My father ordered me to kill the emperor, but His Majesty bestowed a princess upon me instead.

Those who died in Liugou Village last winter are all living off the household budget this year.

This statement sounds absurd.

But the most absurd things in the capital, once stamped with an official seal, become very much like the rules.

I stared at the supplementary document on the table, remaining silent for a long time.

Ah Liu stood to the side, his face turning pale and then green.

He probably really wanted to ask: How do dead people eat?

But that's a really stupid question.

The dead people listed in the Ministry of Revenue's accounts certainly wouldn't eat grain.

They were only responsible for collecting the grain.

As for where the grain ultimately went, that's up to the skill of the living.

The gatekeeper was still kneeling on the ground, sweat beading on his forehead.

"Young master, the woman fainted again after saying that. The doctor said she was extremely hungry and caught a chill; it's hard to say whether she'll make it through the night."

I tapped my fingers lightly twice on the table.

"Where is Fang Xiaogen?"

"He stayed by his mother's side and refused to leave."

I got up.

"Have a good doctor, and the medicine will be paid for by the household. Also, buy some soft porridge, but not anything too greasy. People who have been hungry for a long time shouldn't eat just anything."

The gatekeeper hurriedly acknowledged and withdrew.

Ah Liu was taken aback.

"Young master, will the medicine be paid for by the household?"

I look at him.

"You'll pay?"

Ah Liu immediately shook his head.

"That's not what I meant. What I meant was that in our household accounts..."

"Keep this on my personal tab."

Ah Liu's face looked even more miserable.

"Young master, do you have any private accounts?"

I paused for a moment.

Those words are hurtful.

I am now a seventh-rank censor, a confidant of the emperor, and a prospective son-in-law. It sounds very prestigious.

Unfortunately, beautiful scenery can't be exchanged for money.

The imperial salary had not yet been paid, and the bestowed residence was not a gift of money. The Ministry of Rites was in charge of the wedding arrangements, but all the errands and supplies needed to be provided for the household cost money.

My future husband is poor in a very sophisticated way.

I'm so poor that even Ah Liu is starting to feel sorry for me.

I took a small silver ingot from the drawer and placed it on the table.

"Take this first."

Ah Liu looked at the silver ingot, his eyes saying, "This may be our last bit of dignity."

I said, "Stop looking at it, it won't produce any more silver."

Ah Liu left with the silver.

The room fell silent.

I laid out all the records: the Ministry of Revenue's transcribed accounts, the original memorials given to me by the emperor, the rubbings of Fang Deshun's wooden plaque, and the fragments of records from the old relocated households in Liugou Village.

A single table, arranged like half of the Ministry of Revenue.

The Ministry of Revenue has tea on their table, while I'm just setting out my fate.

I'll look at the person first.

According to the old records of Liugou Village, fifteen people died of disease in the winter disaster last year, six households fled, and seven households moved to the new Beidi area.

However, all fifteen of these dead people in the Ministry of Revenue's disaster relief register received grain rations this year.

Fang Deshun was 67 years old and received three dou of grain, equivalent to two qian of silver.

Fang Liu was fifty-nine years old and received three dou of grain, equivalent to two qian of silver.

Fang Mancang was forty-one years old and received four dou of grain, equivalent to two qian and seven fen of silver.

Even a three-year-old child, Fang Abao, received porridge for toddlers.

When I saw Fang Abao's name, my finger paused.

Three years old.

He died last winter.

The Ministry of Revenue said he drank porridge for a month this year.

He drank very accurately.

Every day, the amount of rice, firewood, medicine, and resettlement silver can be provided.

I checked the grain again.

Under the specific item of Liugou Village, the Ministry of Revenue's account books show that a total of 47 dou of relief grain was distributed, equivalent to 3 taels and 6 qian of silver. The grain distributed by the public granary was completely consistent with the rations of the disaster victims.

There's not much grain left.

The silver wasn't less.

The person was just right.

All three are correct.

That's why it's the most wrong.

When Ah Liu came in carrying the lamp, he saw me staring at the tent and lowered his voice.

"Young master, what have you noticed this time?"

I pointed to the ledger.

"Look at these three items."

Ah Liu came over.

"People, food, silver?"

"right."

"They all match up."

"So there are ghosts."

