The County Magistrate Isn’t a Scumbag—She’s Very A - Chapter 9

Master Wang slapped his chopsticks against the table, his voice low and stern. “What is all this panic for? What do you mean, ‘things are bad’?”

The servant held up a bundle of blood-stained clothes. “Master, the bailiffs brought the Young Master’s clothes. They said, they said.”

“They said what?” Master Wang demanded.

“They said the Young Master is a ‘tough nut to crack’—he refuses to confess. They said they don’t know how many more days of interrogation it will take.”

The First Madam caught sight of the bloody garment and instantly dissolved into wailing. “Those are my son’s clothes! Master, you must save our child! Master!”

Master Wang’s breathing grew heavy and ragged. Looking at his sobbing wife, he slammed his hand onto the table. “Prepare the carriage. We are going to Pavilion Above the Clouds.”

He knew his son better than anyone. His boy wasn’t some “tough nut,” nor could he withstand heavy torture. This wasn’t a report; it was a blatant threat.

News of Master Wang’s hurried departure for Pavilion Above the Clouds sent a ripple of unease through the other merchants, though they tried to remain composed.

To kill a snake, one must hit its seven-inch mark—its heart. The Wang family had only one heir; with him held hostage, Master Wang was bound to lose his nerve.

At Pavilion Above the Clouds, Master Wang stepped off his carriage just as Song Boxue emerged from the main hall. Addressing the gathered crowd, she declared: “When I first arrived in Pingchuan County, I vowed to be a good official.

Since everyone is gathered here today, I shall follow the example of my predecessors and light the ‘three fires’ of a new appointment. The first fire shall be to open the channels of communication. My goal is to strike down the heartless and the corrupt. Starting now, I will hear one case every half hour. Anyone who reports a crime that proves true will be handsomely rewarded by the government!”

Master Wang felt his vision go dark. Under the promise of a heavy reward, there would always be “brave men.” Among the local gentry, there were bound to be those who had used their wealth to act lawlessly. Even if a patriarch remained law-abiding, they couldn’t always control the conduct of their younger kin.

It was over. The alliance they had formed only last night would crumble in an instant. This Magistrate was truly ruthless.

Sure enough, as soon as she finished speaking, a man collapsed to his knees with a heavy thud.

“I want to report the cloth merchant, Third Master Zhao! My wife set up a stall on the overpass to sell a few pieces of coarse cloth she washed herself, but the men from his shop smashed her stall and beat her!”

Song Boxue looked at the honest-faced, middle-aged man and said gently, “Stand up and speak. When did this happen? Are there witnesses? Evidence?”

The man did not stand; instead, he kowtowed repeatedly, crying out: “Everything I say is true! My wife was beaten so badly she can’t get out of bed! Many people saw it—many from our village! Please, Your Honor, seek justice for us!”

The crowd fell silent. No one dared to speak up. They didn’t know if this new Magistrate truly intended to root out violence or if this was merely a performance. If the report failed, the retaliation from those powerful masters was more than commoners could endure.

Song Boxue leaned down and helped him up. “Stand. If the case is true, I will punish them severely. Has your wife seen a doctor?”

She asked because the man’s clothes were tattered; she worried the injured woman had no money for treatment.

The man knelt again. “We had the village’s barefoot doctor look at her, and I’ve gathered herbs from the mountains.”

The poor did not dare to get sick. When they did, they used folk remedies or gathered whatever herbs they recognized. They could never afford a proper physician.

Song Boxue reached into her sleeve, her expression freezing for a moment. Her pockets beneath the green official robes were empty; she had forgotten that the original owner of this body had handed all the money over to Madam Song for safekeeping.

Seeing this, Jiang Fanyin stepped forward, holding a piece of broken silver. “Your Honor.”

Song Boxue met her eyes, took the silver, and handed it to the man. “Go to the secretary to record your identity. Take this silver and find a doctor first. Do not let your wife’s treatment be delayed.”

The man took the silver with trembling hands and kowtowed several more times. “Thank you, Honorable Judge! Thank you!”

Another suffocating silence followed, until someone whispered, “I saw it. I saw the workers from Third Master Zhao’s shop beating her. I’ll testify.”

“I saw it too.”

“I’ll testify as well.”

