Transmigrated into a minor official in a county government, with children at home waiting for rice t

Zhang Sanlang pursed his lips, too lazy to argue with his sister-in-law.

Although his injuries hadn't healed, he dared not rest too much. If he took more than three days off from the county government, his name would be removed from the roster of officials.

The county government office wasn't far away, so we arrived just before dawn.

The clerk's office was the third room on the left after entering. Zhang Sanlang walked to the door, which was ajar, and there were already people inside.

Pushing open the door, you see two long tables pushed together, piled high with case files.

At the desk by the window, a thin, long-faced clerk in gray robes was sorting through the case files, muttering, "Three files from the Criminal Division, two from the Revenue Division, one from the Rites Division. Wait, who put the Revenue Division's file among the Criminal Division's?"

He looked up and saw Zhang Sanlang. The case file in his hand stopped in mid-air. He looked him over for a moment and said, "Zhang Sanlang, you can still come."

Fang Zhongan.

The old clerk of the clerk's office has been sitting in this room for more than ten years.

He was more senior than the clerk, but he remained a low-ranking official.

Zhang Sanlang rummaged through the original owner's memories and found fragments about him: talkative, timid, and better informed than the clerk; his colleagues called him "the rat in the clerk's office."

Fang Zhong'an pushed a stack of case files in front of him and lowered his voice: "The criminal investigation department sent these yesterday afternoon. They said it was urgent and they need to make three copies. Clerk Feng told us to finish making them today. In the few days you've been away, the documents have piled up like a mountain."

"Clerk Kong spoke with Clerk Feng and asked them to borrow some men from our clerk's office. I told him your injury hadn't healed yet, and Clerk Feng said to send someone from the stables department to fill in first. It was delayed for three days, but now that you're back, this stack is still yours."

Zhang Sanlang glanced at the stack of criminal case files on the corner of the desk.

The original owner's memories surfaced.

That night, he was also copying a case file from the prison.

Land ownership dispute.

The ink on the contract doesn't look quite right.

Before he could even compare them, the torture chamber staff took them back.

That night, he was knocked unconscious in a dark alley.

Fang Zhong'an continued his rambling in a low voice: "Those three clerks in the criminal investigation department—one's sick, one's slow, and one's nowhere to be seen. And Clerk Kong refuses to report it. Doesn't everyone know they're all powerful figures with connections? White-collar workers getting paid but doing nothing!"

"You know what, Clerk Kong has used you a few times this year and he's been thinking about you. Yesterday he even asked Clerk Feng when you would be back."

Thinking of you.

Zhang Sanlang kept those two words in his mind for a moment.

He took the case file and flipped through it.

The original owner's memories were still intact; as soon as her fingers touched the pages, her body naturally assumed a copying posture.

The left hand holds the paper, the right hand holds the pen, and the wrist is suspended in the air.

He tried writing a few characters, and the handwriting was exactly the same as the original owner's.

Fang Zhong'an, watching from the side, breathed a sigh of relief: "The handwriting isn't bad."

The sun had passed its zenith.

Footsteps echoed from the corridor as the kitchen staff carried food baskets, delivering meals from room to room.

The door was pushed open, and six rough earthenware bowls and plates were placed on the corner of the table. Each person had a large bowl of millet rice, a small dish of salted vegetables, and a few thin, translucent slices of cured meat on top of the rice.

Fang Zhong'an picked up the bowl, took a bite, chewed twice, and frowned.

"Last month there was still half a salted egg. This month there's not even a shell left." He flipped the cured meat over. "This meat is sliced ​​thinner than paper. If you slice it any thinner, it could be used as window paper."

The man sitting next to me, surnamed Ma, was in his early thirties and as thin as a bamboo pole.

He stirred the millet rice in his bowl with his chopsticks, picked out a grain of husk that hadn't been properly ground, and placed it on the edge of the table. "It's good enough that there's meat at all."

