Chapter 137: The Governor's Worries
Inside a side room of the Prince's Manor, Steward Wang stared at the pile of account books before him. A trace of worry flickered across his round, plump face.
As the steward responsible for managing the Prince's Manor’s external businesses, he had a habit of thoroughly auditing the accounts every month.
By doing so, he could understand the manor’s monthly income, compare it to previous years, determine whether it had risen or fallen, and pinpoint the reasons behind any changes. If the income dropped too drastically, it would be difficult for him to explain himself to his superiors.
And this, precisely, was the source of his current troubles.
The year was fast coming to an end, and despite meticulously tallying the profits from all the manor’s external ventures, the total was merely half of last year’s figure. Even if things improved over the next two months, the most optimistic outcome would still only reach seventy percent of last year’s earnings. This was, without a doubt, his failure.
If the Prince were to hold him accountable, his position as steward would likely be in jeopardy.
Fortunately, the Ruyi Dew and the Distillery business had already commenced operations, and the shops in the city were set to officially open tomorrow. These two ventures represented his greatest hope.
But in truth, he wasn’t certain just how much profit they would bring in.
If, by chance…
Steward Wang’s heart filled with unease. As he brooded over his worries, the door to the room was suddenly pushed open. A round-faced boy of about ten years old barreled in.
The child’s face still held a trace of youthful innocence, but it bore a striking resemblance to Steward Wang—seven or eight parts alike, in fact. Their round, portly figures were almost identical, and the boy’s round face mirrored that of the steward’s. The boy ran up to him, his chubby little hand outstretched, and said, “Papa, give me some money. I want to buy candied hawthorns!”
Steward Wang, deep in his misery, suddenly saw the boy’s round face and was inexplicably filled with anger. “Eat, eat, eat! All you think about is eating! Just look at what you’ve turned into!” he scolded.
The boy had been eagerly anticipating trying the “Snowball Treat” that the Liu Clan’s candied hawthorn shop had launched a few days ago. His friends had said it was even better than regular candied hawthorns. Unable to resist the temptation, he had rushed in to ask his father for money, only to be met with an outburst of scolding. He stood frozen in place, dumbfounded.
“Have you memorized the lessons your teacher assigned?” Steward Wang asked sternly when he saw the boy standing there blankly. His anger deepened.
He himself had never been particularly good at studying, barely managing to pass the Scholar exams before failing repeatedly in further attempts. Eventually, he secured a position in the Prince’s Manor, where he had worked his way up over the past ten years. Although some of those who had passed the Provincial or Imperial exams didn’t live as comfortably as he did, he still regarded studying as the true path to success. The dreams he hadn’t achieved, he placed on his son, hoping the boy could accomplish them for him. Yet this child showed little interest in studying, always thinking about food… Truly, he was his father’s son.
“Mem-memorized,” the boy stammered, sensing that his father was not to be trifled with at the moment.
“Recite it for me,” Steward Wang demanded.
The boy didn’t understand what had gotten into his father. Why the sudden urge to test his studies? Thankfully, he had memorized those convoluted passages the day before. He began reciting them, stumbling here and there but managing to get through without major mistakes.
Hearing his son finish the recitation, Steward Wang’s expression softened slightly.
Still, he couldn’t help but feel puzzled. In previous tests, the boy had never once recited his lessons perfectly. What had gotten into him this time? Could he have been possessed by some spirit?
He had originally planned to scold the boy if he failed, using it as an opportunity to admonish him to study diligently and not waste time on play and food. But now, with the boy’s unexpectedly good performance, his prepared lecture became useless.
His plan disrupted, Steward Wang’s face darkened once more. He grabbed a blank sheet of paper, swiftly wrote a few lines, and handed it to the boy. “Learning has no end. One must never become complacent. Go memorize these lines. I’ll check them tonight.”
Some days ago, while staying on the mountain, the female teacher had made her group of students memorize this passage. Steward Wang had heard it so often that it had practically been etched into his ears, and he had inadvertently committed it to memory.
Now, it seemed like the perfect way to occupy his son. At the very least, the boy wouldn’t come back to bother him until he’d learned it.
“Off you go,” Steward Wang said impatiently, waving his hand.
The boy left the room holding the sheet of paper, his round face a picture of confusion. At ten years old, he couldn’t quite understand why his father hadn’t rewarded him for successfully reciting his lessons, but had instead given him more to memorize as punishment.
Duped by his father, the boy sat dazed under the eaves of the side room, gazing up at the sky with a look of despair.
After a long moment, the boy sighed deeply, clutching the paper in his hands. Having spent a few years at a private school, he could recognize many characters. Beneath the eaves, his voice soon rang out:
“‘The Rules for Disciples,’ the teachings of the sages:
First, respect and love your parents.
Second, be cautious and trustworthy…
Sigh…
Love all people and draw near to those who are virtuous.
If there is strength left over, then study the classics…
Sugar snowball, sugar snowball, sugar snowball… sigh…”
The child’s crisp, lively voice drifted out, but the frequent sighs that interspersed his recitation clashed somewhat with the atmosphere.
...
At the same time, a middle-aged man with a stern expression exited the study of the Ning Prince, rubbing his temples. The chill of the autumn wind, biting cold, helped clear his mind.
“Governor Dong, shall I escort you back to your residence?” an elderly steward in formal attire approached respectfully.
The middle-aged man waved a hand. “No need. I know the way back to my residence from the Prince’s Manor.”
Hearing this, the steward did not insist further. He watched the middle-aged man’s figure disappear into the distance before turning to leave.
As he walked through the Prince’s Manor, the middle-aged man’s face betrayed a trace of worry.
As the Governor of Qing’an Prefecture, he was responsible for overseeing all local affairs. In just two months, he would return to the capital for his annual debriefing. At that time, the court would evaluate his performance, including metrics like population growth, land reclamation, tax revenue, grain storage, public security, and education in Qing’an Prefecture. Based on these assessments, he would be promoted, demoted, or rewarded.
While he wasn’t concerned about areas like land reclamation or tax revenue, the matter of education weighed heavily on his mind.
This year, the scholars of Qing’an Prefecture had performed poorly in the imperial exams. The number of successful candidates had fallen far below the norm. This glaring shortfall in educational achievement would severely impact his record in the realm of education.
Education, however, was not something that could be improved overnight. Although achievements in other areas could offset this shortcoming, it still stung his pride.
After all, Qing’an Prefecture was the largest city in Jing Nation outside of the capital. Its number of scholars was second only to the capital’s. In previous years, the prefecture’s success rate in the imperial exams had often rivaled that of the capital, but this time, it had been left far behind.
Lost in thought over this issue, he passed by a certain side room and suddenly caught the sound of a child’s halting voice:
“‘The Rules for Disciples,’ the teachings of the sages:
First, respect and love your parents…
Sigh…
Love all people and draw near to those who are virtuous… sugar snowball, sugar snowball, sugar snowball… sigh…”