The Great Song Dynasty's Soul-Forging in Progress

Sometimes, Wang Zhuacai would linger, stroking the thick beams and pillars, his gaze wandering, as if he could see some distant and dangerous past through this new family business. Only when Wang Zhonghua spoke to him would he quickly compose himself, nodding hesitantly and repeating, "You decide, whatever you want." But the complex look that flashed in his eyes when he occasionally glanced at Wang Zhonghua's back, a look far beyond that of an ordinary farmer, betrayed that his inner peace was not as calm as it appeared.

The changes in her mother, Yao, were even more noticeable. The new house was spacious, and she had no worries about food. The gray in her hair seemed to have faded somewhat, and her hunched back, etched with years of labor, had straightened considerably, revealing glimpses of her youthful charm. She was delighted with her son's success, managing the vast estate with remarkable efficiency. She was kind and gentle to the villagers who came to help, displaying the demeanor of a true matriarch. However, in the quiet of the night, she often sat alone under the lamp, gazing absently at the flickering flame, unconsciously fiddling with an old hairpin—neither gold nor jade—and sighing softly. In that sigh was a mixture of relief and a deep fear—a fear of looking back.

She would rather her son remain a wealthy and stable gentry in Wangjiagang forever than allow him to ever set foot in that treacherous and treacherous place again.

Her younger sister, Wang Xiangjun, grew rapidly, like bamboo shoots after a spring rain. At the tender age of twelve, she had blossomed into a graceful young woman. Her features largely inherited Yao's beauty, but with added liveliness and confidence. Her once-yellow hair had turned jet black and glossy, styled in two buns that made her face appear even whiter. Shen Zhou, Shen Kuo, and especially the learned old scholar whom Wang Zhonghua had specially invited for her despite his repeated failures in the imperial examinations, all praised her highly, saying that her "intelligence far surpassed that of ordinary men." No longer content with simply recognizing characters and sentences, she began to actively explore history books and arithmetic, even occasionally picking up the "strange" drawings made by Wang Zhonghua to ponder, her eyes sparkling with a thirst for knowledge.

That afternoon, sunlight streamed through the newly pasted window paper into the study. Wang Xiangjun sat upright, holding a copy of Mencius, and read aloud in a clear, crisp voice:

"Governing the people is not about the boundaries of territory, securing the country is not about the dangers of mountains and rivers, and dominating the world is not about the advantages of weapons. Those who follow the right path receive much help, while those who stray from it receive little. When help is scarce, even relatives turn against you; when help is abundant, the whole world submits to you..."

She read attentively, only occasionally stumbling. Wang Zhonghua sat opposite her, holding a book, a slight smile playing on his lips. This girl had only been studying for a little over half a year, and to be able to read Mencius like this was already quite remarkable.

"Brother, I've finished memorizing it." Wang Xiangjun closed the book, tilted her head up, and looked up with a hint of expectation in her eyes. "'Those who follow the right path receive much help, while those who stray from it receive little.' I understand now. Just like when you dealt with Qian Ba, he bullied the villagers and lost the hearts of the people, so when we called for help, everyone came to our aid, and he had no choice but to run away. Right?"

Wang Zhonghua's eyes lit up with admiration, and he was about to praise her when Wang Xiangjun winked and smiled slyly: "Brother, are you trying to say, 'Yes, that's exactly right, try it if you don't believe me'?"

Wang Zhonghua was taken aback, then chuckled. This girl had even picked up his catchphrase. He reached out and ruffled his sister's hair, saying gently, "Yes, that's the point. But Xiangjun, there's another layer to Mencius's saying—'When there is abundant help, the world will submit.' It's not about one moment or one event, but about accumulating over time. If we treat our fellow villagers well, they will treat us well in return. It's like farming; the amount of effort you put in during the spring determines the amount of grain you harvest in the autumn—you can't fake it."

Wang Xiangjun nodded seriously, then suddenly asked, "Brother, what if someone has clearly strayed from the right path, yet still has many people helping him? Like...like that Chen Shimei, I heard he has a lot of power in Chenzhou Prefecture, many people are afraid of him, and some people fawn over him. Is that 'having many helpers'?"