Ah Liu was used to me saying things like that, so he didn't immediately refute me, but just tried to stick his head in even closer.

I drew three lines on the paper with a pen.

"If the victims are genuine, and the food and money have been distributed, and the people have eaten, then the accounts will match up, and there will be no problem."

Ah Liu nodded.

"Um."

"If the victims are genuine, and the food and money haven't been distributed, and people are starving, then the accounts won't match, and that can be investigated."

Ah Liu continued to nod.

"Um."

"But the problem now is that the people are fake, but the grain and silver are matched."

Ah Liu's eyes slowly widened.

I placed the tip of my pen on the three characters "方得顺".

"Fang Deshun died last year. He couldn't possibly be eating grain this year. But the accounts still provided him with grain, paid him in silver, and even arranged a charitable shelter for him."

Ah Liu whispered, "Then what about the grain and silver..."

"Either the goods never left the warehouse and only went through the books, or they left the warehouse but ended up in someone else's pocket."

I then called out the names of the other deceased from Liugou Village.

"The most troublesome thing is that this isn't just one person. It's a whole group of people."

Ah Liu's Adam's apple bobbed.

"The more people die, the easier it is to do the accounting?"

"right."

Looking at that string of names, I felt a chill run down my spine.

Dead people don't make noise.

The dead cannot file a complaint.

The dead wouldn't kneel down at the household registration office and say they hadn't received their grain rations.

Therefore, using the dead as disaster victims is the easiest business to do.

The living go hungry, while the dead are well-fed.

The Ministry of Revenue's accounts were crystal clear, and the local officials' achievements were impressive.

Where did the truly hungry people go?

They are not in the account.

Those not on the register will not be accounted for even if they die.

I found the soup kitchen in the Ministry of Revenue and used it.

The porridge grains corresponding to the deceased in Liugou Village were incorporated into the porridge shed of the new households in Beidi.

Under the category of new households on the North Embankment, the number of people has increased, and the amount of grain has also increased, which seems reasonable.

The problem is that, according to Fang Xiaogen and his mother, they waited in line until dark but still didn't receive any grain.

In other words, part of the grain in the Ministry of Revenue's accounts was distributed to the dead, while the rest of the grain was kept out of the soup kitchens for the living.

This is not ordinary corruption.

This is to wipe people out of the tent.

As I was looking, I heard footsteps outside the door.

Zhao Guanlan has arrived.

He was wearing an old fox fur coat, clearly having come from the Censorate. Dew still clung to his shoulders as he entered.

I quickly got up.

"grown ups."

Zhao Guanlan waved his hand, his gaze falling directly on the table.

"I heard that in Liugou Village, someone died and was receiving grain rations?"

The news spread really fast.

However, it was too late to hide it at this point.

I handed over a few sheets of paper.

Zhao Guanlan read it very slowly.

After reading it, his face darkened like the old well in the courtyard.

"This case is more complicated than I thought."

I said, "It's not about a disaster relief fund."

Zhao Guanlan looked up at me.

I continued, "If the Ministry of Revenue were only embezzling silver, the accounts wouldn't be so meticulously maintained. The fact that the personnel, grain, and silver records are all closed indicates that they didn't just swallow the silver temporarily, but rather created people first, then allocated grain, and then transferred the silver."

Zhao Guanlan's brow furrowed.

"Fake disaster victims?"

"Not only that. There are also households with deceased members, households that were relocated from the old area, and households registered under false names."

I circled Liugou Village with my pen.

"They filled in the list of disaster victims with people who no longer existed or were unable to speak, and then allocated food and money according to the number of people. Every disaster victim on the list was fed, but the real disaster victims couldn't get any porridge outside the shelter."

Zhao Guanlan remained silent for a long time.

"This way, there won't be any shortfall in the accounts."

"right."

"If the disaster victims make a fuss, the Ministry of Revenue can say that they are not registered disaster victims, but rather that they are displaced people who have fraudulently claimed the disaster benefits."

"right."

"If the local authorities want to hold someone accountable, they can push the village head, the grain merchant, or the person in charge of the soup kitchen."

"That's still right."

Zhao Guanlan took a deep breath.

"Zheng Huaien will have a tough time."

I smiled.

"I understand."

Zheng Huaien is not Qian Rong.

