Chapter 2666: The Capital (Part 22)

A slight smile tugged at the corners of Zhou Lezhi's mouth as he listened to Liu Zhao recount how the Song brothers had failed to swindle money from the escort agency. This came as no surprise. Once word of such an opportunity spread, every city fox and shrine rat would scramble for a bite. Even the pettiest villains—those too insignificant to drink from the soup—would still try to lick blood and taste a hint of the spoils.

Were it not for Delong's formidable reputation and powerful backing, and the shrewdness of those managing the operation, to say that a third of Master Leng's fortune would be scattered to the winds would be an understatement.

"The team Master Leng maintains is composed entirely of ruthless characters," Liu Zhao observed. "Not a hint of disorder among them."

Zhou Lezhi nodded. "More than just orderly—they're likely conducting operations as we speak. If we don't handle this carefully, we may find ourselves bitten in return."

"I only wonder how these Kun thieves will respond to the Master's letter," Liu Zhao said.

"None of the people currently in the capital have the authority to decide," Zhou Lezhi replied with a laugh. "The matter must be reported to Lingao. Only after the True Kuns deliberate can a decision be reached."

"Heavens! Won't that take several months?"

"The Kun thieves possess wireless radio boxes—messages can be transmitted in an instant. Since this matter involves a True Kun thief, we should have news within a month at most. Let us not act rashly. We shall sit firmly on the fishing platform and remain calm."

"But Master Wang mentioned last time that the Emperor is preparing to mobilize troops," Liu Zhao pressed. "He's already preparing to issue an edict for the Guangdong Supply Tax. Will there be enough time?"

"Mobilizing troops and horses is not something accomplished overnight. Only after this Guangdong Tax is collected and silver fills the coffers can the army march. Don't expect any movement for at least half a year, perhaps a full year." Zhou Lezhi's expression grew serious. "That gives them ample time to deliberate."

Ever since his last meeting with Leng Ningyun, when he had successfully obtained the man's handwritten letter, Zhou Lezhi's spirits had been buoyant. Through years of struggling against the Kun thieves, he had rarely gained the upper hand, constantly finding himself at a disadvantage and often receiving cold looks from Minister Wang. Were it not for the Minister's thorough understanding of the Kun situation—his awareness that these thieves posed a grave threat to the heart of Great Ming—and the fact that Zhou was the first person in the empire to truly comprehend the Kuns, their cooperative relationship would have barely held together.

Leng Ningyun was the first Kun thief they had captured. Arresting him had not been difficult in principle; after all, the man was right here within Beijing's walls.

But taking him into custody was another matter entirely. In the years Leng Ningyun had spent in the capital, he had constructed a reliable protective umbrella around himself. The palace eunuchs, in particular, treated him as their "God of Wealth," depositing heaps of silver in his bank to earn interest. The notion of touching him through official channels was nothing short of a fool's dream.

The court's gravest threat lurked right at the Son of Heaven's feet, yet they could only watch as Leng drew resources from every direction, absorbing wealth with impunity. Not only could they not touch him—they couldn't even plot an assassination. The consequences of such an attempt were more than even Wang Yehao and the other grand officials could bear.

Zhou Lezhi recalled the phrase the Teacher had once used: "Interest Group." Indeed, the term captured the essence exquisitely, cutting deeper than simple labels like "Eunuch Party," "Donglin Party," or "Zhejiang Party." These were people bound together by interests alone.

And speaking of which, wasn't his own scheme to capture Leng Ningyun also serving a certain interest group?

The grand officials proclaimed this was about saving the country and preserving lives. But others would make the same claim. Take these Kun thieves—they too used "saving the people from fire and flood" as their banner.

"Lend me, lend me a pair of wisdom eyes..." He found himself unconsciously humming the little tune the Teacher had often sung back in those days.

Regrettably, he hadn't mastered even a ten-thousandth of the Teacher's vast learning. Far from cultivating a pair of wisdom eyes, he had been forced to shoulder heavy burdens with only reluctance to sustain him.

His gaze drifted to the corner of the study, where a banner of peculiar design hung embroidered with the characters "Hanging Pot to Save the World." The edges were worn with age, and a gourd dangled from the bamboo staff.

These were all relics the Teacher had left behind. Zhou Lezhi remembered their chance encounter outside Guangzhou city in the seventh year of Tianqi—1627. It had been spring, the season of peach blossoms and green willows. The Teacher had trudged along the field ridges outside the village, a box strapped to his back and this very banner clutched in his hand. His gait was unsteady, and the straight gown he wore hung crooked and twisted on his frame—quite a laughable sight. Not to mention that curious "Guangzhou Mandarin" accent of his.

But it was a dose of medicine drawn from that gourd that had pulled Zhou Lezhi back from death's edge. From that day forward, everyone in the village called the stranger the Divine Doctor. Many patients who had been sent to Guangzhou city and failed to be cured by famous physicians at the great pharmacies recovered the moment they took his medicine. Lin Qijin, who had first invited him for diagnosis, boasted at every opportunity about his wisdom in recognizing the man's talent.

Lin Qijin's "wisdom eye" may have been worthless, but the Divine Doctor's fame spread nonetheless. Before long, Imperial Commissioner Wang sent someone to summon the Teacher, and from then on, the Teacher joined Master Wang's staff.

If that were all, it would amount to nothing more than an ordinary tale. However, not long after Mr. Zhou departed, government soldiers descended upon Hetou Village, claiming they sought to apprehend "sorcerers" and search for "sorcerous items." In the end, no sorcerer was caught—but several poor souls who had accepted the white rice relief from Mr. Zhou were dragged before the village head and beheaded. The village erupted in turmoil. Everyone whispered that the Teacher was a "sorcerer." Those who had taken his medicine felt as though disaster loomed over them, scrambling to burn incense and worship at the temple, begging for ash-infused holy water to drink. Whether it helped, only Heaven knew.

