MLMD -Chapter 387 A New Official Brings Three Fires (Part 2)

Facing the middle-aged man’s arrogance, the soldier revealed a strange smile. He brushed the man’s pointing finger aside and said calmly, “I really don’t believe it. You can try if you want—I’d like to see who could make me go home and live off myself. And don’t point your finger at me. I won’t hold it against you this time, but I don’t want there to be a next.”

Catching that fleeting trace of disdain in the soldier’s eyes, the middle-aged man flew into a rage. He could no longer remember how many years it had been since anyone other than the family head had dared look at him like that. And now he was seeing it again—on someone he considered a lowly military household. That only fueled his fury.

He raised his finger again, pointing at the leading soldier, a ferocious gleam in his eyes as he growled in a low voice, “Kid, you’re dead. I swear, as long as you’re still in Shandong, if I don’t ruin your family and destroy your life, I won’t—ah!”

Before his words even finished, the savage threat turned into a cry of agony. The soldier had seized the finger pointing at him and twisted it into an unnatural angle. One could almost hear the faint cracking sounds as the finger deformed.

“Ten fingers are linked to the heart” was no empty saying. The instant his finger was twisted out of shape, the man’s vicious expression transformed into unbearable pain—so fast it rivaled Sichuan face-changing.

“Ah… you… let go… let go!” Overwhelmed by pain, his knees buckled and he dropped to the ground.

Seeing the middle-aged man suffer, the caravan hands and guards who had been watching rushed forward. Some even cursed as they moved to lay hands on the soldier. They had forgotten who they were dealing with—soldiers, an organized unit. When someone tried to harm their comrade, the men behind him immediately shouldered their muskets and aimed them forward. The cold gleam of bayonets instantly stunned the would-be attackers. Confronted with the soldiers’ hostile looks, the guards could only retreat step by step.

Looking down at the man kneeling before him, the soldier—who moments earlier had worn a simple, honest smile—lowered his head and leaned close to the man’s ear. “Whether I’ll end up going home and living off myself, I don’t know yet. But if you still refuse our inspection, I guarantee this finger of yours won’t be usable again. Understand?”

“You…” The man was furious and about to erupt, but the renewed surge of pain forced him to submit to the soldier’s brute authority. With a sob in his voice, he pleaded repeatedly, “Fine… we’ll submit to the inspection. Check—go ahead and check!”

Snorting softly at the man’s pain-distorted face, the soldier called out, “Brothers, go and search thoroughly!”

“Yes!”

More than a dozen soldiers stepped forward to inspect the caravan. It consisted of over a hundred carts, and it took quite some time to tally the goods. A goat-bearded merchant appraised the cargo’s value and finally handed a list to the lead soldier.

Glancing at the list, the soldier said with a half-smile to the middle-aged man, “You’ve got quite a few fine items here—worth over six thousand taels of silver. By regulation, you owe two hundred taels. Please go to the city gate and pay.”

The man was both pained and furious, but under the threat of bayonets he had no choice but to hand over the silver. As he left, however, the look he cast at the soldier carried a trace of venomous resentment.

Smack… smack…

The sound of slaps echoed through a secluded rear courtyard. The middle-aged man who had paid two hundred taels at the gate stood with his head lowered, enduring the blows from a young man. The latter struck him while cursing, “You bastard… you fool… how did the Mo family end up with trash like you? Letting our goods be stopped at the gate and even paying the tax obediently—why don’t you just die!”

The young man continued slapping until the middle-aged man’s face was swollen, yet he dared not move an inch. Just as the young man raised his hand again, an aged but authoritative voice stopped him.

“Jingqi… enough. Stop.”

An old man seated on a stone bench finally spoke. Around sixty, with a thin beard beneath his chin and a gaunt, imposing face, he raised a hand. “Jingqi, step aside. Mo Fu, come here.”

Though his voice was not loud, it sent a chill through Mo Fu. He stepped forward and dropped to his knees. “Master… this time I was incompetent and shamed you. Please punish me.”

The old man closed his eyes, pondering for a long while before saying, “Mo Fu, recount today’s events in full—leave out nothing.”

“Yes!”

Mo Fu nervously related everything that had happened at the gate. The old man listened in silence, eyes closed. Only after Mo Fu finished did he speak again, “This matter isn’t entirely your fault. That newly arrived marquis is simply too arrogant. It seems necessary to let him see what we’re capable of. Mo Fu—”

“I’m here!” Mo Fu shuddered. “What are your orders, Master?”

“Though you’re not wholly to blame, the Mo family’s face was lost through you. After you return, report to the head steward and receive thirty lashes.”

“Yes… thank you for your mercy, Master!” Far from despairing, Mo Fu felt relieved. He knew the family rules—after the lashes, the matter would be closed.

“And after that, personally take my calling card to the Liu, Quan, Gui, Ning, and Weng families. Tell them I invite them here tomorrow at noon to discuss a matter.”

“Yes, Master!”

Once Mo Fu left, the young man protested, “Father, Mo Fu messed up so badly and you’re only giving him thirty lashes? That’s too lenient!”

The old man glanced at him coolly. “What would you do—kill him? He’s served me for over twenty years. If I punish him harshly over this, what will the others think? Who would serve us loyally? I’ve told you before: ruling subordinates requires neither excessive softness nor excessive harshness. You must grasp the balance. Do you understand?”

“Yes… I understand,” the young man replied respectfully.

“Good. Now, take my card to the provincial administration, surveillance commission, and military command. Invite Lord Ma, Lord Ke, and Lord Lu to dine here.”

The young man asked eagerly, “Father, will they support us?”

“I can’t guarantee it,” the old man replied calmly. “But Yue Yang’s actions have angered nearly all merchants and gentry in Shandong. Even if they won’t openly support us, they won’t obstruct us either. We need to sound them out first.”

“Yes!” The young man left excitedly.

That evening, in a side hall of the Mo residence, Old Master Mo entertained Inspector Ma Ke, Provincial Administrator Ke Zhen’nan, and Military Commander Lu Zhili. Gone was his earlier arrogance—he now wore a warm smile and spoke with humility.

After several rounds of wine, Old Master Mo said earnestly, “Today I invited you not only to seek your guidance, but to ask you to save the Mo family—and the gentry of Shandong.”

He bowed deeply.

The officials hurried to help him up. “Old Master Mo, please speak plainly. If it’s within our power, we won’t ignore it.”

With feigned sorrow, Mo Ren lamented Yue Yang’s reforms—equal taxation, land reforms, public accounting—calling them a betrayal of ancestral law that would plunge the province into chaos.

The officials exchanged glances. Finally Ke Zhen’nan said, “The marquis comes bearing an imperial edict. We cannot openly oppose it.”

After the banquet, Mo Ren told his son, “Their silence is the greatest support. Without official interference, we can play this game even better. If Yue Yang wants to smash my rice bowl, I’ll cut him off at the root. Inform everyone—tomorrow night’s banquet, I’ll attend personally.”

“Yes, Father. Everything is ready.”