Gu Huaiyu had claimed he had “actual business” for Pei Jingyi to handle. It wasn’t until Pei stepped into the temple that he realized the man had sent him to be a glorified foreman.
Inside the smoke-filled Great Hero Hall, several massive cauldrons bubbled over fires, and porridge sheds were arranged in neat, orderly rows.
Even in his broad-sleeved civilian robes, Pei Jingyi’s tall, imposing frame couldn’t hide the sharp, predatory edge of a soldier. His entrance immediately drew every eye in the temple. Several elderly women in the queue instinctively shrank back, giving the fierce-looking man a wide berth.
A young novice monk, his hands trembling, ladled porridge for the refugees.
Seeing him enter, the old Abbot rubbed his hands together nervously, offering a smile that managed to be both benevolent and awkward. “Lord Officer! This way, please!”
Pei Jingyi walked straight to a cauldron. He snatched up a wooden ladle and gave the contents a stir. The rice grains were plump enough, and the consistency was neither too thick nor too watery.
The Abbot followed closely behind, his voice eager. “Rest easy, General. The Chancellor gave strict orders for this temple to care for the refugees. This humble monk wouldn’t dare be negligent.”
A scoff escaped Pei Jingyi’s nose. He tossed the ladle back into the pot with a loud clatter.
The novice monks jumped, nearly spilling their bowls.
“How much porridge do you serve daily?” Pei asked nonchalantly.
“In response to the General, one pot each for morning, noon, and night. Every pot—”
“Give me the ledgers.”
The Abbot scrambled to hand over the books. Pei Jingyi flipped through a few pages, his brows arching slightly.
The bookkeeping was beautiful. It even recorded the exact weight of every ladleful.
But he hadn’t been an official for only a day; he knew all the tricks of the trade. Growing up in the Northern Frontier Army, he had seen enough of these deceptive games to last a lifetime.
When the superiors came to inspect, those below put on a grand show of perfection. The moment the inspectors left, they would water down the porridge and skim off the grain. Layer upon layer of deception meant that by the time the food reached a refugee’s mouth, it wasn’t even fit for a chicken.
“Would the General care for some vegetarian refreshments?”
The Abbot asked cautiously, casting a subtle look at the novice monk behind him.
Pei Jingyi narrowed his eyes. He saw the novice’s hand reaching into his sleeve, likely already gripping a “tribute” of silver notes.
He had seen this play a thousand times. Once the small gestures started, the rest of the routine was predictable. Giving a gift wasn’t just about the intent; it was about the etiquette. The higher the rank, the bigger the bribe. Even the personal attendants and clerks expected to “share in the bounty.”
He knew exactly who would step forward, who would take the money, and who would speak up to “clarify” the ledgers.
Wasn’t that why officials came to inspect in the first place? Once they took enough profit, they would naturally turn a blind eye to any “discrepancies” in the books.
Gu Huaiyu truly did favor him, giving him such a “lucrative” assignment.
The novice monk approached with a fawning smile. Pei Jingyi gave him a cold, sweeping glance that sent the boy stumbling back several steps. Without another word, he turned to leave. He had no time to waste bickering with these shavelings.
Before he could exit the temple, he ran into Liu Erlang.
Liu Erlang, who usually served at Gu Huaiyu’s side, had also been sent out on errands. The moment he saw Pei Jingyi, his face soured. “So this is where you are? If I’d known, I wouldn’t have bothered coming.”
Pei Jingyi crossed his arms, a brow cocking. “What? Is the Chancellor worried about me?”
Worried he might get bored and slaughter a few monks for fun?
Liu Erlang couldn’t stand the sight of him. The image of Pei Jingyi’s hand around Gu Huaiyu’s throat was still fresh in his mind. “I believe that is exactly what the Chancellor meant,” he snapped. “The General has a short temper. If you strangled a monk to death, who would clean up your mess?”
Pei Jingyi glanced at the red walls and blue tiles of the temple, letting out a self-deprecating scoff. “These shavelings keep beautiful books and cook thick porridge. What fault could I possibly find?”
Seeing that Pei was truly in the dark, Liu Erlang sneered. “Beautiful books? That’s only because they’re terrified of the Chancellor.”
He gave a thin, joyless smile. “You don’t know? The Chancellor sends people for surprise inspections of every temple and shrine daily. If they find watered-down porridge or forged ledgers…”
Pei Jingyi’s lips curled. “He slaughters them?”
Liu Erlang didn’t answer directly. “Last night, the monks at Ciyun Temple were caught skimming the rice. The Chancellor had the porridge heated until it was boiling. Then, in front of all the other monks, he had every last drop poured down the Abbot’s throat.”
