would be on the hereditary appointment list. This was why He Fang had stayed loyal despite his age: high-ranking officials could grant minor official posts through connections. Overwhelmed, He Fang vowed to deliver the letter.

After Chancellor Wang left, He Fang sought an opportunity. But Tian Qingyi was constantly occupied—receiving guests, performing rites, or surrounded by relatives. Only at midnight could he approach.

Wei Shier and Qingyu, standing nearby, were equally surprised. They’d assumed Jiufang Xin left nothing for Tian Qingyi, given how long he’d been dead with only Steward Liu handling routine estate transfers.

Unaware of their thoughts, Tian Qingyi was stunned by the letter’s contents. Written when Jiufang Xin felt death approaching, its concise words left her profoundly unsettled.

Jiufang Xin and Chancellor Wang weren’t examination-year peers but had served together, bonding over shared interests. Wang’s political savvy and flattery skills propelled his rise. Even after examination scandals temporarily removed him, he was reinstated, remaining chief minister.

Relying solely on friendship to leech off an old ally was impossible. Thus, as Wang ascended, Jiufang Xin never begged favors—instead sending lavish bribes. The first was 2,000 strings of gold before Wang became minister. After Wang’s promotion, gifts came during festivals, birthdays, plus an annual 5,000 strings.

Jiufang Xin never attached requests; Wang never asked. Yet Jiufang Xin kept rising—their unspoken transaction. Beyond Wang, Jiufang Xin bribed other ministers too, especially powerful ones—any accessible connection received something, though less than Wang’s haul.

Fearing Tian Qingyi might misunderstand bureaucratic intricacies, Jiufang Xin detailed his history with Wang, methods for quick, safe graft, and stressed: never wait until needing help to bribe. Sustained gifts ensured recipients would intervene during crises.

His final advice: bribery meant casting wide nets while prioritizing key targets. Gifting others was the net—not for active help but their silence when needed. Wang was the key target—only he delivered real results.

He warned Tian Qingyi against bureaucratic idealism: overlook what you can, for the poor and wronged are endless. Justice crumbles before absolute interests.

Most crucially: always leave room for reconciliation. Absolute ruthlessness invites retaliation.

Beyond governance and corruption tutorials, Jiufang Xin specifically mentioned family and retainers: while untalented, none were truly wicked. Family came first. Retainers should keep their current benefits, but not including Zhang Sancheng, none—including their sons—were promotion material, all being mediocrities.

He even included retainer recruitment tips before singling out Steward Liu: competent but aging, with hopelessly inept sons, making him self-interested. The wise eliminated threats early—Tian Qingyi should assign Liu’s family to tend his grave at the ancestral home post-burial, replacing him.

Obsessed with lineage, Jiufang Xin’s final command was procreation—reject monogamy, take concubines, proliferate the Jiufang bloodline.

Reading this, Tian Qingyi nearly laughed aloud. She’d thought Jiufang Xin, however flawed, was competent. But his promotions came solely through bribery? He’d even kept account books as insurance, instructing her to continue gifting Wang—and record everything—if Wang attended his funeral.

Knowing his clan’s mediocrity, he’d still schemed for their appointments, urging Tian Qingyi to secure as many substantive posts for them as possible—”mutual support.”

Mutual support? Even if opportunities arose, Tian Qingyi wouldn’t comply. Placing incompetents harmed everyone involved.

The two retainer sons’ appointments were unavoidable—Zhang Sancheng assisting Jiufang Qiyu or Tian Qingyi required tangible rewards. He Fang was about morale—lifetime service deserved recognition, especially since he’d genuinely helped in younger days.

Monogamy wasn’t wrong—she’d love only A’Dan forever. Procreation? Irrelevant and impossible for her.

Though internally tempestuous, Tian Qingyi showed little outward reaction beyond occasional frowns, making the letter seem mundane. After comforting He Fang and sending him off with Wei Shier, she hurried to Shangfu Courtyard with Qingyu.

Posting Qingyu as guard, Tian Qingyi re-entered Jiufang Xin’s bedroom. Luckily, he’d died in the central hall, and candles dispelled any gloom. Following instructions, she quickly located the account books in a bookshelf compartment.

Five volumes spanning twenty-plus years of graft stunned her. No wonder the Jiufang fortune never sufficed—most funded bribes! While Jiufang Xin had taken bribes too, illness-induced retirement recently zeroed that income.

Even post-retirement, bribes continued. No wonder the Yun marriage—the corrupt’s greed was insatiable.

Perhaps considering family finances, Jiufang Xin had haggled with Wang: if funds were tight, seasonal gifts could be modest—just 1,000 strings annually. But when possible, increase gradually, never exceeding his peak offerings.

His final tip: under the current emperor, Wang’s faction was safe. But regime change demanded new key targets.

Knowing ancient corruption existed was one thing; its scale devastated Tian Qingyi. Locking the letter and books away, she wandered back to Yuzhu Residence in a daze.

“You look terrible—are you ill?” Yun Jingchu, having arranged breakfast, gasped at Tian Qingyi’s pallor.

Sleepless, Tian Qingyi sat stiffly. “Just poor rest.” Others might attribute this to grief, but Yun Jingchu knew better.

Dismissing attendants, Yun Jingchu pressed gently, “Did He Fang say something last night?” She knew of the visit but not its content—nor Tian Qingyi’s subsequent Shangfu Courtyard trip, revealed by Yuanqi that morning.

Tian Qingyi summarized key points, finally sighing heavily.

Yun Jingchu was equally shocked—their marriage involved high-ranking corruption? Reality surpassed the most lurid tales.

Wordless, they shared a sigh. Sometimes ignorance was bliss.

“You’ve been up all night—have you decided?” Yun Jingchu finally asked. They couldn’t reform systemic corruption, but she wanted to know Tian Qingyi’s path forward.

“No. Reason says reject graft; reality warns stagnation awaits nonconformists. I’m lost.” Tian Qingyi rose, gazing distantly at the courtyard water vat.

“Whatever you choose, I’ll support you.” Yun Jingchu joined her as dawn light danced on the water’s serene surface.

“Not afraid I’ll become a corrupt official?” Tian Qingyi searched Yun Jingchu’s eyes for resolution.

“I believe in you—and my own judgment.” Yun Jingchu clasped her hands, gaze unwavering.

Tian Qingyi fell in love with those eyes anew. Pulling Yun Jingchu close, she inhaled her scent, all confusion dissolving in that embrace.

Post-Chancellor Wang’s visit, Jiufang Manor grew busier with higher-ranking visitors. For over half a month, Tian Qingyi and Yun Jingchu survived on three—sometimes two—hours of sleep nightly.

Funeral tasks, though exhausting, followed set procedures. The real challenge was grave selection. Tian Qingyi wanted simplicity near the ancestral plot, but Jiufang Lai insisted on expert geomancers finding an auspicious site—a Kaifeng norm so extreme some coffins stayed in temples for years awaiting perfect locations.

Unwilling to risk “unfilial” accusations, Tian Qingyi compromised: geomancers could choose, but only from Jiufang lands, without disrupting the monks’ calculated burial schedule.