Once the first person stepped forward, others followed. Seeing the witnesses emerge, Song Boxue took a deep breath and commanded sternly, “Men! Arrest the relevant parties immediately and throw them into the dungeons to await trial!”

With the Zhao family in trouble, the other merchants couldn’t sit still. A new case every half hour? If they didn’t go now and someone implicated their own families, they would end up just like Master Wang.

This move was simply too devastating. One by one, the merchants rushed toward Pavilion Above the Clouds. The donation ledger began to fill up, entry after entry.

On the second floor, Song Boxue watched the merchants taking their seats. She whispered, “I originally just wanted to put on a show to intimidate these stubborn people. Now, I’ve changed my mind.”

She didn’t consider herself a saint, but at this moment, her resolve shifted. Though she didn’t specify how, Jiang Fanyin understood. “You will be a good official.”

Song Boxue looked at her, her eyes filled with determination. “If I ever do anything to betray these robes, you must not let me off the hook.”

Only yesterday, she was thinking of resigning. Even now, the thought hadn’t vanished. But before she left—before she took off this uniform—she wanted to be a good official. At least while in office, she would do her best to seek justice for the people.

Jiang Fanyin looked puzzled. “What do you mean, ‘not let you off’?”

“Nothing. I just hope you’ll supervise me and keep me on the path of goodness.” Song Boxue looked away with a quiet sigh. According to the original plot of the book, the previous owner of this body was corrupt and was eventually brought down and imprisoned by the female lead.

Jiang Fanyin remained skeptical but tactfully refrained from pressing further. Everyone had their secrets.

Down in the crowd, a man wearing a straw hat stared at Song Boxue’s silhouette. He spat out two words under his breath: “Corrupt official.”

After work, Song Boxue went to Madam Song to ask for money—the two hundred taels the original owner had embezzled, plus Jiang Fanyin’s five taels of silver. Recalling Madam Song’s obsession with money, she felt a headache coming on. She wasn’t sure she could get it back.

Jiang Fanyin guessed as much from her expression. She instinctively touched her own purse, her lips twitching before she pressed them into a thin line.

“Young Master Jiang.” A middle-aged voice called from behind. It was Secretary Zhou.

“Secretary Zhou.” Jiang Fanyin nodded slightly, waiting for him to speak.

“Someone asked me to bring you a letter.” Secretary Zhou handed it over and bowed his departure.

The envelope read: For Yin’yin’s eyes only.

The sight of the familiar handwriting sent a jolt through Jiang Fanyin. She returned to her room, bolted the doors and windows, and carefully opened the letter. After reading it, her brows furrowed deeply. She changed into her own clothes and hurried out.

In a small inn on West Street, Jiang Wuyi sat in the lobby drinking wine, his eyes fixed on the entrance. When Jiang Fanyin appeared, he rushed to meet her.

“Yin’yin, you’re here. Let’s talk upstairs.”

Jiang Fanyin nodded. There was no joy in her expression, only hidden anxiety. Once inside the room, she asked urgently, “Brother, what did you mean in the letter?”

What did he mean by “getting rid of Song Boxue” for her? And “helping her escape the devil’s clutches”?

A flash of remorse crossed Jiang Wuyi’s face. “It’s because I failed to protect you. I didn’t expect that dog official’s life to be so hardy.”

Jiang Fanyin was utterly confused. She stared at her adoptive brother, signaling for him to explain.

Jiang Wuyi hesitated, then said through gritted teeth, “Follow me.”

He led her out of the inn to a nearby medical clinic. The doors were shut tight. Jiang Wuyi produced a key and opened the door. Inside, a man dressed as a physician was tied to a pillar.

Jiang Wuyi drew his blade and plunged it into the doctor’s arm. The unconscious man shrieked awake in agony.

“Tell her exactly what that dog official said. Word for word, or I’ll end your miserable life.”

Terrified, the doctor begged, “I’ll speak! I’ll tell everything! The Magistrate is a close friend of my son. On the morning of that heavy rain, he came to the shop to buy a packet of knockout drugs. He said it was for some fiancée, said once he had tasted her, he’d give her to my son to play with for a few days! That’s all I heard! Have mercy!”

Jiang Wuyi struck the doctor over the head with the hilt of his sword, knocking him unconscious once more.