Chapter 37: Too Late

The mischievous children of the countryside are largely unlearned, yet they possess a rare and innocent purity. The world of adults remains too distant for them, and for now, they can still candidly call the kind-hearted young master of the wealthy family "Brother Xun."

As they grow older and taste the hardships of the world, understanding the laws by which this society operates, they become just like their fathers—meek and submissive, bowing their heads and respectfully calling every man they meet "Master."

Fan Jin plucked a few short stories from his memory, quickly bonding with the children. Surrounded by them, he became a "king of the children" in the truest sense. During this time, he naturally gathered the information he sought. After a long silence, beyond a few sighs, he felt quite helpless.

Such is the way of the world; what else can one do but lament? If not for that one day he passed the imperial examination, soaring like a dragon, how would he be any better off than these mud-legged peasants? The rank of an old scholar is far from enough to defy fate, let alone to provide relief to the world.

Before long, the rent collection in Zuojia Village was finished, and the heavy stones in the hearts of the tenant farmers finally settled. The landlord was kind and did not raise their rent; if their families tightened their belts a little more, they would likely scrape by this year as well.

The village chief, accompanied by a few sturdy men, walked directly toward Fan Jin and his party, his face filled with unconcealable joy. However, when he saw the little rascals clustering around Fan Jin, pestering him for stories, that joy vanished instantly. The old chief almost instinctively wanted to shout a harsh reprimand, but as his face twitched, he forcibly suppressed the urge and shot a warning glance at the men beside him. He thought to himself that he would have to have a serious talk with the men and women of the village later; such lack of decorum would not do.

Seeing the old village chief—a man of great authority and stern reputation—wearing such a grim face, the children were terrified, scattering in a chaotic swarm. Only the two-and-a-half-year-old child who had wet his pants after hearing a ghost story was dragged away by his back hem by a slightly older boy, much like a piglet being dragged by its tail. The toddler’s small, dark hands reached out repeatedly, stubbornly shouting that he wanted to hear more stories, a sight that made Fan Jin burst into laughter.

The old village chief felt uneasy, wiping his calloused hands on his clothes. "The children in the countryside are unruly and lack manners. Please forgive them, Master Fan, for offending you. Do not take it to heart."

Fan Jin waved his hands repeatedly, unconcerned. "What are you saying, Chief? It is just the innocent play of country children; there is no talk of offense. In fact, I have taken quite a liking to these clever little ones."

This was no lie. In the Fan household, who did not hope for Fan Jin to have an heir soon to pass on the vast family fortune? Among the concubines in the manor, who was not secretly competing over the matter of offspring? Even Fan Jin could not remain indifferent to the issue of heirs; he often mounted his horse for battle, working hard in the fields of intimacy day after day.

Hearing this, the old chief’s expression softened slightly, though he remained determined to discipline the village later. The temperaments of the powerful are impossible to gauge; it is said that serving a ruler is like serving a tiger, and when commoners stand before the elite, who among them does not sit on pins and needles? If the nobleman does not take offense, it is because he is in a good mood; if he were to truly unleash his nature, it would surely lead to disaster.

Seeing that he could not dissuade the chief, Fan Jin decided not to press the matter. Just then, the steward, Uncle Fu, walked over from a distance. Looking up at the scorching sun, he said, "Master, the rent has been collected, and the hour is growing late. What do you think?"

"Then let us head to the next village."

Fan Jin adjusted his sleeves and bid farewell to the old chief, adding, "The road ahead should be easier; let us try to pick up the pace so as not to keep the villagers waiting!"

Today, they were collecting rent from three villages in total. The other two, like Zuojia Village, were likely already waiting for them.

"Yes, sir," Uncle Fu replied respectfully, then gave orders to the servants.

Fan Jin walked slowly toward the carriage. A servant swiftly placed a stool for him to step on, while another rolled up the carriage curtain. There was no need for coal to keep warm; though the winter in Guangdong could be biting, the warm sun hung high in the sky, scattering the chill entirely. Instead, the sunlight streaming through the windows made the carriage feel like a greenhouse, everything within sight shimmering with a golden, opulent glow.

This part of the journey was not as grueling as the morning; the roads were no longer muddy, the carriage moved steadily and quickly, and the sunlight beating down on them added a touch of languid drowsiness.

"Master, we have arrived at Baishi Village. Would you like to step out and take a look?" Monk Hui asked, his voice muffled as he rode his tall horse beside the window.

"We have arrived?"

Fan Jin uttered an "oh" and said, "Let Uncle Fu take the men to collect the rent. Just as we did this morning—I won't be going over."

With the help of his servants, he stepped down from the carriage. He stood under a peach tree at the edge of the village, gazing into the distance at the mountains, his hand resting casually on the trunk. The tree was perhaps ten or twenty years old; it could not be called rugged or flourishing, but a few green buds had begun to emerge on the branches, and occasionally, one could even find a flower bud. It seemed the cold weather of this year was drawing to a close.

Having gained experience from the first collection, Uncle Fu led the team with much greater efficiency this time. About an hour later, he and his party returned.

"Let's go. The last village is a bit further. Let us get there as soon as possible and return to the city before sunset." Fan Jin did not waste words; after confirming the rent figures were correct, he nodded and urged them on.

The last village had a pleasant name: Haoyuan Village, also known as Haoyuan Manor. Compared to Zuojia and Baishi, it was slightly more prosperous. Unlike the red soil of Zuojia or the yellow earth of Baishi, Haoyuan consisted mostly of paddy fields, with yields significantly higher than those of typical villages.

By the time the party reached Haoyuan, it was already about the hour of the Rooster (5:00 PM to 7:00 PM), and even the formerly scorching sun was beginning to dim. As Bai Juyi wrote in his poem *Drunken Song*, "The yellow rooster crows in the hour of the Ox to signal dawn, the white sun sets before the hour of the Rooster to end the year," referring to the time of sunset.

"Folks, we have arrived late!" Fan Jin said this out of habit, nearly causing the entire village to panic. It was like striking a chord with their buried, painful memories—they remembered that a few years ago, when Zhang Jingzhai served as magistrate, he loved to use this exact opening line when visiting the countryside to supervise tax collection, yet he was notoriously ruthless when it came to gathering the levies.

Fortunately, Fan Jin was not a bad man and was quite considerate of the villagers. Under his watchful eye, the servants dared not engage in any embezzlement; the amount collected was exactly what was due.