The third watch drum at mao hour had just finished sounding. The sky was not yet fully bright, a mist crept along the ground, dampening the blue bricks in the county office's side courtyard.
Xu Qinghuan stood on the steps, holding a piece of cold pastry in her hand, uneaten. She watched the several dozen men changing clothes in the yard, her brow relaxing slightly.
The money wasn't wasted. This batch of fabric was substandard tribute satin shipped from Jiangnan—thick, stiff, yet not so fine that they'd be reluctant to wear it.
The dye workshop, following her instructions, had steeped it all in the deepest ink black. Not the faded, washed-out indigo of the yamen uniforms, but a pure black. A black that absorbed light, a black that made one's heart feel heavy just from a glance.
Pockmarked Liu was struggling with his belt. He was used to wearing open-fronted short jackets, his trouser belt a casually tied straw rope. The wide leather belt in his hands now was stiff and prickly, its silver buckle cold to the touch. Holding his breath, he sucked in the fat on his belly and snapped the buckle shut with a click.
Several scrawny hoodlums beside him were also pulling on their uniforms. The cuffs were tight, bound with wrist guards for ease in a fight. The trouser legs were tucked into high boots, the soles layered for silent steps, but they'd surely hurt when stomping on someone. On the chest, two characters were embroidered in silver thread, their strokes crude and vicious-looking.
"Cheng Guan." Pockmarked Liu touched the two characters, his fingers trembling slightly. He was illiterate, but these two words looked menacing.
Once this uniform was on, that slovenly, ruffian-like slackness was cinched tight. Before, they had no proper posture for standing or sitting; now the stiff fabric forced them to straighten their backs, or else it would chafe uncomfortably.
Xu Qinghuan tossed the pastry back onto the plate and brushed the crumbs from her hands.
This was exactly the effect she wanted.
She didn't need these men to actually maintain order; she needed them to intimidate. Wearing these uniforms, even if they just stood there doing nothing, the common folk would give them a wide berth. This was the proper display for villains, the right aura for a treacherous official's lackeys.
"All dressed?" Xu Qinghuan spoke, her voice not loud but carrying far in the empty courtyard.
The rustling sounds ceased. Dozens of pairs of eyes looked over. No one spoke. The black uniforms seemed to have sealed their mouths shut too.
Xu Qinghuan descended the steps. Her boot soles clicked crisply on the stone slabs. She walked up to Pockmarked Liu and fastened the poorly done frog button at his collar. The action wasn't gentle, even carrying a hint of disdain.
"Remember your identity now." Xu Qinghuan took a step back, her gaze sweeping over the group. "You are not street thugs; you are the face of the Xu family. You've taken my money, you're wearing my clothes, so you must show that ferocity for me. Don't let me see anyone still cowering and timid. It's disgraceful."
Pockmarked Liu puffed out his chest even higher. Five taels of silver a month. He'd never seen so much money in his life. Now that money was tucked in his pocket, these clothes were on his body. He felt he was no longer the despised scoundrel; he was someone of importance.
"Don't worry, Young Miss," Pockmarked Liu bellowed, his voice so loud it startled the roosting birds in the trees into flapping their wings. "The brothers understand! Take the money, solve the trouble! Anyone who dares to cause trouble for the Young Miss, we'll make sure he has no road to walk!"
Dozens of black-clad men behind him roared in unison. The sound was sharp and synchronized, carrying the brute force of men who had just eaten their fill.
Xu Qinghuan was satisfied. This spirit, this energy—it was sufficiently villainous.
Li Sheng cowered behind a corridor pillar, watching the scene, his legs turning to jelly. This wasn't hiring laborers; this was raising a private militia. Those black uniforms looked downright sinister. If the higher-ups found out, even with ten heads, Magistrate Xu wouldn't have enough to pay the penalty.
But he didn't dare advise against it. Everyone had seen the young miss's wild streak these past few days. Whoever advised would face misfortune.
Xu Qinghuan turned, her back to the crowd, looking at the gradually brightening sky.
"Today's task is simple." She raised a finger. "Pick fights."
The courtyard fell silent for a moment.
"What? Don't understand?" Xu Qinghuan tilted her head, a sharp glance sweeping over them. "Make life difficult for the people in this county town. See a stall blocking the road? Tear it down. See someone's goods left disorderly? Fine them. Don't bother reasoning with them. You're there to establish authority, not to negotiate."
She didn't need these men to actually manage the city. She needed chaos, she needed widespread complaints, she needed the common people pointing at the Xu family's backbone and cursing. Only then would the progress bar for that ten-billion task move, only then would the exile ending be secured.