Wang Zhonghua's smile faded slightly as he looked into his sister's clear eyes. After a moment's thought, he said, "That's 'false support.' Those who fear him and fawn over him aren't genuinely helping him; they're afraid of his power. Once he falls, these people will run away faster than rabbits. True support means that when you're in trouble, there are people willing to lend a hand. Just like when Sister Tiehua was injured, Aunt Shen brought her chicken soup every day, and Aunt Lü said she would make her braised pork knuckle—that's true support."

Wang Xiangjun seemed lost in thought, then suddenly remembered something and tilted her head, saying, "Brother, then you have to treat Sister Tiehua even better from now on. She was injured and suffered because of you; you owe her a life!"

Wang Zhonghua chuckled: "You little rascal, lecturing your brother now?"

Wang Xiangjun wrinkled her nose: "Am I wrong? You always say, 'Try it if you don't believe me'—if you treat Sister Tiehua badly, just try it and I'll be the first to object!"

Wang Zhonghua laughed heartily, about to speak, when suddenly the sound of rapid hoofbeats came from outside the manor. Immediately, the voice of Lü Fusheng, the steward of the Lü family, rang out from outside the door: "Young Master Wang! Master requests your immediate presence at the Lü residence! Magistrate Yao Ye of Shangshui County has suddenly arrived and is currently speaking with Master at the residence, specifically requesting to see you!"

Wang Zhonghua's eyes narrowed. The county magistrate personally came to his door and specifically asked to see him—this was no ordinary matter.

He stood up, straightened his robes, and said to Wang Xiangjun, "Study hard, I'll test you when I get back."

Wang Xiangjun nodded obediently, but then added, "Brother, is that Lord Yao the kind who has 'attained enlightenment'?"

Wang Zhonghua paused, turned to look at her, and said earnestly, "We'll only know when we see him. But—no matter who he is, we're upright and honest, and we have nothing to fear from anyone."

The Lü residence, Shushi Pavilion.

When Wang Zhonghua entered the flower hall, he saw Lü Sanjun talking to someone. The man was about forty years old, with a thin face, slightly dark skin, and a neatly trimmed short beard. He wore a slightly worn blue official robe, which had faded a bit from washing, but was very clean—there were even fine stitches on the collar and cuffs, the stitches were neat and fine, as if they were made by a female member of the household.

Wang Zhonghua's gaze sharpened slightly at the patch. Even a seventh-rank county magistrate with a low salary shouldn't be unable to afford new clothes. Unless—this person was either genuinely incorruptible or deliberately putting on an act. But based on his experience from two lifetimes, the Song Dynasty employed high salaries to encourage integrity, and impoverished officials were extremely rare. Those who deliberately put on a show usually only altered their outward appearance, while their inner selves remained impeccably dressed. This Magistrate Yao, however, exuded an air of austerity from head to toe.

Yao Ye sat upright like a pine tree, his back straight, with at least a fist's distance between him and the back of the chair. His eyes were clear and focused, his gaze fixed steadily on the other person's face without flinching or wandering, his brows carrying the stubbornness and weathered look of a scholar. Most striking were his hands—long, clean, with neatly trimmed nails, resting gently on the edge of the tea table, motionless, as if etched there.

Upon seeing Wang Zhonghua enter, Yao Ye immediately turned his gaze towards him, his expression filled with undisguised scrutiny and curiosity.

"Wang Zhonghua is here! Come quickly, come and meet Lord Yao!" Lü Sanjun greeted him warmly, and then smiled at Yao Ye, "Lord Yao, this is the Wang Zhonghua you wanted to see. This unworthy junior of mine is now helping this old man with some household affairs."

Wang Zhonghua stepped forward, bowed respectfully, and said in a manner that was neither humble nor arrogant: "This humble subject, Wang Zhonghua, pays his respects to Yao Ming."

Yao Ye offered a slight gesture of support, his voice calm yet carrying an air of righteousness: "No need for formalities. I have often heard of Wang Zhonghua's name while working in the county government. His spicy soup has benefited the common people, and his 'Drunken Eight Immortals' is famous throughout the prefecture. What is even more commendable is that he assisted Master Lü in eliminating local bandits and restoring peace to Longsheng Ferry. This is a truly beneficial act for the people." His words were filled with praise, but also with a hint of barely perceptible inquiry.

"Your Excellency flatters me; I am unworthy of such praise. It is all thanks to the excellent guidance of Master Lü and the joint efforts of the villagers. I have only done my bit," Wang Zhonghua replied humbly.

Yao Ye nodded, and without further ado, immediately got to the point.