Qian Rong hid the account book, feeling guilty about it.

Zheng Huaien did a respectable job of keeping accounts.

Qian Rong stuffed the silver into his sleeve, making a bulge that was always visible.

Zheng Huaien is different.

He first made clothes for the dead, then sewed silver into the clothes, and finally hung the clothes at the entrance of the Ministry of Revenue to tell you that this was the dignity of the imperial court's disaster relief.

Zhao Guanlan looked at me.

"What are you going to do next?"

"Go to the west soup kitchen outside the city."

Zhao Guanlan immediately frowned.

"Too hasty."

"If we don't go now, there will be even more disaster victims."

"Then we can't rush things," Zhao Guanlan said in a deep voice. "The gathering of disaster victims is more dangerous than the account books. Your current position is sensitive, your wedding is imminent, and you've just brought down Qian Rong. If someone stirs up trouble outside the city and directs the disaster victims' anger at you, you won't even have a chance to explain."

Of course I know.

But I also know that the ledger won't tell the whole story on its own.

Fang Xiaogen and his mother were pushed in front of me; it was both an offer of a knife and a warning.

The real living people are already outside the city.

If they starve to death while I'm reviewing the accounts, even if the Ministry of Revenue wins the audit, it will be a bad one.

I said, "I'm not bringing any officers with me."

Zhao Guanlan looked at me.

"You want to conduct a clandestine visit?"

"It's not a private visit. It's to check on the porridge."

Zhao Guanlan remained silent for a moment.

I said, "The Ministry of Revenue's accounts list 387 soup kitchens, but the firewood expenditure is pitifully small. If the soup kitchens outside the city in the west can truly feed the number of people listed, then I will acknowledge Zheng Huai'en as an honest official."

Zhao Guanlan gave a cold laugh.

"You'll admit it?"

"Won't."

"Then why did you say it?"

"It makes me seem reasonable."

Zhao Guanlan was so angry with me that he wanted to drink tea, but when he picked up the cup, he found it was cold and put it down.

He paused for a moment, then said, "Take Yan Xiaoyi with you. Also take two constables from the Censorate. Follow them from a distance, and don't reveal your identities."

I nodded.

"Yes."

Before leaving, Zhao Guanlan glanced at the wedding register on the table one last time.

"The wedding is in eight days."

I sighed.

"If you hadn't reminded me, I could have pretended to forget for a while."

Zhao Guanlan remained expressionless.

"I can't forget it. The Ministry of Rites came to the Censorate again today, saying they want to inspect your wedding court attire."

My eye twitched.

"court dress?"

"cuff."

Zhao Guanlan looked at me with a meaningful gaze.

"Shen An, if you have anything you shouldn't bring into the palace, you'd better make plans as soon as possible."

I smiled.

"The one thing I should never have brought into the palace is myself."

Zhao Guanlan did not laugh.

"It's good that you know."

After he left, Ah Liu whispered, "Young master, even Lord Zhao reminded you about the cuffs."

I looked at the hidden compartment of the short blade on the table.

cuff.

Knife.

Wedding ceremony.

Ministry of Rites.

Ministry of Revenue.

These seemingly unrelated lines have formed a knot around my body.

Someone wants me to audit the accounts.

Someone wants me dead.

Someone wants me to draw my sword at the worst possible time.

And now I insist on going outside the city to check on the porridge.

Ah Liu asked, "Young master, are we really going to the West Soup Dishes?"

"go."

"Do you carry a knife?"

I glanced at him.

"You ask that question like someone from the princess's residence."

Ah Liu quickly shut up.

I closed the ledger on the table.

It was already quite late outside, and the second watchman's drum had sounded in the distance.

We'll go outside the city tomorrow.

See living people.

We also need to see how much porridge the Ministry of Revenue actually cooked for the dead.

Just before going to bed, the doorman suddenly brought over another piece of paper.

It was sent in temporarily by a scout from outside the city.

There weren't many words on the paper.

Outside the West Soup Bowl, the number of displaced people from Jiangbei had increased to sixty-three.

The soup kitchen refused to accept the food.

The reason is:

The roster is blank.

As I looked at those four words, my heart grew colder and colder.

The roster is blank.

Someone in the tent had already fed them.

So those who were truly starving became the false ghosts claiming the credit.