Magistrate Tang was absolutely furious. He had prepared all night and fawned all morning, thinking he was on the verge of success—about to climb the ladder of promotion and secure a position in the capital—only to have it all ruined by a brainless, dim-witted medicine merchant.
Who would be foolish enough to pass off fake medical supplies as genuine for the army? Was he tired of living?
Thank heavens Lord Zhu had discovered it early. If the fake herbs had been sent to the northern frontier before anyone noticed, then he, as the county magistrate of Gucheng, would lose his head along with the fraudster.
At this point, he had no choice but to actively seize the merchant and, ideally, extract a confession before the imperial envoy departed. Only then could he prove his innocence!
Because of this fiasco with the counterfeit herbs, when Lord Zhu examined the remaining merchants' supplies, everyone—from Magistrate Tang to the medicine sellers, from the shopkeepers to the constables—waited with bated breath, their eyes fixed on him.
When Lord Zhu lingered a little longer over one merchant's herbs, Magistrate Tang immediately rushed over, panic-stricken, and asked in trembling deference:
"Lord Zhu! What is it? Lord Zhu! Your orders, please!"
With the example of the previous merchant, who had been dragged away, his shop sealed, and his property confiscated with a single word from Lord Zhu, the merchant now being inspected was trembling with fear, his legs quaking, his voice stammering:
"Milord, mine aren't fake. I swear they're not!"
Zhu Qingyu put down the notoginseng he had been examining and said:
"The processing is good. The technique is excellent."
Close call. Such a close call. Magistrate Tang wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, truly terrified out of his wits.
The merchant being inspected went weak in the knees and collapsed to the ground with a cry. He, too, had been scared half to death.
As an imperial commissioner overseeing matters tied to the northern frontier's safety, Zhu Qingyu conducted a thorough inspection. Aside from the vendor with counterfeit goods, he also discovered another whose supplies were substandard. Both were disqualified.
The remaining merchants accompanied the process throughout, enduring that terrifying ordeal—comparable to drawing lots for the execution block—until it was over. Having finally secured the government contract, they exchanged glances and felt like weeping for joy and embracing each other.
By the time the inspection was complete, it was well past the weis hour (1–3 p.m.). Zhu Qingyu never felt hungry while working, but once the task was done, a delayed yet fierce hunger struck her, so intense she felt like she might faint.
Then it suddenly occurred to her that because she had not given the word, no one had mentioned lunch even though the meal time had long passed.
For some inexplicable reason, a question Gu Zhao had asked her several times popped into her mind:
"What does it mean to be the 'father of the people'?"
The question seemed utterly irrelevant to the scene before her, yet somehow, in this moment, it leapt unbidden into her thoughts.
Was Magistrate Tang and the others showing such deference to her—a chief medical officer they normally had little to do with—because she possessed some extraordinary aura?
No. It was because behind this official robe lay the authority delegated by the Emperor, however trivial that power might be.
Had Magistrate Tang put so much effort into purchasing the herbs because he genuinely cared about their quality and worried for the soldiers' safety at the northern frontier?
No, again. He simply hoped that through this task, he could draw closer to the power wielded by the Emperor.
Still, since they were all colleagues in government service, bound only by their shared assignment, actions mattered more than intentions. Whatever Magistrate Tang's motives, today’s work had been completed smoothly thanks largely to his efforts.
When she had no connection to the Emperor, she had encountered people like Zhao Shiyuan and Liu Wenhuan. But when she stood close enough to the throne, everyone—including Zhao Shiyuan and Liu Wenhuan—might become Magistrate Tang before her.
Zhu Qingyu turned her gaze toward Gu Zhao. She felt that if she had to rewrite that essay he had assigned, she could do a much better job now.
Throughout the process, Gu Zhao had let her handle things herself without intervention. Now that she had finished the work, he simply said:
"Time to eat?"
Declining Magistrate Tang’s offer of a formal banquet, the two exited the county office, boarded a carriage, and headed to a meal that could hardly be called either lunch or dinner.
Once inside the carriage, Zhu Qingyu looked at Gu Zhao and let her imagination run wild: if she stood high enough, would even Gu Zhao turn into a version of Magistrate Tang?
If that were the case, Gu Zhao’s aspiration for her to reach the third rank suddenly became far more enticing.
The image of Gu Zhao scurrying around obsequiously like Magistrate Tang, kneeling in surrender, was so absurdly delightful that Zhu Qingyu couldn’t help but laugh out loud.
Seeing her laugh, Gu Zhao smiled too.
She looked so happy, and he knew why.
She had completed her task successfully, and everyone present during the inspection had treated her with utmost respect and deference, making her appear radiant and confident.
For someone tasting the thrill of power for the first time, once tasted, it was never forgotten.
Zhang Jingyan could not have given her that. Only he could.
Gu Zhao pulled a packet of candies from his chest and handed them to her.
"Lord Zhu was truly impressive and dignified today! You must be starving—have some candy to tide you over."
Zhu Qingyu took a piece of candy. The sweetness bloomed in her mouth, and she smiled.
"It’s just me borrowing your prestige, not actual power I possess. Thank you, Vice Minister Gu."
Gu Zhao pocketed the candy, dissatisfied with her offhand gratitude.
"Lord Zhu, you really ought to learn something about governance from Magistrate Tang. Your thanks are always just words. At this rate, when will you ever make third rank? Last time, you said you’d treat me to a drink at Fanlou. And now? Where’s the wine, my Lord Zhu? Will I ever get to drink it today?"
Zhu Qingyu was acutely embarrassed, her voice shrinking.
"I don’t have any money."
It wasn’t her fault. She had practically been dragged out of the Emperor’s palace chambers by the Eldest Grand Princess at a moment’s notice, penniless.
Gu Zhao pulled a silver ingot from his chest.
"That’s just an excuse to avoid treating me. Here, take it. Now you have the money. Keep making excuses, and let’s see how you wriggle out of this."
He wouldn’t let it go!
If she didn’t treat him to this drink, she felt he would bring it up for the rest of his life.
Zhu Qingyu accepted the ingot and weighed it in her hand. It was a full ten taels—more than enough to cover a good meal and drinks. Now emboldened, she declared:
"Yes, yes, yes, yes! Let’s go right now! I’ll treat you today!"
They found a restaurant and reserved a second-floor private room. After asking the price, Zhu Qingyu ordered the finest eight-tael banquet the place had to offer.
When the wine flask arrived, she personally poured a cup for Gu Zhao.
"Vice Minister Gu, please."
Gu Zhao took the flask and poured a cup for her as well, raising his glass.
"Lord Zhu, please."
Zhu Qingyu was taken aback.
"I drink too?"
Gu Zhao shot her a look.
"What, you won’t keep me company? Are you worried I’ve laced it?"
It wasn’t that. And besides, she was genuinely feeling pleased today. One drink wouldn’t hurt. She also raised her cup.
"Cheers."
When it came to drinking together, one cup always led to three, and those three led to more.
As they ate and chatted casually, Gu Zhao coaxed and cajoled, persuading Zhu Qingyu to down several cups. She had little tolerance for alcohol, and after those few cups, her cheeks flushed scarlet, her eyes grew hazy, and she eventually slumped drunkenly over the table.
Gu Zhao’s gaze, however, remained perfectly clear and steady. Once he was sure she was completely drunk and in a daze, he asked quietly:
"Qingyu... are you going back later? Going back to your world?"
