Chapter 97: The Zhou Family’s Methods

A lean, middle-aged man from the Zhou family arrived, dressed in a long robe so faded from washing and patched so many times that he fit perfectly the image Zhao Hengyi had of a destitute, bookish fellow.

“Student Zhou Yonglin pays respect to Master Zhao.”

So he was a scholar, after all.

“And what brings you to see me, Mister Zhou?” Zhao Hengyi studied him, trying to gauge his intentions, a probing look in his eyes.

“I happened to learn something of grave importance—something that concerns your very life and fortune, Master Zhao. I came specifically to deliver this warning.”

Staring at Zhou Yonglin, who clearly fancied himself mysterious, Zhao Hengyi found the situation rather amusing. On the way here, the old village chief had already briefed him on Zhou Yonglin’s background.

A collateral branch of the Zhou family, he had studied since childhood but failed the exams time and again. Though not pedantic, he was too honest for his own good, and had been badly deceived by his relatives, nearly ruining his family’s property. Such circumstances were hardly rare in great clans like the Zhous; after all, with so many generations, the bloodline had spread far and wide. Some branches, unable to make their way, were even forced to become tenant farmers.

Zhou Yonglin was of the sort who, within a year or two, might well have to rent land from other Zhou family members to farm.

“What is it you’re after, Mister Zhou? Money? Grain?” Zhao Hengyi took the initiative. “I suggest, instead, that you take a position at our Yushu Bay night school. The work is light, the pay generous, and it’s a job worthy of a learned man, bringing respect as well.”

“Master Zhao, this is a matter of life and death. Please, don’t dodge my words and risk a disaster!” Zhou Yonglin grew anxious at Zhao Hengyi’s unorthodox response. “If you do not trust me, say so directly; why make sport of me?”

“I speak sincerely,” Zhao Hengyi replied undisturbed. “Yushu Bay is in need of learned teachers. I am willing to employ you at a high salary, but you would need to live here, which may be inconvenient. Rest assured, though, I will provide a house large enough for your whole family. You may bring them all.”

On his way here, Zhao Hengyi had already made up his mind. Though Zhou Yonglin was from a collateral branch, he might feel little kinship or loyalty to the main Zhou family—especially since it was his own kin who had robbed him of his inheritance.

Whatever news Zhou Yonglin brought, Zhao Hengyi intended to keep him.

The night school truly lacked teachers; with only one instructor, the old scholar was worked to the bone. Were it not for Zhao Hengyi’s constant raises, the man would have certainly fled by now!

“I understand. I accept the post Master Zhao offers!” Zhou Yonglin, after some thought, assumed this was a kind of exchange—an assurance that his family would be protected against Zhou family reprisals. “Master Zhao, two days ago I learned by chance that the main Zhou branch, acting on the Old Master’s orders, contacted the county constable Yuan Mei to move against you!”

As Zhou Yonglin explained, Zhao Hengyi gradually pieced together the truth. His recent operation, in which he had rounded up all the defeated soldiers the Zhou family had hidden, was still a secret. Had word truly leaked, the Zhous would hardly resort to such crude measures as Zhou Yonglin described; nor would they act through such local means.

The plot against Zhao Hengyi and the orders regarding Yushu Bay came straight from the Zhou family patriarch. The methods were not particularly clever, but in the countryside, they were effective enough.

Why had the Zhou patriarch fixed his sights on him? Yushu Bay and Zhou Village were not even neighboring, and he had never had dealings with them before. Was it envy of his growing business?

Unable to make sense of it, Zhao Hengyi decided not to waste any more thought. All that mattered was being prepared.

Zhou Yonglin was promptly assigned to the night school, where he joined the old scholar.

Having studied the classics since childhood, Zhou Yonglin was utterly bewildered by the Yushu Bay curriculum.

“Don’t trouble yourself, Old Zhou,” the venerable teacher said warmly, delighted to have a new colleague. “Whatever the master wants us to teach, we teach—no need for poetry, essays, or the classics. Tonight, come to class with me. Once you’re familiar, you’ll be ready to handle it yourself by tomorrow!”

Zhou Yonglin was speechless.

As for the Zhou family’s plot, Zhao Hengyi had countless ways to counter it. He chose the most intimidating.

That very night, the guard and hunting teams were deployed around Yushu Bay, waiting for the Zhou family to arrive. The women’s brigade, eager for excitement, followed at a distance under the command of Wang Erhu, keeping to the shadows.

Not far from Zhao Hengyi, Lu Jiuniang—her injuries still unhealed—sat atop a tree, fiddling with a hand crossbow that had yet to warm in her grasp. The more she studied this exquisite instrument of death, the more she adored it.

Within Yushu Bay, the weaving machines in the textile workshop clattered ceaselessly through the night; there were still not enough looms for every worker. The canteen, providing hot meals for the women workers, kept its fires burning so that anyone coming off shift could eat at any hour.

By the kilns, the craftsmen kept diligent watch, constantly checking the temperatures. With houses going up all over the village, they dared not risk a ruined batch that would waste precious time.

Tonight, as on any other, Yushu Bay was bustling and alive, full of energy and activity.

On a nearby low hill, Constable Yuan Mei and several deputies watched, puzzled. Was Zhao Hengyi truly so ruthless as to not let his workers sleep? What a heartless villain! To bring such a man to justice was, in Yuan Mei’s eyes, nothing short of upholding Heaven’s will.

A sense of righteous mission, new and exhilarating, filled Yuan Mei’s chest.

“Sir Yuan, Yushu Bay is ablaze with light all night. There’s no need to wait any longer—let’s begin,” said Zhou Xingwang, the mainstay of the Zhou family’s main branch, a man in his forties who had personally orchestrated tonight’s affair.

Yuan Mei nodded stiffly, keeping his thoughts to himself. Zhou Xingwang paid him no heed, simply issuing orders to his clansmen: the operation was underway.

Yuan Mei held nothing but contempt for a parvenu like Zhou Xingwang—and the feeling was mutual. Were it not for the patriarch’s insistence, neither would have sought the other’s company. After all, what sort of man went by the nickname “Yuan the Barber”?

Zhou Xingwang had brought two hundred Zhou clansmen—a rare show of force in recent years. The night could not hide their excitement; they marched toward Yushu Bay, torches blazing.

Yuan Mei, wincing at their stupidity—lighting torches before even arriving!—signaled his men to follow. He swaggered along behind, ready for the show.

Under the moonlight, a ragged, battered man stumbled toward Yushu Bay. His task was simple, yet crucial.

He was to slip into Yushu Bay and hide. When Zhou Xingwang’s mob burst in to cause trouble, Yuan the Constable and his deputies would swoop in as if descending from the heavens. Only then would he reveal himself.

For this night, he was the Zhou family’s escaped slave.