"Young Miss," Pockmarked Liu hesitated, "We're familiar with overturning stalls. But these fines... how much should we fine?"
"Whatever you feel like," Xu Qinghuan said offhandedly. "If they look displeasing to your eye, fine them more. If they look dirt poor, fine them less. The key is to make them afraid, to let them know who calls the shots in Taoyuan County."
"Understood!" Pockmarked Liu clasped his fists, the scar on his face twitching, looking particularly ferocious.
He turned and waved a hand at the brothers behind him.
"You all hear that? The Young Miss says we're to set the rules! Bring out all that usual fierceness! If anyone goes soft, don't blame Liu Er for turning his back on you!"
"Yes!"
Several dozen men turned in unison, their boots hitting the ground with a dull, thunderous rumble.
Xu Qinghuan watched them walk out the courtyard gate. Their black backs connected into a moving wall. The sense of oppression hit her face-on; even she, the instigator, felt a slight thrill of alarm.
This is solid.
Once these men caused trouble on the streets, the people were sure to erupt. Then, with public resentment boiling over and memorials flying into the capital like snowflakes, her reputation as a wicked woman would be firmly established.
The corner of Xu Qinghuan's mouth almost twitched upward, but she forcefully suppressed it. Can't smile. Must maintain aloofness.
Li Sheng shuffled out from behind the pillar, his face as bitter as if he'd swallowed coptis root.
"Young Miss, will this really work? What if... what if someone gets killed..."
"They won't," Xu Qinghuan cut him off. "These men may be scoundrels, but they also fear death. They know their limits. Besides, if something really happens, my Xu family will bear it. What are you afraid of?"
Li Sheng didn't dare say that what he feared was precisely the Xu family being unable to bear it, implicating a small manager like him.
By now, Taoyuan County's main street was waking up.
Breakfast stalls were set up, steaming hot. Old farmers selling vegetables squatted in a row by the roadside, their produce still dotted with dew. The butcher's block in the meat shop thundered with chopping, sliced meat strips swinging from iron hooks.
The bustling atmosphere of the marketplace was chaotic, but lively.
This liveliness didn't last long.
The street entrance suddenly fell quiet. As if something had grabbed the street by the throat.
Footsteps.
Heavy, neat and uniform. Not a disorderly trampling, but a rhythmic, dull thud. Thump, thump, thump. Each step landed squarely on one's heart.
The auntie haggling over prices shut her mouth. The butcher stopped his chopping. The old farmers squatting on the ground looked up, their cloudy eyes reflecting a swath of black.
They're here.
Pockmarked Liu walked at the very front. He wasn't carrying a club; his hands were empty. But the fingerless leather gloves on those hands looked more intimidating than any club. He wasn't looking at anyone sideways; his gaze was level, fixed straight ahead, his chin held high.
Behind him followed two rows of men in black. Every one of them had a stern, expressionless face. Their black clothes didn't reflect the morning sunlight, seeming instead to absorb its heat and radiate a chill.
No one spoke. No one shouted.
That was what was most terrifying.
Before, when these ruffians took to the streets, they would be loud and boisterous, practically wanting the whole town to know they had arrived. Back then, the common folk were afraid, but it was a fear of hoodlums.
Now they were silent. The people were even more afraid. Because this didn't seem like hoodlums; it seemed like underworld bailiffs come to claim souls. Or assassins from somewhere, come to wash this street in blood.
The crowd automatically parted to both sides. The street, originally so crowded only a single cart could pass, was forcibly cleared into a path twenty feet wide.
A child holding a candied hawthorn stick was frozen in fright, standing right in the middle of the path and not moving.
The child's mother was frantic with fear. She lunged forward, clamped a hand over the child's mouth, and dragged him back into the crowd with such force that the candied fruit on the stick was crushed. Red sugary fragments fell to the ground, and before they could even settle, they were ground to powder under a black boot.
Pockmarked Liu didn't look down at the sugary mess on the ground. He didn't even glance at the child he'd almost stepped on.
He just kept walking forward. His eyes never wavered.
This kind of disregard was more unsettling than any curse.
The procession stopped before a stall selling wontons. The stall owner was a simple, honest middle-aged man who had often suffered Pockmarked Liu eating without paying. But now, looking at this Pockmarked Liu dressed in black leather with a cold, severe face, he actually didn't dare recognize him.
Was this still the same Liu Er who would fight over a couple of copper coins?
