Jade Belt Pond Reservoir

The carriage came to a steady halt before the main gate of the mansion.

The two heavy wooden doors, as tall as a man, bore the dark, weathered black of years past. Above the lintel hung a simple plaque, its iron-etched strokes forming the words "Feng Mansion."

After alighting from the carriage, the driver continued on toward the rear corridor.

Feng Xiu walked into the residence on foot. The mansion followed a classic three-courtyard layout, and before him lay a modest yet neatly kept bluestone yard. Along the walls on either side grew a few clumps of drought-tolerant pines and cypresses.

It was hardly grand or luxurious, but every detail revealed the steady, deepening foundation built over two or three generations of management.

As Feng Xiu walked, the faint scent of grass and trees in the air was broken by a light yet swift gust. Three courtyard patrol martial artists filed past him, brushing shoulders.

Their muscles were exceptionally fierce, yet their footsteps fell almost soundlessly. The leading man nodded at Feng Xiu, who gave a slight nod in return before walking straight on.

"Young Master."

A few youths in servant attire approached from ahead, their expressions respectful.

Feng Xiu didn't lift his eyelids. "Where's my father?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized his mistake and corrected himself, "Has the family head returned yet?"

Though the Feng Clan wasn't a wealthy house in Green Rock City, their overt and covert feudal rigidity was no small matter.

To an outsider, one might think they were one of the great noble clans.

As the eldest son bearing the family's legacy, this mindset was completely at odds with the ordinary mentality he'd had in his past life. Even after two months, playing this role was still quite difficult.

"Reporting to the Young Master, the family head hasn't returned yet, but Chief Escort Zhou arrived early and is in the West Courtyard," the servant replied.

Feng Xiu breathed a sigh of relief, then nodded.

To be honest, Feng Xiu was a bit intimidated by his father. The main reason was that Feng Ao's oppressive presence in his memories toward the original body was overwhelming.

It was a true case of "spare the rod, spoil the child"—the strictest father imaginable in a feudal family.

And on top of that, the man was a martial artist.

"Good, I'll go find him," Feng Xiu thought briefly.

The Feng Clan's main businesses were inns, taverns, shops, and grain trading—they had never dabbled in martial arts ventures.

But lately, Uncle Zhou's visits had been unusually frequent.

The young servant acknowledged and withdrew.

West Courtyard.

When Feng Xiu arrived, he looked up and saw, under the blazing sun, a group of about twenty men in sleeveless sweat-stained shirts.

They were training their fists and feet on stone locks and wooden posts scattered across the yard.

The dozens of men stood apart from one another, each punch and kick cutting through the air with a sharp sound, accompanied by vigorous shouts of "Hey!" and "Ha!"

The distorted heat waves rising above their heads mingled with the stench of sweat hanging in the air.

The sight of evaporating sweat, the heavy thuds of fists striking wooden training dummies, and the oppressive masculine pressure of bulging muscles all hit him at once.

Feng Xiu's heart stirred. He took a deep breath and stepped out from the shaded corridor.

"Wenzheng is here."

The one instructing the escort fighters was a burly martial artist with a jaw like a swallow's and a head like a tiger's. His knuckles were thick and bore a faint metallic blue—a clear sign that his external martial arts had reached a certain level.

Seeing Feng Xiu approach, Zhou Gang greeted him with a faint smile.

"Uncle Zhou."

Feng Xiu's relationship with him wasn't unfamiliar; he was the "Uncle Zhou of your Zhou Family" that Feng Ao often mentioned.

When Feng Xiu first took charge of family affairs, he had specifically sought out Zhou Gang for advice on dealing with tenant farmers.

That was how he'd come to know Master Black, who acted on his behalf to pacify White Willow Village.

"Everything settled?" Zhou Gang asked then.

"More or less," Feng Xiu replied after a moment's thought. Just mentioning it gave him a headache.

Pacifying them was one thing, but he'd still have to show his face afterward.

This was something he really couldn't handle on his own.

Pushing the thought aside, Feng Xiu looked at the bare-chested men training under the scorching sun and asked curiously, "Uncle Zhou, are you all practicing martial arts?"

Just standing there for a moment, Feng Xiu already felt unbearable. The sunlight was as vicious as a blade.

