The County Magistrate Isn’t a Scumbag—She’s Very A - Chapter 2

Song Boxue’s jaw nearly dropped. “She knows I’m a woman? How did I not know that?”

No wonder, in the original host’s memory, Jiang Fanyin seemed so easy to trick. When invited for a drink, she had simply taken the cup and drank, only to be set up. It turned out Jiang Fanyin had known about her gender all along—she simply hadn’t been on guard against her in that way.

Madam Song shot her a look and said crossly, “Have you forgotten how she saw you in your split-bottom pants when you were little? What a memory! You didn’t inherit a lick of my brains, just my good looks.”

Having said that, she touched her own face out of vanity and walked over to a waist-high bronze mirror to admire her reflection.

Song Boxue’s eye twitched. It wasn’t that she had forgotten; the original host had forgotten. Seeing Madam Song looking in the mirror, she couldn’t help but touch her own face as well. She stood up, squeezed in front of Madam Song, and looked at the reflection.

The original host wore a blue long robe in the style of a man. She had clear brows, bright eyes, and thin lips.

Tsk, tsk. What a handsome, androgynous young master—no, a refined beauty. She was practically carved from the same mold as Song Boxue’s original self.

“Move aside. Remember, you are a man now, the County Magistrate. Stop being so vain,” Madam Song said with a smile, poking her daughter’s forehead. Deep down, however, she felt a pang of sadness.

The Master had passed away right after the child was born. To preserve the Song family’s estate, she had claimed to have given birth to a son. After all these years, they had gone too far down this road to turn back.

Song Boxue rubbed her nose awkwardly and stepped aside.

Madam Song sighed. “Do you resent me, my child? If you truly can’t do this, we can resign. We’ll move somewhere where no one knows us. You can reclaim your identity as a woman and find a good family to marry into.”

“No, no, no. I don’t resent you at all. Being a County Magistrate is quite prestigious,” Song Boxue shook her head in refusal before Madam Song could finish.

As a modern soul, she knew exactly how difficult life was for women in ancient times. She had no desire to be confined to the inner quarters; she wanted to live a life of freedom.

Madam Song wasn’t surprised, seemingly used to this answer. “Sigh, you always say that, but it weighs on my heart. If your deadbeat father were still alive, we wouldn’t be in this, boohoo.”

With that, Madam Song pulled out a handkerchief and began to sob softly.

Song Boxue felt a headache coming on. The original host’s mother was far too prone to tears. She rubbed her temples and offered a clumsy comfort: “Stop crying, Mother. Get some rest early.”

Seeing her daughter turn and flee as if escaping a plague, Madam Song pulled the handkerchief away. Her face was bone-dry.

“Little ingrate. Not a shred of sympathy for your mother.”

Other people’s daughters were “warm little padded jackets,” but hers was more like a “golden bell shield”—the moment she saw tears, she ran. Madam Song looked in the mirror again. She really did need to sleep early, or she would age even faster.

After leaving her mother, Song Boxue wasn’t sure where to go. She hesitated before returning to her own courtyard. Finding the door slightly ajar and hearing no sound from within, she realized the female lead had already left.

She breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, she could sleep in her own room without worrying about being homeless for the night.

Before dawn, while Song Boxue was still sound asleep, a knock came at the door.

“My son, wake up. It’s time for office,” Madam Song’s voice called out.

Truly, being a mother wasn’t easy. Now that her daughter was an official, they had maids for daily chores, but Song Boxue didn’t have a single servant attending her person—all for fear that someone might discover her secret.

Consequently, Madam Song handled all of Song Boxue’s personal needs, including waking her up before dawn.

Of course, once her daughter was dressed and off to work, Madam Song intended to go back for a nap.

Song Boxue rubbed her temples, nursing a hangover headache. She forced herself out of bed and opened the door. “Mother, I’m awake. Go back to sleep.”

Only after the words left her mouth did she realize she had called her “Mother.” It felt surprisingly natural. Perhaps it was the influence of the original host’s memories? Being an orphan in her past life, the feeling wasn’t half bad.

