The County Magistrate Isn’t a Scumbag—She’s Very A - Chapter 7

Jiang Fanyin was so startled that she jerked her hand back, nearly dropping the branding iron before setting it down with forced composure.

Song Boxue watched in a daze. This girl really doesn’t play by the script. The soft approach didn’t work, and the hard approach failed even more spectacularly. Being a “good official” was proving to be remarkably difficult.

“Miss Liu, this official truly intends to seek justice for you. I am new to this post and had no choice but to release Young Master Wang temporarily due to extenuating circumstances.”

Liu Erniang’s wailing paused for a second, then resumed with renewed vigor.

Song Boxue’s face darkened completely. Didn’t TV shows always depict commoners as being deathly afraid of government officials? Why was it the exact opposite in her case?

Jiang Fanyin remained silent for a moment before speaking softly, “Miss Liu, please calm yourself. Lord Song truly wishes to help you. Think carefully—is there any evidence? We can find a way together.”

“Is the Magistrate truly here to help me?” Perhaps it was the gentleness in Jiang Fanyin’s voice that eased Liu Erniang’s terror. She stopped crying, though a flicker of distrust remained on her face.

Song Boxue was overjoyed. She wasn’t a “dog official” anymore; she was “Lord Song.” The female lead’s influence was truly something else—the plot armor was practically glowing.

She nodded firmly. “Of course. I am here to help. Do you have any evidence?”

While the robbery of three taels wasn’t a capital crime, she needed to “kill the chicken to warn the monkey.” She had to let the people know she wasn’t a bribe-hungry tyrant.

Liu Erniang lowered her head again. “That night, Young Master Wang and two thugs cornered me and snatched the silver. It was dark, no one saw it.”

It had happened late at night while she was walking home after selling flower tea. The rural paths were deserted. Fearing for her safety, she had simply fled home after the robbery and waited until dawn to report it at the yamen. The result? The villain was released in court, and she was thrown into a cell.

“That makes things difficult.” After hearing the story, Song Boxue felt the headache returning. Without evidence, a simple case becomes a legal nightmare.

She ordered the jailer to unbind Liu Erniang and gave strict instructions to treat her well before she and Jiang Fanyin left the prison.

Back at the residence, Song Boxue vigorously scrubbed her face with fresh water, feeling an imaginary itch.

Watching her frantic scrubbing, Jiang Fanyin said quietly, “It’s already clean.”

Song Boxue looked utterly soul-weary. “No. The face is clean, but the trauma to my soul cannot be washed away.”

Jiang Fanyin: “…” I’m afraid I cannot relate.

After several more rinses, Song Boxue finally stopped. “Sister Jiang, what do we do about this case?”

A case with no evidence was a dead end.

Jiang Fanyin thought for a moment. “Is Miss Liu’s account true? Are you certain it was Young Master Wang?”

Though she had never been an official, her father had been a Prefect for years. Through osmosis, she knew something of governance. The greatest taboo in judging a case was listening to only one side; every claim required verification.

Song Boxue rubbed her temples. “It’s true. Young Master Wang admitted to it himself.”

Not only that, but he had sent a hundred-tael banknote as a bribe, hinting that she should torture Liu Erniang to “teach her a lesson.” The original host, blinded by greed, had accepted on the spot and handed the money to Madam Song for her “funeral fund.”

Jiang Fanyin was puzzled. “Then why release him and imprison Miss Liu?”

If the defendant had confessed, why arrest the victim? Was there some other hidden agenda?

Meeting her confused gaze, Song Boxue hesitated before deciding on total honesty. “Young Master Wang’s father sent a hundred-tael note. I had a momentary lapse in judgment and took it. I regret it deeply now.”

Extremely regretful. The original host was a fool. As the “parent official” of a county, why do something so idiotic? Taking bribes was just handing people a handle to destroy you.

Jiang Fanyin froze, then blurted out, “You released a criminal for a mere hundred taels?”

Song Boxue felt a fresh wave of disdain from her. Only a hundred taels? The original host had acted like she’d never seen money before, happily letting him go. To be fair, she had lived a very austere life and likely hadn’t seen a high-denomination banknote in person.