Training like this, their skin was burned bright red—wasn't he afraid of heatstroke?

"Mm, I'm having them warm up their skills. Under this blazing sun, it's the perfect time to subdue the heart's fire and sense the surging flow of blood and qi," Zhou Gang said with a faint smile, reaching for a cup of plain tea on the stone table and taking a small sip.

Feng Xiu's gaze fell on a young escort fighter striking a wooden training dummy. The man threw a punch, and the post, as thick as a bowl, trembled slightly.

On the post's surface, four shallow indentations from the knuckles were visible.

"Uncle Zhou, what kind of wood is this post made of?" Feng Xiu asked, his eyes widening slightly.

"Jujube wood." Zhou Gang glanced at it and chuckled. "Dried in the shade for three years, oil-soaked three times over. Hard as hell."

Feng Xiu had some idea of jujube wood's hardness—this type of wood burned slower than others and had a very high density. Forget leaving a fist imprint; if an ordinary man threw a full-force punch, the only thing hurting would be his own hand.

"Then, Uncle Zhou, do you think I'm suited for martial training?" A flicker of eagerness showed on Feng Xiu's face as he looked at Zhou Gang and asked.

To put it bluntly, after two months of study and growth, Feng Xiu had taken over most of the family's affairs. But when it came to the common knowledge of martial arts in this world, he was still largely in the dark. The Feng Clan was at a critical stage of rising, and as the undisputed heir, farming estates, managing commerce, and handling people—these were his daily grind.

"You?" Zhou Gang sized Feng Xiu up, his gaze lingering a moment longer on those fair, slender fingers and that handsome face. Then, his scrutinizing look slowly faded, and he gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Feng Xiu wasn't spoiled or pampered; he might be capable in other matters, but how he fared in martial training would depend on his performance.

"Your father did say I should take you under my wing to temper your character. If you're serious, you can come by my place another day, and I'll see how much grit you've got." Zhou Gang mused for a moment.

"Thank you, Uncle Zhou!" Feng Xiu's face lit up with joy, then he added, Zhou Gang's strength was no joke—though he didn't know what realm the man had reached, he'd led the Zhou family's escort team across the land for over twenty years. That meant he definitely had some solid skills. As these thoughts flashed through his mind, Feng Xiu was about to say, why not skip 'another day' and do it right now?

But then a respectful voice came from behind him. "Young Master, the family head has just returned. He requests your presence—he says there's something to discuss." The young guard replied.

"Father's back?" Feng Xiu's heart skipped a beat.

"Yes, and Chief Escort Zhou is to come along as well. The family head is waiting in the main hall." The guard added.

Hearing that there was something important to discuss, Feng Xiu's face took on a helpless look. Seeing this, Zhou Gang let out a hearty laugh, finding him rather amusing. He reached out and patted Feng Xiu on the shoulder, a gesture of encouragement, then followed the guard toward the main hall.

"Alright, I'll be there shortly." What's coming will come no matter what. Feng Xiu sighed inwardly.

Then, he quickly strode to his bedchamber and, from the stack of books on the desk—the Chronicles of Hundred Theories—pulled out a sheet of rice paper covered in neat, small handwriting.

[Dendrobium Village: tenant dispute outcome, reprimand] [Hundred Dou Village: brawl handling, slight praise] [Toward maids and guards: must show arrogance, no random rewards] [White Willow Village: pending, specific reporting method, emphasize personal initiative] [Drop 'Dad' and other close terms; address by title during work] [Where the hell did all these rules come from, damn it—strikethrough—]

The paper was filled with jumbled notes only he could understand. After a quick scan to commit them to memory, Feng Xiu put it back in its place and headed to the main hall's reception room.

Outside the reception room, the door was tightly shut. Feng Xiu was about to raise his hand to knock, but hurriedly tidied his appearance and posture, making sure everything was in order before rapping on the door.

"Enter." A steady, weighty voice sounded.

Inside the hall, on the left side, seated in a purple sandalwood chair, was a middle-aged man with gray stubble, dressed in a brocade robe.

"Family head." Feng Xiu stepped in with steady strides, gave a slight bow, then turned his gaze to Zhou Gang. "Uncle Zhou."

Zhou Gang nodded slightly.

