Agricultural Commissioner Decree

"A few rumors, nothing more. Daoist need not take them to heart."

If one must say they've long admired someone from afar, as for how that admiration came about—well, that's not for you to ask.

Feng Xiu didn't deny it either. He simply smiled, about to explain the cracked fields and the hardships of spring planting.

But then Daoist Yellow Dragon lifted his head solemnly, a glint of seriousness piercing through his wrinkled eyelids.

"However, this old Daoist has also heard that Young Master Feng is holding this Sweet Dew Grand Festival to pray to the heavens above, beseeching them to send down sweet dew."

He paused, his expression turning grave. "Though this old Daoist has little skill, if I can truly be of help and give those common folk a way to survive, I am willing to give it a try."

Feng Xiu was momentarily lost in thought.

The speeches he had prepared—phrases like "Daoist's profound mastery of the Way" and "the people await with craned necks"—had yet to leave his lips.

He hadn't truly expected this man to be able to summon rain. That he would say such a thing made Feng Xiu think the better of him.

Feng Xiu's smile remained unchanged. "For the Daoist to have such a heart is the blessing of Qingyan's people. Then I shall entrust the rain-prayer to you, Daoist."

Daoist Yellow Dragon quickly rose and bowed. "I dare not, I dare not. This old Daoist will surely do his utmost."

Just as they were speaking, a sudden dull thud came from the side.

Both of them turned to look.

The little girl in the black hat had somehow already crept over to the table. One hand was shoving a flower cake into her mouth, while the other wobbled as it reached for the teacup on the table.

Her hat was pulled low, hiding her face, but her cheeks were puffed out high—clearly stuffed full.

Her arms were too short. She couldn't reach.

She leaned forward again, her body tilting.

Smack!

The cup fell, shattering into pieces, tea spilling everywhere.

Daoist Yellow Dragon's face changed. He shot to his feet and barked in reprimand, "Jiaojiao! You—you child!"

The girl shrank her neck, her face full of defiance, her mouth still stuffed with flower cake as she mumbled something unintelligible.

"Calm yourself, Daoist, calm yourself." Feng Xiu quickly rose to smooth things over. He glanced at the girl.

Her hat covered her face, so he couldn't see her features—only a stretch of fair, tender chin, dotted with crumbs of flower cake.

"Ah, children are greedy—it's normal." Feng Xiu waved a hand and called out toward the door, "Someone come."

A maidservant entered in response.

"Take this young miss downstairs, treat her well, change her clothes, and bring some pastries and fruit," Feng Xiu instructed.

The maidservant nodded, walked over to the girl, bent down, and said softly, "Young miss, please come with me."

The girl looked up at her grandfather, then at Feng Xiu. She finally swallowed what was in her mouth and muttered quietly, "I haven't eaten my fill yet."

Daoist Yellow Dragon's eyes widened at that.

But Feng Xiu stopped him. "Go on, go on. Come back when you're full."

The girl's eyes lit up, and she followed the maidservant out.

"Young Master Feng, please forgive me. This old Daoist has been lax in discipline."

With the hall quiet again, Daoist Yellow Dragon's face was full of embarrassment as he apologized repeatedly.

"Daoist, you worry too much." Feng Xiu invited him to sit back down. "Children, after all. By the way, is there anything else the Daoist needs to prepare for the rain-prayer?"

Daoist Yellow Dragon steadied himself and replied, "This old Daoist needs an altar three zhang high, five-colored flags, a Seven Star Sword, yellow paper and cinnabar, sandalwood incense and candles, and three sacrificial offerings."

"These have all been prepared. They're in a courtyard of my Feng family estate east of the city. If the Daoist is uneasy, you may go and inspect them first."

Feng Xiu smiled faintly after hearing him out.

Daoist Yellow Dragon was taken aback. "All... all prepared?"

"Prepared." Feng Xiu nodded. "The Daoist priests and scripture troupe you need have also been arranged. They only await your arrival to coordinate."

