Three: Doubts and Difficulties

In the Han Dynasty, clothing was categorized into robes, straight-cut single-layer garments known as changyu, short jackets, and skirts. Wealthy families typically wore silk or fine brocade changyu as undergarments—these base layers were also referred to as deep garments—paired with a long robe. In contrast, poorer families favored short jackets with long trousers, a combination of short upper garments and long pants. The Cao family was affluent, and thus possessed a wealth of fine attire. Yet, as the county magistrate presiding over official duties, Cao Hong was expected to don ceremonial court dress. Since it was autumn, and autumn was associated with the color white, Sheng Meizhen dressed Cao Hong in a white deep garment and a long robe.

Cao Hong was tall, standing somewhere between 185 and 190 centimeters, with a slender build. Clad in his long robe, he even carried a hint of a scholar’s grace.

Dressed, Cao Hong began to assess his own body. In this war-torn twilight of the Eastern Han, two things mattered most: wit and martial strength. Cao Hong considered himself not especially clever, though he was quick to react and accurate in judging immediate situations; as for grand strategy and vision, he was a mere novice—hence his choice, in his previous life, of the solitary mercenary’s path.

Lacking great intellect, he would have to rely on martial skill. In his former life, he, Cao Hong—code-named the Scythe of Death—had been a legend among mercenaries, an outstanding figure in the martial world. His mastery had reached the pinnacle of spiritual refinement, yet now, his soul had been transported—or perhaps reborn—into this new body, which clearly had not attained such heights.

Still, as a member of the Cao clan, renowned for his youthful chivalry and accompanied by retainers, this body was not without merit. It had shed crude strength for refinement, reaching the stage of transforming essence into energy—turning vital essence into physical force, the threshold of true martial cultivation. By modern standards, with such prowess, he could easily subdue dozens of common thugs.

Yet compared to his previous peak, this body fell woefully short. Between the stage of refining essence into energy and the ultimate spiritual refinement, there was yet another realm: transforming energy into spirit. In this realm, one elevated strength guided by energy into strength guided by spirit—where mind moved energy, energy stirred the blood, and the circulation of energy became as natural as thought itself. This was what was called internal cultivation or “qi arts.” In this state, the senses grew acute, energy nourished the body, and strength increased dramatically. Even age could not easily diminish one’s vigor. But in the realm of refining essence into energy, one’s strength would inevitably wane as age sapped vitality.

If refining essence into energy was akin to entering the hall, then refining energy into spirit was stepping into the inner chamber, and true spiritual refinement was the pinnacle. In his former life, Cao Hong had stood at the very summit—where not a feather could add weight, no fly could land unseen, one could enter water without suffocation, walk through fire unscathed, and even bullets would not draw blood. It was the ultimate coordination of potential, energy, and inner organs. Only something as deadly as gamma radiation could have felled him—unless he met an opponent of equal mastery.

“This body has reached the peak of refining essence into energy, with bones hardened through training, but it knows nothing of nourishing energy through spirit, and thus has not crossed into transforming energy into spirit. Perhaps the methods here for cultivating inner strength are simply too scarce,” Cao Hong mused.

As a grandmaster of the martial arts, he did not worry about lacking techniques. Satisfied with his appraisal, he set aside his concerns and, together with his nominal wife, Sheng Meizhen, stepped out of the room, following the path from his memories.

As the magistrate of Qichun County, he resided in the rear quarters of the county office, which boasted eighteen courtyards. Stands of bamboo swayed gently, the kitchen gardens were orderly, ponds and green trees were arranged with clear distinction, while pavilions and towers, glazed tiles and painted eaves shimmered in harmony. Such a residence would fetch a fortune even in modern times.

After passing through three courtyards, Cao Hong caught sight of the main county hall, and could not help but laugh inwardly. Compared to the splendid living quarters, the hall was a world apart—the roof tiles were aged and neglected, the walls mottled and peeling. A central screen stood before the back door, separating the hall’s space. From his memories, he recalled that his predecessor, Cao Zilian, had lavishly renovated his own residence but spent not a single coin on the official hall.

