Chapter 214: Operation Jasmine Pavilion

Wang Ci could not refuse. He reasoned that regardless of the kūnzéi bandits’ motives, it would be a good thing for the family. He rose and said, “On their behalf, I thank you.” With that, he bowed deeply.

“Hehe, you’re welcome.” Xiong Buyou saw his attitude soften and thought to himself that the plan was seventy or eighty percent certain. Of course, whether this pedant was willing or not wouldn’t change the final outcome, but with his participation, things would proceed more smoothly. The task of winning over the local intellectuals would be much easier with the assistance of the county’s education official.

The Executive Committee had not initially placed much importance on the native intellectuals. Their own knowledge structure and systems far surpassed those of any contemporary scientist, Chinese or foreign. In the eyes of the transmigrators, the greatest value of these minor intellectuals, who knew only a few of the Four Books and Five Classics, was their literacy.

But over time, as social information was continuously gathered through their work, the Executive Committee’s view of the native intellectuals began to change. After all, even the most impoverished scholar was, in theory, a master of knowledge and a reserve for the bureaucratic system. Thus, they still enjoyed considerable status and prestige in society.

As a result, the native intellectuals were elevated from a source of usable manpower to a class that needed to be actively courted. In an ancient society with a high rate of illiteracy and a scarcity of knowledge, the educated not only controlled the discourse but also held the power to judge right and wrong. The attitude and allegiance of this group could influence many ordinary people.

Furthermore, the incomplete lists of scholars and student candidates they had collected showed that, apart from a few poor scholars from commoner families, many were in fact the sons of gentry and landlords. Winning them over was a way of indirectly winning over the local gentry class.

Therefore, the Foreign Affairs Committee launched a special project to win over all the scholars in the county—codenamed “Operation Jasmine Pavilion.” In addition to scholars with official degrees like shengyuan, juren, and jinshi, even the unranked tongsheng (student candidates) were included in the plan.

After a period of investigation and research, the Foreign Affairs Committee had gained a general understanding of the cultural situation in Lingao.

Overall, the level was extremely low.

Of course, this “extremely low” was in the context of the Ming Dynasty as a whole. Within Hainan Island itself, Lingao’s cultural development was actually among the best in Qiongzhou Prefecture. After all, Lingao was a county with a thousand-year history and had some accumulated heritage.

But due to its sparse population, the proportion of scholars in the county was also low. There were about thirty shengyuan in the entire county, and around sixty to seventy tongsheng who had registered at the county school and participated in the county examinations.

The number of shengyuan in a county was fixed by a quota. The most valuable were the linsheng (subsidized scholars), who were entitled to six dou of rice per month. A large county typically had thirty, and a small one, twenty. Lingao had a quota of twenty linsheng. In addition to the linsheng, there were extra quotas for zengsheng and fusheng, but they received no subsidy. In areas with a strong literary tradition, these were numerous, but in Lingao, there were only a dozen or so.

The county’s finances were in difficulty, and the income from the school lands was almost nonexistent. Even the linsheng had not received their rice for years, let alone the others. Of course, many scholars came from well-off families and did not care for this small amount of money and rice, but for the poorer ones, life was very difficult.

Having grasped the general situation, the matter of Wang Ci asking the Tiandihui to help cultivate the school lands came at the perfect time. The Foreign Affairs Committee saw this as an excellent opportunity to get a foothold in Lingao’s educational affairs.

Xiong Buyou stood up, walked around the hall, and then looked out at the desolate courtyard from the veranda. He shook his head and said, “I never thought the county school and Confucian temple would fall into such a state of disrepair!”

Wang Ci’s face flushed. “It is all due to my incompetence…”

“This is not your fault,” Xiong Buyou said breezily. “The county hasn’t given you a single coin or a single grain of rice for years. To have maintained it to this point is already a great feat. For the sake of Lingao’s literary spirit, Master Wang, you have truly worked your heart out and dedicated yourself completely.”

Hearing these words from a kūnzéi bandit, Wang Ci’s eyes nearly turned red.

Heaven have mercy! he thought. Since I came to this remote southern county of Lingao to be the education official, not a day has passed that I have not toiled. I have tried every method I could think of, soliciting donations from the gentry everywhere, wearing out several pairs of shoes, being robbed by bandits and nearly losing my life, encountering a hurricane by the sea and almost ending up as fish food, and enduring the cold faces of the gentry, all to barely keep things going until now. The county magistrate has only ever said, ‘You have worked hard.’ I never thought these Australians, who have only been here for a little over a year, could see things so clearly. A sudden feeling of kinship washed over him.

“I do not deserve such praise.” Wang Ci calmed himself. “Since I am the education official of this county, I must do my part.” He sighed. “I only seek a clear conscience.”

“A clear conscience! Well said!” Xiong Buyou saw from his expression that this flattery was working. Before coming, they had discussed what method to use to win over this Wang Ci. They concluded that this approach was most likely to strike a chord with him. And indeed, it worked.

He then deliberately sighed, “If only all the officials of the Great Ming could have a clear conscience!”

