The roar of laughter was overwhelming.
It was so loud that the two ancient locust trees at the entrance of the county yamen shook three times, and the crows perched on the branches took flight in a panicked flutter of wings.
Every eye was fixed on Chief Steward Zhao.
This man, who usually held his nose so high he could barely see the ground and refused to wear anything but the finest silks and satins, was currently forced into a bizarre... "battle robe."
It was a vest cobbled together from coarse burlap, with a texture so rough it looked like a rag used for wiping feet. Most lethal of all was its color—a neon green so jarring, so "eye-searing," that one look was enough to make a person question their very existence.
Under the fierce glare of the midday sun, that green glowed with a frantic intensity. It was a green that made one’s skin crawl, silently whispering a tale of unspeakable sorrow.
Because the size was clearly wrong, the vest clung tightly to Zhao Fu, squeezing the fat on his belly into layer upon bulging layer.
On the chest and back of the vest, several crooked characters had been painted in white. The ink wasn't even dry yet, and white streaks were still dripping down.
The front read: Law-Abiding Citizen.
The back read: Respect the Law.
Below this, he still wore his expensive brocade trousers, but paired with this upper-body look that resembled a neon-green frog, the "avant-garde" fusion style was nothing short of a public execution of everyone’s aesthetic sensibilities.
"Pfft..." Xu Qinghuan pinched the inside of her thigh hard to keep herself from breaking character and laughing out loud.
She maintained a mock-serious expression as she critiqued, "Steward Zhao, how sophisticated! This 'Law-Abiding' look perfectly highlights your upright character. Especially that shade of green—it makes you look so... full of vitality. It’s like a forest is blooming right in your heart!"
Zhao Fu’s face had turned as black as the bottom of a charred pot. His chest heaved violently; he was clearly on the verge of exploding with rage.
Grinding his back teeth until they nearly shattered, he lowered his head and prepared to bolt inside, wanting nothing more than to escape this social death trap.
"Stop."
The girl’s cool, clear voice rang out again, cutting him off mid-stride.
Zhao Fu stumbled, nearly performing a full-body prostration right there in front of Xu Qinghuan. He turned around helplessly, his eyes bloodshot with the fury of ultimate humiliation.
"What now?! I changed the clothes! I paid the money! What more do you want?!"
"Rules."
Xu Qinghuan slowly drew a sheet of yellow paper from beneath the large desk, shaking off the dust with a look of distaste.
"Do you think the county yamen is your backyard vegetable patch, where you can come and go as you please? You want to see a government official just by opening your mouth? Don't you understand the concept of a process? Submit a formal petition."
The veins in Zhao Fu’s temples throbbed. Suppressing the urge to commit murder, he pulled a pre-prepared gold-leafed calling card from his sleeve and slammed it onto the table.
"Here!"
Xu Qinghuan extended two fingers, pinching a corner of the card as if it were a piece of plague-ridden trash. She glanced at it once and tossed it back with a look of utter disgust.
"This is the standard of the Zhao family?"
Xu Qinghuan clicked her tongue, switching into full "picky client" mode. "The ink tone is off—inferior quality. The handwriting is flimsy—indicates a weak constitution. The paper is tacky—cheap. And most importantly..."
She rapped her knuckles on the table, creating a crisp sound.
"The current Emperor’s name contains the character 'Hong.' You dared to write the full form on this petition without a single missing stroke to observe the naming taboo? What, are you planning a rebellion?"
"Rewrite it."
Xu Qinghuan tilted her chin, pointing toward a nearby side table that was so ridiculously low it looked fit for a kindergartner.
"Write it according to these specifications."
A sample template drifted through the air and landed on Zhao Fu’s face.
Zhao Fu grabbed it and looked. His vision went dark, and his blood pressure spiked to the top of his skull.
He wanted to ask if this was even a petition anymore.
This was a one-way ticket to the eighteen levels of hell!
Zhao Fu’s inner monologue: Fine, whatever, it’s not like I’m a Buddhist anyway.
The template didn't just require a detailed history of eighteen generations of his ancestors; it also demanded a five-hundred-word essay in rhythmic prose regarding his views on the livelihoods of the people in Jiangning. Every literary allusion had to be cited, and a single wrong character meant starting over!
"This... this is to see an official? You’re trying to make me sit for the Imperial Examinations!"
"These are the rules of the Xu family."
Xu Qinghuan picked up her tea cup, using the motion of drinking to hide a smile she couldn't quite suppress.
"If Steward Zhao doesn't want to write it, the door is that way. I won't see you out. However, if the reputation of being 'disrespectful to superiors and an illiterate boor' makes its way back to the Zhao household... tsk tsk, I'm afraid your Master won't be comfortable taking you out in public anymore."
