Great Tang Idyll - Volume 4 Chapter 208:

Old Man Bi wanted to stop Zhang Xiaobao, who was about to rest, and ask him about logistics, but when he saw how tired the boy looked, he thought that even a prodigy must be exhausted. He restrained his impatience and said, “After dinner, have the physician give you a massage. You should have ridden in a sedan chair with us earlier.”

“Alright. Thank you, Grandpa Bi. By the way — I heard this area has plenty of medicinal herbs, and some animals can be used for medicine too. If we want to help the locals, we can open a shop here to purchase medicinal materials and exchange them for salt and cloth. And if we can find a few people willing to teach, we should set up a school to enlighten the people. We may be in Tang territory, but look at this — we still have to negotiate every small matter with them. Are these not the empire’s citizens?”

The more Zhang Xiaobao thought about it, the more indignant he felt. He didn’t blame the locals; he blamed the officials who had ruled here before. What had they done? When disasters struck, they never petitioned for relief — they only demanded yearly tribute. They wanted profits without effort, and now, the people had learned the same — unwilling to give anything in return.

If this were his father’s jurisdiction, the people would have answered the call immediately in times of hardship — just like the donations in Wangjiang, where a single appeal raised funds overnight.

Here in Yizhou, even if he shouted himself hoarse, no one would come. The place was a mess, and there was no time to fix it.

Old Man Bi understood the situation. The population was tiny, and if no one helped, it would only worsen over time. The Zhang family had the skill to turn it around — give them two years and the locals would surely prosper again. 

But the Zhangs hadn’t come to govern; they had come to organize wartime logistics. There were far more important things for them to handle. Stationing them in a prefecture with only four thousand people was an absurd waste of talent.

Still, what Xiaobao proposed was not a bad idea — the question was, who would actually come?

So he asked, “Xiaobao, do you think anyone would be willing to come here to teach the people?”

“Yes,” Zhang Xiaobao said without hesitation. “Not only willing — there are plenty who would. Under the current system, officials can pass their rank to their descendants according to grade. But within aristocratic families, there are many sons who can’t inherit — not all of them are illiterate. Those who can’t obtain positions through family influence and have no role at home — send them here. Tell them that if they do well, they’ll earn official posts. They’ll rush to come. And another advantage: regardless of their standing within their clans, their families will still support them out of pride. Find a hundred of such noble sons and bring them here. Once they see how hard life is for the locals, they’ll start thinking of solutions. Two or three years of struggle will mature even the most pampered of them. Most will come to understand what duty means. Give men like that positions, and you won’t have to worry about incompetence.”

Zhang Xiaobao knew he didn’t have time to manage Yizhou’s people himself — so he’d find others to do it. The region was too poor for corruption to take root, and the noble sons, eager for office, would have no choice but to improve it.

Old Man Bi nodded slowly. The idea hadn’t come from any mentor — Xiaobao had just said it offhand, but it showed remarkable insight.

“Ah,” Old Man Bi sighed, “if only all the noble sons could be like you and Juanjuan — sensible and understanding. Go rest now. I’ll think on it and see if it can be done.”

He turned away to find Old Man Yao for a discussion. The matter was no small one — it required imperial approval. Titles were not given lightly, though of course, it depended on who asked. If Xiaobao himself wanted a post, the court would grant it even without his father’s recommendation. In all his years, Old Man Bi had never met children like Xiaobao and Juanjuan.

The Zhang family cooks, meanwhile, were already at work. Before the food was even done, the rich aroma drifted through the camp. 

The locals, even if unwilling to help, came to watch, drawn by the smell.

It was impossible not to be tempted. They wondered what the dishes would taste like. How could meat cooked by these people smell so much better? And that chicken soup — it was richer than any mountain fowl broth they had ever tasted.

When mealtime came, everyone except the rotating guards of the Guardian Squad lined up with their utensils.

After eating once with the Zhang and Wang household, no one wanted to cook for themselves anymore — their own food just didn’t compare. Waiting for the Zhangs’ meals had nothing to do with laziness; it was simply that the Zhang family cooks’ food was too good. The only worry people had was what they would do if they ever had to part ways and could no longer eat like this.

Zhang Xiaobao drank only a small bowl of wild-vegetable soup, as he had said, and then went to rest with Wang Juan.

Sima Fang and his eleven men, on the other hand, ate bowl after bowl. They even alternated bites of food with sips of tea, as if that might help them digest faster and eat more.

“Lord Zhang, is this your household’s cook? It’s delicious — truly delicious,” Sima Fang  said, half-reclined on his stool, struggling to finish but unwilling to stop, sipping seafood soup in small mouthfuls.

Zhang Zhong ate slowly, without appetite — partly because the situation here was grim, and partly because he missed his son’s and daughter-in-law’s cooking. The cooks were excellent, but somehow, the food lacked something.

Even when his son and daughter-in-law didn’t announce what they were making, one bite was enough to tell. Especially the way his son adjusted the seasonings — one sniff and the proportions were perfect. 

Zhang Zhong didn’t know that Xiaobao had once sold “Thirteen Spices” blends; if he couldn’t tell the age and potency of each ingredient by scent, that would be strange.

Hearing Sima Fang’s praise, Zhang Zhong replied absently, “It’s alright. Edible. Each cook has their own specialty. This seafood soup wasn’t even made by the best one — he’s busy with the stews. When there’s time, I’ll have you taste real cooking — my son Xiaobao’s and my daughter-in-law Juanjuan’s.”