This remark carried a critique of the current administration. Although Wang Ci was a minor education official, he was no frog in a well. What he had seen and heard on his way to his post and during his tenure, combined with the letters from his family, friends, and classmates, made him feel that the state of affairs was deteriorating day by day. He was unwilling to comment on these matters in front of a kūnzéi bandit, so he remained silent, merely sighing.

Xiong Buyou felt the time was right. He said, “I saw the Jasmine Pavilion next to the county school is in a state of ruin. If it is not repaired soon, I fear it will collapse, and this fine tale of Lingao’s literary world will be lost…”

“Do you think I do not wish to restore it?” Wang Ci had been worrying about this as well. He was not a native of Lingao, but if this important relic of the local literary scene was destroyed during his term, what would the county gazetteer write about him a hundred years from now? The thought made him lose sleep and appetite.

“I have also pleaded with the county magistrate, but the county’s granaries are empty, with no extra money or rice. Even if we conscript a few laborers, we must feed them. Besides, carpenters and masons will not come for just a meal.” Wang Ci was at his wit’s end. Repairing a building was no small expense; it required hiring labor and buying timber, bricks, tiles, and lime. The costs were substantial.

“Since the county has no money, we can help repair the Jasmine Pavilion,” Xiong Buyou said, seizing the opportunity.

“You will repair it?” Wang Ci looked at him in surprise. What was this kūnzéi bandit’s game? Why would they help repair a building for no reason? What was in it for them?

“Indeed. Not just the Jasmine Pavilion, but this place as well.” Xiong Buyou gestured outside. “This Confucian temple and county school of yours could also use a good renovation. Otherwise, it is quite an eyesore.”

“This—” Wang Ci was momentarily stunned, muttering, “I cannot accept, I cannot accept.”

“Hey, what’s not to accept? As I said before, since we have settled in Lingao, this is our hometown. What’s wrong with repairing the Confucian temple and county school for our hometown? It’s for the benefit of the community, hahaha.”

Faced with this forceful reasoning, Wang Ci couldn’t think of a rebuttal for a moment, but his instincts told him this was a case of the weasel paying a New Year’s visit to the chicken—there had to be a hidden agenda.

“Alright, it’s settled then. Just wait for the good news.” Without waiting for him to react, Xiong Buyou stood up, cupped his hands in a salute, and took his leave.

“Hey—hey—please stay—” Wang Ci felt this was improper and wanted to discuss it further, but how could his steps compare to Xiong Buyou’s? By the time he chased him out of the room, Xiong Buyou was already out of the courtyard gate.

Helpless, he could only return to his room first. He thought it best to report this matter to the county magistrate first. Otherwise, it would be his own arbitrary decision, and if something went wrong, the consequences would be severe.

“Master—” The gatekeeper came again.

“What is it?!”

“Master Xiong left two boxes of gifts. Should I have them brought in for you?”

“Gifts?”

“Yes, this is the gift list.” The gatekeeper presented the list.

Wang Ci opened it and saw six items listed: three hundred catties of coarse rice, two jars of fruit-infused wine, one thousand sheets of high-quality white paper, one hundred assorted writing brushes, one hundred sticks of pine-soot ink, and fifty books. The rice was replaced with an equivalent amount in circulation coupons.

The gifts were not extravagant, but they were very practical. Except for the wine, everything else could be used to help poor scholars. Lingao had no local production of paper, brushes, ink, or printing. All these items had to be transported from the prefectural city. The long journey made them expensive, a significant burden for scholars.

“And books?” Wang Ci was surprised. Did they think he, like the illiterate peasants, would want those books full of simplified characters and poor grammar?

“Yes, a whole box of them.”

“Throw them away!” Wang Ci said without hesitation. “No, use them for firewood!”

“Ah?” The gatekeeper was illiterate, but he knew how precious books were locally. “Master, this—”

“Just burn them as I said.”

“Yes, Master.” The gatekeeper withdrew.

Wang Ci quickly dressed and went to the county yamen to request an audience with Magistrate Wu.

A runner soon returned with a message: the magistrate would see him in the flower hall.

When Wang Ci arrived at the flower hall, he saw the magistrate dressed in a ramie robe, sitting in a new “Australian-style” rattan chair. Beside him was a huge wooden basin containing a large block of ice, like a crystal mountain, from which white mist was rising. The room was cool and refreshing.

“Your subordinate pays his respects—”

“Alright, alright, the weather is hot. We can dispense with these formalities.” Wu Mingjin waved his hand. “Come, Old Wang, you too, loosen your robes and sit!”

“I dare not be discourteous in the presence of my superior,” Wang Ci said respectfully.

Wu Mingjin cursed inwardly, “Pedant!” but said aloud, “Then please have a seat, old sir. Someone, bring a bowl of iced plum soup for the old master!”

“Your Honor,” the servant replied, “we are out of plum juice. A runner has been sent to the East Gate Market to buy some. We have some kvass that Master Xiong just sent over…”

“Bring that then. Tell the kitchen to bring some crushed ice,” Wu Mingjin nodded.

“I dare not impose.”