IDWBE -Chapter 63 Letters

Hong Ying hurriedly acknowledged.

Bian Jing said, “Six hundred miles south is a place the locals call Golden Rooster Mountain, known for its gold sand. The man occupying the area is named Jiang Sixi. Clearly a bandit, yet he oddly gave himself a scholar’s title—something like ‘Sword-Wielding Scholar.’ It is said he has some connection to Wang Cheng, though the specifics are unknown even to me.”

“They’re all damn rich people. Mr. Bian, don’t worry. Once I take their wealth, I’ll allocate it to you for building roads and bridges,”

Lin Yi said, drooling in envy and sighing. “Since there’s iron and coal, the only problem is a lack of blacksmiths?”

“Exactly!”

Bian Jing cupped his hands. “I’ve already advanced money to these blacksmith shops so they can recruit apprentices. In one year, these apprentices will be fully qualified blacksmiths; by then, the shops will be ready.”

“Mr. Bian—”

Lin Yi couldn’t help interrupting, sighing. “Time is money! Efficiency is life! Training blacksmiths is fine—necessary even—but a whole year? I can’t wait that long!”

Bian Jing grimaced. “Then, Your Highness, what do you suggest?”

Lin Yi said, “First: Sanhe is too large to rely on just a few blacksmiths. Put up notices, offer rewards, and we’ll open our own blacksmith shop. Second: Yuezhou is flooded, many displaced people. Send them to grab workers for me. As many as we can get—at least a few blacksmiths. If there are no blacksmiths, carpenters will do.”

“Fine, let’s do it that way. You’re not well—don’t go personally. Send people, and take plenty of guards. As for food, Minister Xie, please help procure it quickly.”

“Your Highness is wise!”

Xie Zanxi could not contain his joy. “Baiyun City is six hundred miles from the Yuezhou-Sanhe border. Displaced people gather, and they don’t speak Mandarin. It’s easy for trouble to occur; ordinary people can’t handle it. I recommend the Hu father and son.”

Lin Yi was surprised. “One’s a stable hand, the other a doctor. Will these two manage?”

Xie Zanxi smiled. “As I know, Hu Da is from Yuezhou and has lived in Ankang for years; his accent remains. Hu the doctor’s medical skill is remarkable. Even displaced bandits wouldn’t harm him; he easily wins hearts. Sending them father and son is ideal.”

Lin Yi found this reasonable and nodded. Whether the Hu family agreed or not wasn’t his concern.

The He Mansion’s guard force had expanded to two thousand. For sparsely populated Sanhe, this was already the maximum!

Most were farmers, fishermen, or small merchants; a few were prisoners undergoing labor reform. Wang Cheng’s son, Wang Xing—the richest man in Sanhe—was even included.

Training lasted three shifts each day. Afterward, those who should harvest went to harvest; those who should fish went to fish.

Meanwhile, Qing Pi and the thugs continued labor reform on the construction site.

This was He Jixiang’s compromise based on local realities; expecting these people to be full-time guards was unrealistic.

Many had families at home, the backbone of the household. Without them, the season’s rice harvest wouldn’t happen.

If it weren’t for the He Mansion’s monthly pay, they wouldn’t tolerate hardship here, neglecting their family work.

On the spacious training grounds, the guards had already formed their ranks neatly.

Lin Yi frowned, watching them punch and shout with gusto.

Something felt off, though he couldn’t pinpoint it.

“Make them run—every day. At least ten miles,” Lin Yi told He Jixiang.

“If they run fast enough, the enemy’s broadsword can’t hit them. If they get hit—they die. If they die—they’re gone.”

He Jixiang paused. That was completely obvious nonsense!

“Light-footed and quick—speed is everything. That’s how I train them,” he said.

This master had a habit of spouting strange phrases; it was maddening. Sometimes one had to infer meaning themselves.

Lin Yi smiled. “Even better. Keep strengthening them. Run in formation. Run with spirit.”

He Jixiang was about to speak, but Lin Yi had already left. He hurriedly grabbed Hong Ying.

“Chief Hong, what does ‘in formation’ with spirit even mean?”

“Something like: ‘Body light as a flying duck, drifting like a spirit, stepping lightly on the waves, shoes kicking up dust, suddenly leaping, frolicking and soaring.’”

Hong Ying remembered the “Lingbo Micro-Step” from Lin Yi’s Tianlong Babu.

As a eunuch, he couldn’t learn pure yang techniques at first—he only taught them to Mingyue, Zixia, Song Cheng, and others.

Though talented, none had fully mastered it.

Now he had reached “sufficient yin-yang understanding,” making the technique learnable, though he had no desire—the footwork was merely a move.

Moves brought him no benefit.

“Lightness skill?”

He Jixiang frowned. “Walking on water? Without eighth-rank mastery? Impossible.”

Hong Ying saw Lin Yi walking away and, ignoring Bian Jing, hurried after him, leaving He Jixiang shaking his head in frustration.

The autumn air was crisp.

A messenger pigeon arrived from the north, circling above the He Mansion before finally landing.

Lin Yi saw it and followed to the back courtyard.

“Your Highness.”

Wang Qingbang handed him a note.

Lin Yi quickly opened it, matched the numbers to characters in the book, and wrote them out—forming two complete sentences.

Reading it, he sighed.

His correspondence with Lin Ning was frequent. Lin Ning wrote family matters, caring words; Lin Ning replied with court affairs—who got promoted, who was unlucky, who prospered.

Today’s letter was similar.

He casually tossed the paper to Wang Qingbang, smiling. “Every day it’s the same—so boring. Qi Yong and the Ankang prefect Wen Tai don’t get along—why is he speaking on his behalf?”

The prefect and the governor have similar duties. But since Ankang is near the capital, the prefect is a third-rank official with high status—granted only by imperial favor, enough to confront ministers.

Wang Qingbang smiled. “I’ve been in Sanhe for years. I’ve never heard of this Wen Tai—but Qi Yong isn’t being kind.”

Lin Yi asked, curious, “How so? Everyone wants him dismissed, but Qi Yong insists he be sent to Chuanzhou. A demotion is better than losing the position, right?”

Wang Qingbang laughed. “Your Highness is too innocent—you don’t understand the subtleties. This is Qi Yong’s ruthlessness. If Wen Tai were dismissed entirely, later he could return with a guarantor and resume his post. But being sent to Chuanzhou is different. A third-rank official demoted to sixth rank can rise only with great difficulty. Even national and family rules, even with imperial favor, special promotion—from sixth rank to third rank takes ten years!”

“Ten years? Damn it! Who has ten years in life?”

Lin Yi sighed. “Qi Yong is too cruel.”

Politics were far more complicated than he had imagined.