Daoist Yellow Dragon was stunned for a long moment.

In all these years, every wealthy household he'd encountered had been arrogant and overbearing.

Someone like Feng Xiu, who was so thorough in courtesy and meticulous in handling matters, was a first.

Daoist Yellow Dragon rose, his face solemn, and clasped his fists with gravity. "Young Master Feng has the people in his heart. This old Daoist admires you deeply. For this rain-prayer, I will give my all—praying to the heavens above, and succoring the common folk below!"

"Daoist, you flatter me."

After that, Feng Xiu summoned a steward and instructed him to take Daoist Yellow Dragon to the east-city courtyard to inspect the altar materials and coordinate with the scripture troupe.

Once Daoist Yellow Dragon had left, the hall fell quiet.

Feng Xiu sat back down in his chair, lifted his teacup, and took a sip. In his mind, he continued planning the next steps.

Now that Daoist Yellow Dragon had arrived, the Sweet Dew Grand Festival needed a formal date set.

He would have to notify Fan Ling and Lin Che to prepare their households. As for the River Law Bureau and the prefectural office, he'd need people watching to see how they reacted.

As these thoughts ran through his mind, Feng Xiu's gaze landed on the iron hat the little girl had left behind on the table.

The hat was pitch-black, shaped like a bamboo hat, with some wear along the edges—resembling the kind of cymbals used in village drumming and gong performances, but the central dome was larger.

"This heavy?"

Feng Xiu stepped forward and reached for it.

Instantly, a heavy weight pressed down on him.

Feng Xiu's expression gradually stiffened, his brow furrowing slightly.

With his current strength, lifting a hundred-pound stone lock with one hand was no trouble at all—so why did this feel so heavy?

"You've got to be kidding me?" Feng Xiu's face showed shock.

That little girl had been wearing a hat of this weight while sneaking snacks?

"Not some idle Taoist, a street charlatan, or a martial artist cultivating the Way?"

Daoist Yellow Dragon's hat was much larger than this one. This was probably no ordinary person.

Feng Xiu shook his head, suppressing the thought.

There were plenty of folk eccentrics out there; maybe she had her own family's martial arts heritage, just with an unusual training method.

As he was thinking, footsteps sounded from outside the door.

"Eldest Young Master." Uncle Zheng's voice rang out as he entered.

Uncle Zheng pushed the door open, a smile on his face. "The family head has returned."

Feng Xiu paused, then stood up. "Father's back? Where is he?"

"Just entered the manor, resting in the main hall now."

Feng Xiu nodded and strode out.

At the doorway, he turned back to glance at the black hat on the table.

"Keep this hat for now," he said to Uncle Zheng. "I'll return it to its owner later."

Uncle Zheng acknowledged, watching Feng Xiu hurry away.

In the main hall, Feng Ao sat in the seat of honor, slowly sipping a bowl of tea. He was travel-worn but in high spirits.

"Father." Feng Xiu entered and bowed in greeting.

Feng Ao looked up at him, his gaze lingering a moment longer.

In just a few days, Feng Xiu had darkened considerably, his bearing masculine and robust. Just standing there, back straight and eyes steady—

He was a far cry from the pale-faced scholar he used to be.

"Sit." Feng Ao set down his tea bowl.

Feng Xiu took a seat.

"I've heard about what happened in the city," Feng Ao said, cutting straight to the point. "The Sweet Dew Grand Festival, the three families joining forces, the pressure campaign against the government—you spearheaded all of that?"

"Yes," Feng Xiu nodded.

Then he laid out his suspicions from the past few days in full detail.

The reservoirs not opening, grain prices skyrocketing, the River Law Bureau's ambiguous stance, the prefectural office sitting idle.

All these anomalies pointed to one possibility: someone was using the drought to force the major families to give up their interests in Golden Ear Wheat.