“It was a temporary delusion. I’ve seen the light now. An official must seek justice for the people, not profit through corruption.”

Jiang Fanyin watched her “regretful” expression, speechless. Where was this enlightenment when you were pocketing the cash?

As they sat in silence, a knock sounded at the door. Advisor Zhou entered. “Excellency, the heavy rain the other night washed out a section of the West Overpass. Should we allocate funds from the treasury for repairs?”

Song Boxue reached for the ledger. She recalled seeing the entry recently. She confirmed the figures: the treasury had exactly 300 taels of silver remaining. Pingchuan County’s finances were dangerously tight.

She frowned. “How much for the repairs?”

Advisor Zhou ignored her look of distress. “Initial estimates are 100 taels. Also, the bailiffs’ monthly salaries are due; that’s another 100.”

“Let me think on it. You are dismissed.” Song Boxue felt her head throbbing. He had timed it perfectly—leaving her with exactly 100 taels to her name.

Once Zhou was gone, she spread out the ledger. The summary was simple: Pingchuan was dirt poor. Commercial taxes were pathetic, and land taxes were even worse—mostly paid in grain. The granaries were full, but the liquid cash was nearly gone.

Song Boxue slumped over the desk, eyes vacant. Jiang Fanyin leaned in to look at the ledger. Seeing that Song Boxue didn’t mind, she flipped through the pages.

“The bridge must be repaired,” Jiang Fanyin said. Having traveled through the county, she knew it wasn’t prosperous; the roads were barely functional.

Song Boxue shrugged. “I know it needs fixing. The question is with what? We have 300 taels. If we fix the bridge and pay the salaries, we’ll have nothing left for emergencies. I can’t exactly pay for it out of my own pocket.”

The original host had only been in office a month and had almost no personal savings beyond those two bribes. If the county’s finances were this bad, the commoners must be suffering even more. Being a “parent official” was a nightmare.

Jiang Fanyin set the ledger down and whispered, “You don’t need to pay for it. Someone else will.”

She had seen her father do this before; the memory was vivid.

Song Boxue’s eyes lit up. “Tell me more.”

Jiang Fanyin didn’t answer directly. Instead, she asked, “You seem to trust me a great deal?”

From taking her to the jail, to confessing the bribery, to letting her see the secret ledgers—it felt like an excessive amount of trust.

Song Boxue paused. Well, obviously. You’re the female lead, the paragon of virtue. If I can’t trust you, who can I trust? But she couldn’t say that out loud.

She thought quickly. “My mother always said that my father considered your father a man of peerless integrity. Since we’ve been betrothed since childhood, you are naturally someone I can rely on.”

Madam Song had said no such thing; in fact, she complained bitterly that the Jiang family had “no sense of old loyalty” for dumping Song Boxue in this backwater.

Jiang Fanyin gave her a fleeting look, her expression unreadable. “My father also spoke of your father as a man of honor.” But whether the wife and daughter are honorable remains to be seen, she thought.

Song Boxue nodded. “So, what’s the plan?”

Jiang Fanyin picked up a brush and wrote one word: Donate. Then, she added another word in front of it: Subscribe.

“Subscribed Donation?”

Song Boxue was baffled. She knew nothing of ancient fundraising, though she remembered modern corporate disaster relief. What did this mean here?

Seeing her confusion, Jiang Fanyin explained, “Pingchuan is not lacking in wealthy merchants and landed gentry. Why are the taxes so low? Because they only care for their own interests. They enjoy the protection of the government but give nothing back to the state or the people. We must make them ‘subscribe’ to a donation.”

Song Boxue understood now. It was essentially “voluntary” fundraising—with a bit of pressure. But how to execute it?

“The Wang family is our breakthrough. That hundred taels they gave you was far too little,” Jiang Fanyin hinted. Since it was confirmed Young Master Wang was guilty, there was no need to be merciful.

Song Boxue grinned. “A pretext to squeeze them?”

Jiang Fanyin smiled back. “Exactly.”

The beauty’s smile was like a crescent moon, her eyes sparkling with amusement. Even in men’s clothing, she was breathtakingly radiant.