Zhao Fu glared at Xu Qinghuan, then looked at the growing crowd of commoners pointing and whispering.
This grudge was set in stone today! If he didn't see Magistrate Xu and humiliate that old man to regain some face, he wouldn't be able to hold his head up for the rest of his life!
Fine! I’ll write! I’ll write until I die!
Zhao Fu held his breath and knelt before that tiny low table. The tight burlap vest made it hard for him to breathe.
He was a steward; he usually dealt with ledgers. When had he ever written such flowery, rhythmic prose?
"This paper has ink bleed. Unacceptable. Five taels of silver for a new sheet."
"This ink stick smells too foul; it’s offending my senses. Ten taels for a scented one."
"This character is crooked; it undermines official dignity. Rewrite."
The sun slowly drifted toward the west.
Zhao Fu knelt on the ground, wasting dozens of sheets of "premium-priced" Xuan paper. Silver flowed like water into Xu Qinghuan’s money box.
His wrist was swollen, and his eyes were completely bloodshot.
It was obvious he was on the verge of a breakdown.
Finally.
As the last ray of the setting sun was about to vanish, he held up the petition—purchased with blood, sweat, and silver—and presented it to Xu Qinghuan.
Xu Qinghuan took it, looked it over, and gave a reluctant nod.
"Fine. Although the handwriting looks like it was scratched out by a chicken's claw, it's at least legible. It seems Steward Zhao does have a bit of culture after all."
She waved her hand with feigned mercy.
"Go on in."
Those three words were like heavenly music! Zhao Fu felt as if he had been granted a divine pardon. When he scrambled up from the floor, his legs had long since gone numb, but he didn't care.
At this moment, he had only one thought—charge in! Find Magistrate Xu! And pay back every ounce of today’s humiliation tenfold to that old bastard!
With disheveled hair and wearing that tattered, glowing green vest, he let out a howl and charged into the inner hall.
Inside the inner hall.
Magistrate Xu was lounging in a grand armchair with his legs crossed. He was clutching a handful of five-spice sunflower seeds, cracking them and letting the shells fall all over the floor. He looked incredibly cozy.
Suddenly seeing a bright green monster rush in, Magistrate Xu jerked in fright, spilling a lapful of seeds.
"Good heavens! Where did this giant frog spirit come from?! Didn't they say spirits aren't allowed to manifest in the Great Qian?! How did it get in? Quick, poke it out with a pitchfork!"
Zhao Fu rushed to the desk, slamming his hands down to support himself. His blood-red eyes stared intensely at Magistrate Xu.
"Magistrate Xu! It’s me! I am Zhao Fu!"
"I wore this green skin! I knelt for the entire afternoon! I wrote until my wrist broke! I even spent three hundred taels of silver!"
"I only want to ask you one thing! Are you ever going to try these cases that have been backlogged in Jiangning for three years?! Are you ever going to open this court?!"
This was his final shred of stubbornness, his last strike before total collapse.
Magistrate Xu blinked, carefully trying to recognize the distorted face in front of him.
Then, he glanced at his own daughter, who was standing by the door and giving him a slight nod to signal "mission accomplished."
Xu Youde tossed the sunflower seed shells in his hand onto the floor, leaned back, and spread his arms wide. A look of extreme innocence appeared on his face—a look so punchable it made one want to smash his features in.
"Interrogate? I was going to, truly. This official was all prepared to display his grand administrative prowess."
"But as luck would have it, I seem to have misplaced my official seal this morning. I’ve been looking for it all day and just can't find it."
Xu Youde sighed, looking at the nearly-exploding Zhao Fu with a face full of sincerity as he delivered the final, lethal blow:
"Without the seal, I can't issue a warrant; without a warrant, I can't open court... How about this, Housekeeper Zhao? Be a pal and do me a favor—help me look under the table and see if it's there?"
Silence.
Even the chirping of the cicadas outside seemed to vanish at that moment.
The sky really should have had an ellipsis of six dots floating across it right about now.
Zhao Fu’s mouth hung wide open, a raspy, wheezing sound coming from his throat like an old duck being strangled.
He had spent three hundred taels of silver.
He had been a laughingstock for an entire day.
He had written until his hand was practically crippled.
And in the end, all he got was... the seal is missing?
A metallic, copper-like taste suddenly surged up his throat.
Pfft—!
A spray of blood erupted from his mouth, tracing a tragic arc through the air.
Zhao Fu’s eyes rolled back into his head, and his body collapsed backward, stiff as a board.
Thud!
The world was finally at peace.
Standing at the door, Xu Qinghuan watched Zhao Fu being dragged away like a dead dog. She turned and picked up the box full of silver, giving it a cheerful shake and listening to the melodic clinking of the silver ingots inside.
"Weak. Next!"