"Do you know how much pork costs per pound at the market today? Forty-two coins! The cook can still slice a few pieces of cured pork for you, but poor families even have to count the salted vegetables by the piece."

Fang Zhong'an tapped the rim of his bowl with his chopsticks and lowered his voice: "What's wrong with the food? The county granary isn't short of grain; Liu's granary even received two granaries last month. Where did all the rice go?"

Ma Tiesi didn't reply and kept his head down, eating his rice.

Fang Zhong'an then turned to Zhang Sanlang, pointing his chopsticks at his bowl: "Zhang Sanlang, you've been in the clerk's office for a long time. Tell me, how big are the rats in this county treasury? Aren't they fatter than the rats in our clerk's office?"

Zhang Sanlang's chopsticks didn't stop, and upon hearing this, he twitched the corner of his mouth: "It's good enough to have food from the public kitchen."

As he spoke, he habitually scooped out half of the millet rice and cured meat from the bowl, wrapped it in a dried lotus leaf prepared on the table, and placed it on the corner of the table.

Fang Zhong'an glanced at it, then looked at the few thin slices of meat in his own bowl, and said, "We lowly clerks are just taking some leftovers back to support our families. Those with bigger appetites can eat several portions of their stipends."

Ma Tiesi pretended not to see or hear anything.

Fang Zhong'an realized he had spoken out of turn and awkwardly fell silent.

The office was quiet for half an hour, then the rustling sound resumed.

Zhang Sanlang paused when he copied a certain page from the third book.

Land ownership dispute.

The night the original owner fell into a coma, there were also files about land disputes on the desk.

He continued copying without making a sound.

Suddenly, a commotion arose outside the yamen.

I could vaguely make out the words "wronged," drawn out as if someone had run over me on the street.

Fang Zhong'an didn't even look up: "This is the third person to cry foul this month. The interrogation room is so busy they're practically running around; Clerk Kong has a ring of blisters around his mouth."

Seeing that he didn't respond, Fang Zhong'an continued rambling, "Speaking of which, I was on night duty that night. You were still copying when I left, and Clerk Kong was there too. The next day I heard you were carried back. Who did you offend?"

Zhang Sanlang's pen didn't stop: "I don't know."

Fang Zhong'an glanced at him but didn't ask any more questions.

The next value is in minutes.

Zhang Sanlang came out through the side door, but instead of going straight back to the Zhang family, he stood at the entrance of the yamen for a moment.

The bluestone steps at the entrance have been polished smooth by time, and one of the paws of the two stone lions is missing.

Across the street was a row of shops, including a cloth shop, a pharmacy, a general store, and more than ten others.

There weren't many pedestrians on the street. A young couple selling dates passed by carrying a load on their shoulders. The dates were half green and half red, just like the ones that had fallen from the date tree in the Zhang family's yard.

His head was throbbing again.

That dark alley is to the left of the yamen (government office), and it's a shortcut back to the Zhang family.

At this moment, the setting sun casts its rays, making the alleyway entrance appear fairly bright.

But he knew that once it got dark, this alley would be a good place to ambush someone.

He turned and walked towards the main street, taking a longer route that would add 15 minutes to his journey back to the Zhang family home.

What's next?

He can't take the long way around forever.

But before he figured out who was going to ambush him, taking that extra fifteen minutes was worth it.

Before even entering the Zhang family's courtyard, one could hear a great commotion inside.

The child's screams, cries, and the crisp sound of something hitting the ground.

Zhang Sanlang took three steps at a time and pushed open the door. The scene in the courtyard made his temples throb.

Qingge was pinned to the ground by three boys who were taller than him. His face was covered in mud and his lip was cut.

Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be several children of similar age from the clan.

Tian Ge'er rode on his back, cursing him as a worthless wretch, while Gui Ge'er wrapped his arms around his from behind.

Qingge didn't cry. He gritted his teeth and struggled desperately, his eyes wide and bloodshot.