He was speaking honestly, but to Sima Fang, it sounded like boasting.

“Your son and daughter-in-law can cook too? Admirable! If my son could cook, I’d find even plain rice the finest meal on earth. Lord Zhang, these cooks you brought — they aren’t imperial chefs, are they?”

“Imperial chefs? Those are nothing,” Zhang Zhong said, waving his hand. “Even they use seasonings my family supplies to the palace. They’re always demanding recipes from us, pestering constantly. If His Majesty tires of a dish, they rush us for new ones. Honestly, I wouldn’t take such cooks in my house.”

He meant it literally, but to Sima Fang’s ears, it sounded absurd. 

If you’re truly that influential, able to send recipes to the emperor, how did you end up exiled to Yizhou? Still, he dared not question aloud.

Instead, he asked politely, “Then may I ask, Lord Zhang, why your household’s cooks are so skilled?”

“If you run restaurants, your chefs must be good or you’ll go bankrupt,” Zhang Zhong said. “My family owns the Between Water and Clouds Pavilion and Between Sea and Clouds Pavilion restaurant chains — and the Zhuangyuan Pavilion (Top Scholar Pavilion) in the capital.”

He set down his chopsticks and gestured for someone to bring him the same wild-vegetable soup his son had just had.

“What? Between Water and Clouds Pavilion belongs to you? Then you must be Zhang Zhong!” Sima Fang blurted out, astonished — then realized he had just said the obvious. Embarrassed, he gave an awkward laugh and quickly straightened up, his tone suddenly deferential. “Lord Zhang, I didn’t realize it was you. Forgive me. Had I known the famed Magistrate Zhang of Sanshui was here, I’d have eaten more slowly and savored every bite.”

Zhang Zhong was puzzled — am I really that well-known already?

Sima Fang went on. “To tell the truth, my son studies at Jianjia Academy in Sanshui. When he left two years ago, I gave him just one string of cash for travel. I didn’t know how he’d manage in the capital. But two months before your arrival, I received a letter from him — he said he’s doing well, earning money, even praised by his teacher. He plans to take the exams this year and win honors. He wrote that the Zhang family arranged work for him — teaching the Zhang and Wang household’s estate children while studying. He said your families’ children are remarkable. At first, he was always stumped by their questions and had to study harder himself before teaching others. He even quoted a couplet from the academy gate: To cultivate others, first cultivate oneself; to read books, first read the heart. He also described Between Water and Clouds Pavilion in such detail that I longed to see it. I never thought I’d meet you here, Lord Zhang — though I can’t understand why someone like you would come to Yizhou.”

Sima Fang  frowned. Such an official shouldn’t be in this remote place — surely he had offended someone powerful?

Zhang Zhong didn’t care. Smiling, he said, “It makes no difference where one serves. As long as I can make life better for the people, I’m content. In times of turmoil, a man serves as a general; in times of peace, he should govern. When the empire’s people all live well, I’ll retire and be a rich old man, enjoying my grandchildren — may Xiaobao and Juanjuan have many. The lands of Suzhou and Hangzhou are fine, but I’d refuse office there. I go wherever things are hardest, to bring prosperity to the poor. Yizhou is poor — that’s why I’m happy to be here.”

Unaware of the mission’s true purpose, Zhang Zhong genuinely meant to govern well.

Hearing this, Sima Fang stood and bowed deeply. “Such magnanimity! I’m honored. When you first arrived, I didn’t think much of it, but now that I know who you are, I’m relieved. Whatever orders you give, I’ll be the first to act. Together we’ll see Yizhou’s people live better lives.”

This time, his words weren’t flattery. He knew Zhang Zhong’s reputation — his son had written of him in detail. Wherever he went, the people prospered. Governing a mere four thousand souls would be nothing to him.

Zhang Zhong also rose. “With your help, Sima Fang, I’ll turn Yizhou into a thriving place within two years.”

While the two men exchanged heartfelt vows, Old Man Bi sat some distance away, frowning. He turned to Old Man Zhang and Old Man Yao. “It seems Xiaobao, Juanjuan, and the Zhang family’s two advisers truly haven’t told anyone their real mission. Zhang Zhong still thinks he’s here to govern. We’d better talk to him before he delays things. If the court approves Xiaobao’s plan to bring noble sons here, what need would there be for Zhang Zhong to waste time on administration?”

“Yes,” Old Man Yao agreed. “And we should ask Xiaobao and Juanjuan how they’re arranging things. Surely they’ve prepared something — so why haven’t we seen it? Could they have no plan at all?”

Old Man Zhang swallowed a mouthful of steamed bun and said, “Wait a bit longer. Maybe it’s part of the plan. Don’t interfere for now.”

Old Man Bi and Old Man Yao exchanged looks and nodded reluctantly. 

If even the Zhangs failed, then no one else could succeed.

As everyone ate in their own thoughts, a commotion stirred outside. From the city came a group of more than a hundred people, heading straight toward the camp.

“Send someone to ask what’s going on — could they be rebelling?” Sima Fang said nervously.

Before anyone could move, the Zhang household guards had already gone to meet them. Soon they returned and reported, “Master, they say they’ve come to help — and to thank you.”