Seeing the door open, Madam Song gave a hurried reply and vanished in a flash. Sleep was the priority; waking up this early every day was exhausting.

After washing up, Song Boxue followed her memory to the front hall.

Advisor Zhou was already waiting there as usual. A flash of surprise crossed his eyes when he saw her, though he quickly masked it. “Greetings, Excellency.”

Song Boxue nodded with a solemn face, and they walked forward one after the other.

The residence was a large, three-entry compound with over sixty rooms. Beyond the living quarters was the Second Hall, used for administrative work and receiving guests. Further ahead was the Public Hall, though the Magistrate rarely went there unless someone “beat the drum” to report a grievance and a formal trial was required. Most of the time, the Magistrate simply sat in the Second Hall reviewing documents.

Song Boxue flipped through the papers on the desk; it was traditional script she recognized.

Sitting down, she couldn’t help but sigh. The original host was a truly incompetent official. After a month in office, she was still completely ignorant of the local affairs under her jurisdiction. Her only work-related memories involved taking two bribes.

Seeing her look lost, Advisor Zhou reminded her timely: “Excellency, Young Master Wang’s case has not yet been settled.”

Young Master Wang?

She remembered now. He was the son of Squire Wang, one of the two people who had bribed the original host.

She winced. This was a “hot potato.” Did she dare keep that money? Actually, the original host had already spent it.

Song Boxue rubbed her temples. “Let, let this official think on it. Advisor Zhou, you may attend to other matters first.”

She needed to figure out how to pass the buck—or at least how to handle the “hot” money safely. Advisor Zhou narrowed his eyes slightly but complied with a “Yes” and withdrew.

Once he was gone, Song Boxue slumped into her chair, wanting to scream to the heavens. Could she just give the money back to Squire Wang?

She reviewed the case. Young Master Wang was the defendant, charged with robbery. The accuser was a poor girl named Liu Erniang. No one would believe that the wealthy Young Master Wang would rob a girl of three measly taels of silver.

But before the truth could be uncovered, Squire Wang had sent a hundred-tael banknote to the original host, claiming his son was just playing a “small joke.” The original host had taken the money, released the boy, and—at the boy’s suggestion—thrown the poor girl into jail.

Song Boxue felt a surge of irritation. This Young Master Wang deserved a beating. Why rob a poor girl when you’re not even short on cash?

She spent the day reading the county gazetteer. She was in the Baiyue Dynasty, the eleventh year of the reign. As for Pingchuan County, it could be summed up in four words: A remote, impoverished backwater.

When it was time to clock off, Song Boxue returned to the back residence. Remembering the female lead, an idea began to form. Problems had to be solved, and it was time to face Jiang Fanyin.

She ordered the kitchen to prepare a feast and sent someone to invite Jiang Fanyin. No matter the grudge, it wasn’t wise to let it fester. Fortunately, aside from drugging the wine and tying her up, the original host hadn’t managed to do anything irreparable yet. There was still room for damage control.

When Jiang Fanyin heard the message, she remembered waking up bound after a single cup of wine and tightened her grip on the dagger hidden in her sleeve. She had scavenged it from the kitchen that morning for self-defense.

She had originally trusted Song Boxue because she was a woman, because they had an engagement, and because her father had urged her to seek refuge with the Song family before his downfall. Last night’s events had shattered that trust, even though the person had eventually let her go.

“Please tell His Excellency to come to my room,” Jiang Fanyin replied. Her first instinct was to refuse, but the entire yamen was under Song Boxue’s control. If things got worse, she would have to flee, but with her father unable to trust anyone else, she had nowhere to go.

Hearing the reply, Song Boxue went to Jiang Fanyin’s room without hesitation.

“Sister Jiang, I’ve come to apologize,” Song Boxue said thick-skinnedly as she entered. According to her memories, Jiang Fanyin was two years older than her, so the title was appropriate. Since Jiang Fanyin already knew her secret, there was no longer any need for pretense.