I asked you to go hunting, and you ended up wearing a yellow robe?

Qi Shan stood up and clasped his hands in a fist salute.

"Thank you, Your Excellency."

He didn't want a simple constable; he wanted someone who could establish a foothold in Bianbei!

With the position of county magistrate, one might just be able to make a name for oneself in this chaotic world!

When Qi Shan walked out of the side hall, it was already dark.

He walked out of the county government office. There were hardly any people on the street. In the distance, a row of lanterns were lit on the city wall, and the night patrolmen were striking the gong to signal the start of the night.

The night wind blew down from the city tower, carrying a chilling mix of rust and blood. He stood on the steps, took a deep breath, pulled his collar tighter, and strode into the darkness.

Zhao Bingkun is going to give him the position of county magistrate?

He paused for a moment, then continued walking.

The county magistrate was no minor official; he was an eighth-rank official officially appointed by the imperial court, the second-in-command of a county. According to regulations, he had to be selected by the Ministry of Personnel and approved by the emperor. How could a seventh-rank county magistrate have any power?

But when Zhao Bingkun said those words, his tone was confident, as if the matter was not difficult for him.

This isn't right.

Qi Shan's gaze darkened.

For Zhao Bingkun to dare to make such a statement, he must either be out of his mind or have someone backing him.

Those who can influence the Ministry of Personnel can turn appointments in remote, small counties into mere formalities.

He recalled the yellowed topographical map of the northern border in Zhao Bingkun's study, marked with detail down to every river and pass—something no ordinary seventh-rank county magistrate should possess.

It seems this county magistrate is far more cunning than he thought.

However, these are not important for now; what is important is food.

The issue of the gentry hoarding grain cannot be resolved by reason alone; someone has to play the good cop and someone has to play the bad cop. If Zhao Bingkun is the good guy, then he naturally has to play the bad guy.

Qi Shan quickened his pace and headed straight for the constables' quarters in the backyard of the county government office.

When I pushed open the courtyard gate, it was bustling inside. A dozen men were wrestling and grappling in the yard, and a large group of unfamiliar faces were standing nearby. A quick glance revealed at least thirty or forty people.

Meng Da was squatting on the steps sharpening his knife when he looked up and saw Qi Shan. He immediately stood up.

"The boss is back!"

The courtyard fell silent instantly, and everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at him.

Qi Shan glanced at the unfamiliar faces and frowned slightly.

Who are these people?

Meng Da grinned and stabbed the knife into his waistband.

"They've all come to join us! After you killed Li Long, the news spread faster than the wind, and all the able-bodied men from the surrounding villages came running, wanting to follow you." He pointed to a dark-faced man in the courtyard, "That's the hunter from Liu Family Village, he can carry two hundred jin of stone weights by himself." He then pointed to a tall, thin man, "That's a deserter, he was bullied by Li Long's men, and he said he wants to follow someone like you for the rest of his life." The dark-faced man scratched his head and chuckled foolishly.

Qi Shan walked to the middle of the courtyard.

How many people do we have now?

"Including the old brothers, there are fifty-three in total." Meng Da counted on his fingers. "When we wiped out Li Long a while ago, the prefecture allocated a reward, and County Lieutenant Chen put in a good word for us. The Ministry of Revenue also approved more rations and pay, which is why we expanded the number of people."

Fifty-three?

Qi Shan calculated in his mind that it was more than he had expected.

Fewer people means better food, more people means better work. To extract food from the gentry, relying solely on my dozen or so old brothers is simply not enough.

"very good."

"Since you've come with me, let me make this clear from the start. There's only one rule in Qishan—whoever bullies the common people won't stay here. Those who can do that can stay; those who can't can leave now."

Nobody moved.

Meng Da was the first to kneel on one knee, clasp his hands in front of his head, and look up.

"Boss, the brothers respect you not because you're a good fighter, but because you distributed the captured grain to the refugees! Following someone like you is reassuring!"

More than fifty people in the courtyard knelt down in unison, a dark mass, the sound of armor plates clashing against scabbards particularly clear in the night wind.

Qi Shan nodded.

"Get up, all of you."

He turned and walked into the cell, pulled a map of the county from the table, spread it out, and pointed to the location of several large houses in the east of the city.

"The granaries of the Wang, Zhang, and Sun families combined are enough to feed all the townspeople and refugees for half a year. I will invite them to a banquet at the county government office in the name of the county magistrate—saying that the county magistrate is grateful for the generosity of the local gentry and has prepared a small feast to express his thanks."

Meng Da blinked.

"Boss, are they coming?"

Qi Shan's lips twitched.

"They will come. If they don't, it means they have a guilty conscience, and that will give me a good reason to pay them a visit."

The message was sent out early the next morning.

Qi Shan personally wrote three invitations, the wording of which was so polite as to be almost humble. They were stamped with the official seal of the county government and delivered to each household's door in a grand manner by Meng Da and twenty constables.

The procession of sending out invitations was quite grand; the whole street could see them, and the teahouses and taverns were buzzing with discussion, all wondering what kind of banquet the county magistrate was inviting these wealthy families to.

After listening to Qi Shan's arrangements in the back room, Zhao Bingkun remained silent for a long while.

"You're using my name to host a dinner party. What if the guests show up empty-handed after the food is served?" He stared at Qi Shan, his tone more like a test than a question.

Qi Shan stood before the desk, his expression calm.

"The fact that they've come is a sign of respect. Since they've given us face, it's not good to make things awkward." He paused, then added, "The county magistrate can play the good cop, and I'll play the bad cop."

Zhao Bingkun stared at him for a long time, then suddenly laughed.

"Fine! I'll stay with you until the end of the show."

The banquet is scheduled for 3:45 PM.

Three side rooms were cleared out in the back hall of the county government office. Meng Da led the constables to bring in three large round tables. The best chef in the county was temporarily transferred in. The stove was burning red-hot, and the aroma of wine and meat wafted across half the street.

Zhao Bingkun changed into a faded official robe, and Qi Shan stood beside him with a knife at his waist.

By 3:45 PM, all the dishes had been served and the wine had been warmed, but none of the three invited guests had arrived.

Meng Da rushed in from outside, his face looking rather grim.

"Boss, the Wang family said that Old Master Wang is changing his clothes and they told us to wait."

Qi Shan remained silent, his fingers slowly stroking the hilt of his knife. Zhao Bingkun picked up his teacup, took a sip, and his expression remained unreadable.

It wasn't until it was completely dark, past midnight, that the sound of horses' hooves could be heard on the streets.

First came the Wang family's pomp and circumstance—eight servants in blue robes led the way with lanterns, and four sedan chairs were parked outside the gate. The curtains were lifted, and an elderly man with white hair and beard stepped out, surrounded by a crowd. He wore a crimson robe with longevity patterns, a jade pendant hung at his waist, and he leaned on a huanghuali cane. Standing there, his official air was even more imposing than Zhao Bingkun's.

Lord Wang, the current head of the Wang family, once served as a county magistrate in a neighboring county. After retiring and returning to his hometown for twenty years, he built the Wang family into the largest gentry family in Qingyang.

Behind him followed Zhang Xuting, the head of the Zhang family, and Sun Maoliang, the head of the Sun family, and then a large group of minor gentry, a total of twenty or thirty people, who swarmed into the county government office.

Zhao Bingkun stood up from his seat. According to custom, he should have gone out to greet him, but he stopped at the foot of the corridor. Old Master Wang smiled and cupped his hands in greeting, unhurried and composed.

"Your Excellency, please forgive me. I am old and have difficulty walking. I have kept you waiting."