"So I figured, rather than waiting passively, it's better to take the initiative," Feng Xiu said, his tone crisp and decisive. "By allying with the Fan and Lin families, using the rain prayer to rally public opinion, we force the government to show its hand."

Feng Ao listened, then a faint smile tugged at his lips.

"Not bad," he said, a note of approval in his voice. "You know how to think, how to leverage others, and how to tie both families to the same boat. You're already better than your old man was back then."

Feng Xiu smiled but didn't respond.

"What about Shouzhuo's matter? Any progress on the investigation?"

"I asked Uncle Zhou to look into it. I suspect it's a setup by the Eight Generals of the Thousand Gates, a trap aimed at Shouzhuo. Uncle Zhou has a wide network in the underworld, so news should come soon. But for now, he's looking for a place to settle down, so he's a bit pressed for time."

Feng Shouzhuo had remained the same during this period—refusing food and drink, pining after Su Wantang as if his life depended on it.

Feng Xiu had no way to deal with him either. Once the truth came to light, he'd probably give up.

Still, Feng Ao didn't press for too many details. As long as the Feng family's reputation was preserved, everything else was secondary.

Then he asked, "How's your martial arts training coming along?"

"I've reached the hall of the Five Force Fist, my inner breathing technique is taking shape, and my body refinement is at a minor completion."

Feng Ao's eyes flickered with surprise at this. He looked him over from head to toe, then burst into hearty laughter.

"Good, good." He said the word twice, his face full of satisfaction. "Old Zhou has a sharp eye and knows how to teach. You've certainly not wasted your training."

Feng Xiu's heart stirred, and he seized the chance to ask the question that had been nagging him. "Father, about the reservoirs not opening—is it really as I guessed? Is the prefectural office using the drought to force us to give up the farms?"

Feng Ao's smile faded. He was silent for a moment, then slowly nodded.

"Your guess is right."

"This time out buying grain, I ran into several groups on the road." Feng Ao raised his teacup, his tone calm. "The Lin Family, the Zhou Family, and a few of the big and small grain merchants—everyone's in the same boat."

Feng Ao paused, his gaze shifting to the window, his voice dropping low.

"Half a month ago, I also met with people from the River Law Bureau. They talked pretty, but between the lines there was only one meaning: this year, the water in the ponds and reservoirs can't be opened."

Feng Xiu frowned. "What exactly are they trying to do?"

"What are they trying to do? They want us to bow our heads!"

Saying this, a cold smile curled at the corner of Feng Ao's mouth. He stood up and walked to the window.

"Golden Ear Wheat—this whole Yunzhou Plateau only produces it here. Those martial artists inland, whether they want to train or heal injuries, can't do without it. Back when the court was stable, everyone did their own business, and no one had crooked ideas."

"Not anymore. Jin Province is in chaos, refugees everywhere, and the court can't spare attention for this side. Some people have gotten ideas, wanting to use the great drought to force us to hand over our farms and tenant villages."

Feng Xiu's heart jolted. He had already anticipated this outcome.

But hearing it from Feng Ao's mouth still felt utterly absurd.

If it were just buying grain at low prices, and the subsequent harvest of Golden Ear Wheat could only be sold to the Grain Constitution Bureau, that would be one thing.

But the current situation was about making numerous grain merchant families completely abandon the lucrative farms they relied on to survive!

To be honest, Feng Xiu found it truly hard to understand. One had to know that the grain merchant families in Qingyan Prefecture were no ordinary traders.

Every major grain merchant held an Agricultural Commissioner Decree issued by the Great Liang Grain Constitution Bureau, meant to ensure they paid their full quota of official grain.

Although the token didn't mean much, it was at least an honorary rank of the seventh grade.

And a branch office of the Grain Constitution Bureau dares to touch the foundations of the major grain merchants?

Truly ruthless~

At this moment, Feng Ao turned around, looking at him with sharp eyes.

"To put it bluntly, someone wants to snatch the meat right out of our bowls."