Zhou Lezhi had also taken the Teacher's medicine. But his parents had died long ago, and with no one to fuss over him, he was spared from drinking that ash water.

Though his body recovered, Zhou Lezhi's prospects remained bleak. He had studied at the clan's private school but failed the child candidate examinations several times. Instead, he found himself drawn to all manner of miscellaneous studies. On ordinary days, he loved to rig up waterwheels in the irrigation ditches or fashion pipes from bamboo tubes—activities that delighted the village children but earned unanimous disapproval from the clan elders and scholars, who judged him a "waste."

Yet even a "waste" was still a child of the clan. Without parents, the clan bore responsibility for looking after him. Seeing that he had studied until sixteen without being able to compose even a proper opening essay, the elders deliberated: better to have him learn a trade.

As for what trade he should pursue, before the elders could reach a decision, former Imperial Commissioner Wang sent Wang Liang to the village once more. The soldiers claimed they still wished to search for "sorcerous items." Naturally, the result was the same as before—nothing found. Fortunately, no one was killed this time. Then Wang Liang announced that he sought several youths from the village to become disciples of the Teacher. Gender did not matter, he said, so long as they were literate.

Only then did everyone realize that the Teacher was no sorcerer after all. But if he wasn't a sorcerer, why had those who received his grace been dragged away and beheaded? No one understood. Naturally, no one dared ask.

Of course, sending girls away was out of the question. First, few girls were literate to begin with; second, no one had ever heard of a man taking female disciples. The "Divine Doctor's" intentions seemed self-evident. Yet this was neither "betrothing" a wife nor "buying" a concubine, but creating some nondescript arrangement called "female disciple." If word spread, the scandal would be truly incredible. After much deliberation, the "waste" Zhou Lezhi was selected—though at that time, he did not yet bear this name.

And so, in a muddled fashion, Zhou Lezhi followed Wang Liang to Beijing. It was his first time leaving his hometown. Traveling northward for more than two months, he arrived at the capital—that place of supreme virtue beneath heaven—covered in the dust of the road.

Arriving in the capital for the first time, the young man from Guangdong felt uncomfortable in every way. Not only could he barely understand the local Mandarin, but the Zhejiang dialect spoken by the servants in Wang Yehao's residence proved equally incomprehensible. By comparison, the Teacher's strange Guangzhou Mandarin was far easier to communicate with.

The Teacher at this time was vastly different from the man who had appeared in Hetou Village. He now spoke decent Mandarin, carried himself with the proper demeanor of a scholar in his every gesture, and even his clothing had lost that awkward appearance of the past.

Clearly, the Teacher enjoyed great trust within the Wang residence. The servants treated him with marked respect, and Master Wang frequently summoned him for long conversations that stretched on for half a day at a time. Though his title was "Secretary," his treatment far exceeded that of other staff members. Master Wang had even assigned two maids specifically to attend to his daily needs. Such high regard, Zhou Lezhi understood, could not rest on medical skills alone.

This finally put the young man's heart at ease upon his arrival. Only when the master prospers can the apprentice hope to eat. Otherwise, losing one's position in a capital thousands of li from home would leave one without even the words to beg for food.

Upon entering the Teacher's tutelage, Zhou Lezhi first underwent a round of what he would later learn to call "testing." He was asked many questions, some of which seemed utterly nonsensical. For example: "Do you believe thunder is caused by the Thunder God striking his drum, or by some other mechanism?" Finally, when the Teacher discovered that Zhou Lezhi was not only literate but could also solve simple arithmetic problems, he expressed considerable satisfaction.

"You are now my student," the Teacher declared suddenly, speaking in that Mandarin with its peculiar accent. "The first thing you must do is learn to speak as I do."

Zhou Lezhi was filled with suspicion. He had never heard Mandarin spoken this way. Though it bore some resemblance to Capital Mandarin, the pronunciation and vocabulary differed considerably.

But since he had become an apprentice, the Teacher's word was law. Let alone learning to speak as he did—even unreasonable requests would have to be obeyed.

"Don't think me meddlesome. I have a bellyful of learning here—" The Teacher tapped his own head with a somewhat comical gesture. "But this knowledge can only be properly taught once you master the language I speak. Do you wish to learn my skills?"

Did that even need asking? Zhou Lezhi thought. Wang Liang and the others had told him upon entering the residence that the Teacher knew astronomy above and geography below, and possessed many "supreme studies"—which was precisely why Master Wang valued him so highly. Setting all that aside, the master's medical arts alone—his skill in treating illness and preparing medicine—would be enough to establish a family and a career if properly learned.

And so Zhou Lezhi followed the Teacher, beginning with this strange "Mandarin." Later, the Teacher explained that it was called "Putonghua"—Common Speech—the language current in his homeland. Once Zhou Lezhi mastered Putonghua, he would be able to read the many "secret manuals" written in it and absorb the knowledge contained within.

"But isn't the Teacher a fellow townsman of Master Wang? Are you not both from Shaoxing Prefecture?" Zhou Lezhi had asked in confusion at the time. He had heard more than enough of the Shaoxing dialect spoken by the Wang family servants during the journey north and had grown quite familiar with it.

"I am indeed his fellow townsman, and indeed from Shaoxing Prefecture," the Teacher replied with a smile. "It's only that the particulars differ slightly."

"What is the difference?"

(End of Chapter)