His parsimony was plain for all to see. No wonder, when Cao Cao himself, upon auditing his generals’ fortunes as Minister of Works, exclaimed, “How could my family’s wealth compare with Zilian’s?” Such stinginess—how could one not amass wealth?

At the back entrance to the hall, two county soldiers in armor stood guard. As soon as they saw him, they snapped to attention, halberds at their sides, and announced, “The magistrate has arrived!”

Sheng Meizhen halted at the threshold. “Husband, I shall accompany you no further.”

Cao Hong nodded and strode through the back door, rounded the screen, and seated himself behind the chief desk in the main hall, sweeping his gaze over those present.

On either side of the hall, three armored county soldiers stood at attention. In the center knelt a young man in prison garb, no more than seventeen or eighteen, with delicate features. Flanking him were a man and a woman, both dressed elegantly—the woman not yet forty, her beauty undiminished though now haggard; the man over fifty, short, stout, with narrow eyes—a shrewd merchant’s appearance.

Before these three, just below the chief desk, stood a middle-aged man in white deep garments, with wide sleeves, a scholar’s scarf about his head, and a beard upon his chin—a true man of letters.

As soon as Cao Hong sat, all in the hall bowed and greeted him, “Greetings, Magistrate.”

Cao Hong nodded, then looked to the scholarly middle-aged man. “Assistant Magistrate Lin, what case is before us today?”

Lin replied at once, “My lord, today the Elder of Chidong Township, Lin Gui, accuses his nephew, the son of the late Cangfu of Chidong, Lin Bing, of violating Lin Gui’s thirteenth concubine—an offense of defiling one’s elder, a grave breach of morality.”

No sooner had Lin finished than the short, stout man began wailing, “My lord! You must deliver justice for me! Our Lin family has produced such a disgrace—a calamity to our house! I, Lin Gui, as the Elder responsible for Chidong’s morals, have suffered the humiliation of my own nephew violating my wife! It is an unspeakable shame—I beg you, grant me justice!”

As he wailed, tears streamed down his face, his trembling fat lending a theatrical air.

The middle-aged woman at the young prisoner’s side shrieked, “Lin Gui! Do not slander us! You poisoned my husband and ordered a concubine to seduce my son, all to seize my husband’s estate and the position of Cangfu for yourself! I shall accuse you before the magistrate—murdering your brother and framing your nephew is high treason!”

Cao Hong’s brow furrowed deeply. In the administrative hierarchy, below the county were townships, below townships were precincts, and below precincts, hamlets. As townships contained several hundred households, the positions of Elder (in charge of morals), Cangfu (civil administrator), and Patrol Officer (responsible for arresting thieves and maintaining order) existed.

The Yellow Turban Rebellion had only just been suppressed, and after the chaos of the eunuchs’ and imperial relatives’ power struggles, the Han court’s grip over local officials had slackened. Many local authorities now held private militias and governed as they pleased; appointments were no longer based on virtue or talent, but on wealth. The Lin family of Chidong, with the accused’s father as Cangfu and his uncle as Elder, was the township’s leading clan. In reality, this was a family feud brought to the county court. Prominent families owned the land and businesses upon which the common folk depended; their internal conflicts could devastate the local economy and invite looting by opportunists—especially now, with Yellow Turban remnants still lurking in the wilds. The assistant magistrate found this matter thorny and had sought Cao Hong’s intervention, knowing only a scion of a distinguished house—a family of former Grand Commandants—could command respect from such local gentry. He himself could not hope to cow the Lin family.

The woman and the fat man shouted at each other without pause, but no one dared intervene. Both were of standing—the widow of a deceased Cangfu and the Elder of the township. With the Lin family behind them, who among the petty officials or guards would risk their wrath? All eyes turned helplessly to Cao Hong.

With a resounding slap on the desk, Cao Hong thundered, “Silence! Anyone who continues to make a scene shall be flogged fifty times on the spot!”