Great Tang Idyll - Volume 4 Chapter 52

On a cloudy summer day by the seaside, the sea breeze carries the salty scent of seawater, and the closer one gets to the shore, the more uncomfortable the skin feels. Even without any physical activity, the air feels stuffy, and sweat clings to the body—warm on the surface, yet cool to the touch.

The best way to cool down in such weather is to take a warm shower—never use cold water, as it can make you sick. Once the external heat dissipates, your body might actually feel even warmer. If your home allows it, digging a swimming pool is the most convenient solution. Just dive in and out for a quick refresh.

Zhang Xiaobao and Wang Juan do exactly that. The flowing well nearby is excellent. After a flood, no one knows what changes occurred underground, but the water now spurts more than a yard into the air.

They don’t bother investigating the cause. Instead, they take advantage of the phenomenon by building a large pool, saving themselves the effort of constructing a separate swimming pool. They also dig a river that connects to another one three miles away, and no one objects. Compared to the days under Magistrate Shi, the difference is like night and day.

At the manor, aside from the front office, the entire back area is designed like a garden. There are bamboo structures, ponds, small lakes, pavilions, corridors, waterways, fish, and flowers.

Anyone unfamiliar with the place easily gets lost. Unfortunately, not many peasants visit. Even when Zhang Xiaobao and Wang Juan open the back gate and post a notice inviting local children to play, no one comes.

They put great effort into turning a yard into a children’s playground, with little wooden houses, slides, swings, seesaws, and a water carousel—but it all goes unused. Only Li Xun, a grown child, shows up to run through the whole setup from beginning to end.

Now, the three of them sit together in a shallow pool less than two feet deep, staring at the carved wooden fish, lost in thought.

At noon, Zhang Xiaobao and Wang Juan can no longer stand the stuffy heat. The sky threatens rain, but there’s no wind. After a whole morning, not a drop falls. Close to the sea, their clothes cling to them, damp and sticky. The only solution is to station someone at the door to guard the water fountain while they jump in for a soak.

The underground water feels different—bone-chillingly cold. After a while, they need to get out and warm up again. It’s strangely addictive.

“It’s been two days. Qi Dong’s been locked up for two days. If this continues, it’ll be three. He’s been drinking water all this time. Should we send him some food? He must be suffering,” Wang Juan finally says, tossing her wet hair as she reminds Zhang Xiaobao.

“There’s no rush. Let’s wait and see what happens tomorrow. If we can’t come up with a better idea, then we’ll give him a little something to eat. One steamed bun should do. What about Liu Shaoqing and his group? Let’s send someone to check in on them.”

Zhang Xiaobao estimates that as long as Qi Dong has water and doesn’t try to kill himself, he won’t die. He’s more concerned about Liu Shaoqing’s group. They still haven’t received any intel on the progress of their plan.

When their hair is almost dry, the informant returns.

“Young master, young mistress, nothing’s happened. They’ve all stayed home the past few days. Even though they live nearby, they haven’t interacted. Their servants seem more obedient than before. They see each other every day but don’t speak. No physical confrontations either,” the informant reports.

Zhang Xiaobao nods in satisfaction. “Good. As long as things stay calm. If there’s another fight, all the grudges we’ve built up will come spilling out. Small conflicts are easy to handle, but once resentment builds up, it’s hard to control. Let’s move on to the next step.”

Liu Shaoqing is still stuck in a difficult situation. His people do their best to catch shrimp, but the yield is too low—just a hundred jars. If they could get the shrimp from the other three families, it might be enough. But now Zhang Zhong’s side is offering ten coins per jar of shrimp paste.

Some households exchange a jar or two for money. All four families are busy catching shrimp, planning to sell them later. Originally, they thought they could buy from the commoners at high prices, but now the commoners are all occupied—some digging rivers, some building houses, and some joining Zhang’s fishery.

With fewer than twenty days left, even with artificial heating, time is tight. If they can’t get more shrimp, they’ll have to accept the loss.

“It began with profit, so how can we complain if it ends with profit? There’ll be wealth eventually. If there’s no benefit, we part ways. Sigh~! What a scheme, Zhang Zhong. It’s all out in the open, yet we still walk right into it,” Liu Shaoqing mutters, unsure whether it’s the gloomy weather or resignation settling in.