"Wenzheng, any progress on the White Willow Village matter?" Feng Ao exuded an extraordinary presence, around forty-something years old, in the prime of a man's life. His brocade garments were immaculately arranged, and the ring on his finger and the accessories at his waist were meticulously chosen. His eyes swept over Feng Xiu before he lightly lifted his teacup, sliding the lid to skim off the foam.

Beside him, Zhou Gang watched the impending test with keen interest.

"Reporting to Father, the White Willow Village matter is not a case of unruly villagers making trouble." As it happened, Feng Xiu's timing for crossing over was just right—two months ago, precisely when Feng Ao was handing over part of the family's authority.

Therefore, Feng Ao had to personally inquire about every matter, big or small, encountered in managing the family affairs.

At that moment, Feng Xiu bowed slightly, hands clasped in salute as he replied.

Fortunately, Feng Xiu had prepared his thoughts before coming, so facing Feng Ao's interrogation, he naturally responded with ease.

After he finished his truthful report, Feng Ao exchanged a slightly surprised glance with Zhou Gang.

The latter met his gaze calmly.

Indeed, Master Black was a man of the lower classes, having mingled in all sorts of circles in the martial world.

Presumably, Zhou Gang had made the introduction.

Thinking this, Feng Ao couldn't help but nod slightly—not bad, knowing how to borrow people and leverage.

"So, the rain prayer was your makeshift plan?"

"Father, not exactly. I have already sent Master Black to Yulin Prefecture to find that old Daoist. In ten days, if the rain prayer fails, we can also open the ponds and reservoirs to divert water from the Jade Belt River to irrigate the farmlands."

Feng Xiu shook his head, then explained.

In the Great Liang Empire, the southwestern regions.

The Cloud Ridge Plateau had a relatively high average altitude, forming a unique geography where river valley basins were generally elevated but locally flat.

This also led to scarce rainfall around Green Rock City, relying solely on the heavens for sustenance, along with the Jade Belt River tributaries and pond-reservoir irrigation as survival methods.

For now, opening the ponds and reservoirs was the best solution Feng Xiu could think of.

Previously, the matter of exempting tenant rents in Dendrobium Village had already enraged Feng Ao.

Faced with a similar situation, Feng Xiu's actions were quite conservative.

Unexpectedly, as soon as he said this, Feng Ao's expression shifted slightly. The hand holding the teacup paused mid-air, then set it back down on the table with a soft tap.

"We'll discuss this later."

"As for White Willow Farm, Commander Zhou's escort team will be stationed in the city for a month. You go find new upstanding families." Feng Ao's tone turned somewhat cold.

Feng Xiu was stunned, his eyes widening slightly.

Escort team? Upstanding families?!

He wasn't ignorant—he understood the implication.

Feng Ao was tacitly acknowledging that the people of White Willow Village would cause trouble, intending to use the escort team to suppress them!

Was the situation really that dire, to the point where it had to escalate into bloody conflict before introducing new tenants?

After these thoughts flashed through his mind, Feng Xiu sensed something was off.

It was already midsummer, the environment scorching hot—even Hou Yi would shake his head at this weather.

The glaciers on the Jade Belt Mountains had long since melted. As a major grain merchant in Green Rock City, the Feng Clan was also one of the families holding a River Law Permit.

Opening a pond or reservoir was merely a matter of notifying the River Law Officer.

In the end, it was just greasing some palms and going through the motions.

Compared to the potential outbreak of civil unrest and the loss of a total crop failure, this cost was almost negligible.

"Fath... Clan Leader." Feng Xiu's heart churned with doubt as he cautiously probed.

"This year's drought is especially severe. White Willow Village has reached its breaking point. In past years, occasional rains allowed for some rotation."

"If there's no water, I fear there will be no harvest at all. Might the River Law Bureau be willing to show some leniency?"

As his words fell, the hall fell into a brief silence, broken only by the steady tap-tap of Feng Ao's knuckles against the rosewood armrest.

Zhou Gang kept his eyes on his nose and his nose on his heart, saying nothing.

"Leniency?" Feng Ao's voice dropped low.

"Do you think I don't want leniency? But rules are rules—harder than the dirt in the fields."

Feng Ao's gaze was piercing, his imposing aura, paired with a long-hidden, intangible pressure, weighing down the very air.