He’s not the only one who sees through Zhang Zhong’s strategy. Cao Herui does too. But even knowing it’s a trap, they have no choice but to step into it. At ten coins per jar, they can’t afford not to.

Cao Herui tries to justify it to himself and feels a little better.

“Master! Master! Good news! The price for shrimp paste has gone up again. Someone from the Zhang family announced it’s now fifteen coins per jar. The pickled vegetable shop is accepting orders up to a thousand jars. You should act fast,” a servant rushes in, excited.

“Fifteen coins? Tell those thirty drunkards to work hard and stop slacking!” Cao Herui’s heart leaps at the news. He calculates—those thirty men Zhang employs eat and drink well but rarely work.

That might have been acceptable before, but not now. Time is money. Zhang pays them well. If they work properly, each could make two jars a day. A thousand jars won’t be a problem if Zhang cares about reputation.

Thirty people can make sixty jars a day—six hundred in ten days. That’s nine thousand coins, enough to pay off all debts and have some left.

The servant runs off to deliver the orders.

As word spreads about the fifteen-coin price, some commoners are tempted to make shrimp paste. But Zhang Zhong posts another notice—repair the seawall to protect homes from typhoon floods.

Caught between money and Zhang Zhong, most people choose loyalty, though a few chase the profit. When it’s their turn to work, they slack off, sneaking off to catch shrimp.

For two days, people report slacking. Zhang Zhong feels disappointed. He’s given so much to Luzhou, yet his words can’t compete with money. The villagers, having just lost their homes, don’t even consider the approaching disaster.

“This is human nature. Don’t expect others to do what you think they should. Who can we blame? This notice is a test. Heaven or hell depends on one moment’s choice. The outcome is decided the moment they choose. From tomorrow on, those who don’t work hard won’t be needed. Let them go catch shrimp.”

Zhang Xiaobao isn’t sad when he hears the news—only sorry for those people. Fifteen coins for a jar of shrimp paste? Lobsters? They’re just waiting for a miracle.

Wang Juan also feels it’s a pity. Those who choose shrimp have fallen for a scam. There are no fifteen coins. The pickling business isn’t even part of the Zhang estate. The fishing operation is nearly complete. Many assume the shrimp paste belongs to the Zhang family, but it doesn’t.

So naive. The industries share ownership but keep accounts separate. Even if that weren’t true, they could buy shrimp paste from the fishery and sell it to the pickling shop, fulfilling the quota. In the end, the drama will unfold, revealing the full range of human behavior.

“The wind doesn’t blow, and the leaves still fall. The water is calm, and the fish live. The heart isn’t still, so what can be done? The sky is heavy with clouds,” Wang Juan reflects on the Zhang and Wang villages, where worries are few. The villagers follow instructions, and their masters never let them down.

“Help! Help! I know what to do now! Let me do it! I can even fake the accounts! I can’t take it anymore!”

Clang, clang.

“Hey? Xiaobao, did you hear something?” Wang Juan suddenly hears someone yelling for help.

“I hear it. Qi Dong is banging the door. He’s figured it out. Let’s go ask him what he knows.” After nearly five days of confinement, Zhang Xiaobao finally hears noise from Qi Dong and hurries off with Wang Juan.

“Should we call a guard?” Wang Juan worries he might lash out.

“No need,” Zhang Xiaobao waves it off. “He ate a bun yesterday at noon and only drank water. No big deal. He doesn’t even have salt. One bun is enough. His feet are still tied.”

“Help! Help! I know what to do! Just tell me how—I’ll do it! I’ll fake the accounts! I can’t take it anymore!” comes Qi Dong’s weakened voice from inside the woodshed.

“Not bad. He’s clever. He knows what he needs to say,” Wang Juan says with approval.

Zhang Xiaobao chuckles. “Anyone who can come up with a plan to fake accounts isn’t a fool. Let’s have a good talk with him.”

The two of them stand outside the firewood room.

Inside, Qi Dong notices a shadow at the crack in the door. He presses his face to the opening and says excitedly, “Young master, young mistress! Please tell the master—I understand now! I’ll obey! I really will!”