Chapter Twenty-Six: You are not the Governor, but merely a dog!

"Lord... Lord Marquis, how is this strength?" The Prefect grinned, his old eyes nearly squinting into lines.

A strange scene unfolded before them. The roles had completely reversed.

Ming Tian sat in the grand hall of the Prefect's residence, legs extended. The Prefect, who had acted so high and mighty before, was now kneeling before Ming Tian, massaging his legs.

An Luo, just released from prison, maintained the same posture as Ming Tian. The Prefect's adviser was massaging An Luo's legs.

Elsewhere, Yin Chan seemed uninterested in all this, simply gazing absentmindedly at the doorway.

"This strength is fine. Stop pounding and switch to rubbing," Ming Tian said, twisting comfortably in his chair to reach for his tea.

"Yes, certainly, Lord Marquis." The Prefect had lost all his official bearing, smiling servilely as he massaged Ming Tian's legs.

"You bastard, didn’t you eat today?" An Luo was not so lucky. Lifting his leg, he kicked the adviser, who rolled away like a ball.

An Luo was so tough that even the adviser's fists couldn't please him; thus, he was kicked out.

Seeing Yin Chan at the door, An Luo's fierce expression melted into a radiant smile. He approached Yin Chan, grinning foolishly, "Miss Yin Chan, don’t stand at the door. Come, take my seat."

Yin Chan seemed preoccupied. Ming Tian noticed her gloom since leaving the prison. She silently took An Luo’s seat, her gaze still vacant.

What is this guy thinking? Ming Tian watched for a while, unable to figure it out. Yin Chan was older and more experienced than he in her previous life; since she didn’t want to talk, he saw no need to ask.

The adviser, face bruised, crawled back. Seeing Yin Chan now seated, he resolved to serve her better. He scuttled over, grasped her delicate foot, and placed it on the stool.

"Miss... Miss Yin Chan, let me massage your legs."

The act of grabbing Yin Chan’s legs infuriated An Luo. Dozens of veins bulged on his forehead.

Bang!

With a dull thud, the adviser was kicked out again, rolling like a ball.

"You little thief! How dare you touch Miss Yin Chan? Are you looking for death?!" An Luo’s glare was full of jealousy, as if he could devour the adviser whole.

The Prefect watched the scene with trepidation, his face pale.

"What are you looking at? Want to get kicked too?" Ming Tian raised his other foot, pressing it to the Prefect’s forehead.

The Prefect turned ashen, quickly smiling, "No, no, Lord Marquis, you are magnanimous. Not blaming me is a blessing earned over three lifetimes. I dare not slack."

"What three lifetimes? You ate my fried pork and still can’t massage properly. Believe me, I’ll beat you till you blossom."

"I believe, I believe! I dare not." The Prefect was terrified, not daring to offend Ming Tian at all.

If Ming Tian asked him to eat dirt, he wouldn’t dare refuse.

Ming Tian was not a bad person, but he was a normal one—and in such circumstances, any normal person would be gleefully arrogant. Ming Tian knew this about himself, but...

So what if I’m arrogant? Who here can do anything about it? Except my buddy An Luo and my friend Yin Chan, I’m not exaggerating—everyone else here is trash! Unconvinced? Try and hit me!

Thinking so, Ming Tian shouted to the guards outside, "Hey! You, yes you, come in here!"

Sure enough, the soldier at the door trembled, dropped his spear, and crawled into the hall, kneeling before Ming Tian, shaking like a leaf and banging his head repeatedly.

This man was the Zhang Fei soldier who had slapped Ming Tian at the city gate of Douhu Prefecture.

"Spare me, Lord Marquis, spare me!" Zhang Fei soldier’s already pale face was now nearly transparent with fear, his head smashing into the floor, not daring to slack.

"Get lost."

Kicking the Prefect aside, Ming Tian strode forward and grabbed Zhang Fei soldier’s hair. "Do you know who I am?"

"Lor... Lord Marquis," Zhang Fei soldier stammered, his voice trembling like a woman’s.

"Oh, so you do know."

Slap!

A thunderous slap, immensely satisfying to Ming Tian.

"You knew I was the Marquis and still dared to slap me? Huh? Didn’t you say last night you’d kill me? Come on! Kill me! Aren’t you so tough?"

Ming Tian was furious. He’d been slapped the day before, had a knife to his throat last night—who could endure such humiliation just to survive?

Zhang Fei soldier never imagined he’d do such things to the Marquis. Now, his face was lifeless, not daring to utter a word.

Behind Ming Tian, the Prefect, just kicked, was full of regret. If only he’d known Ming Tian was the Marquis, he’d have killed him in prison days ago, not expecting Ming Tian to turn the tables so publicly.

But none of it mattered. Ming Tian, with his social skills and culinary prowess, had survived the ordeal—victory was assured.

Now the whole city knew Ming Tian was the Marquis; the Prefect could do nothing. If Ming Tian wanted, he could report to the Emperor, and not a single person under the Prefect would survive.

"Lord, spare me! I have elders and children to care for. It was my ignorant eyes that offended you. Please be merciful and let me go!"

"Hmph, of course a dog doesn’t recognize the sacred mountain—do you need to say that? Are you calling me uncultured?"

"No, no!"

"Then why say it?"

"Please spare me, Lord!"

"..."

After several rounds, Zhang Fei soldier was scolded like a dog, head pressed to the ground, not daring to utter a syllable, and Ming Tian finally felt his anger subside.

He returned to his seat and took a sip of tea—but it was terrible.

"Pfft..." He spat it all out, smashing the cup. The Prefect cowered in the corner, not daring to make a sound.

Awful.

Ming Tian clicked his tongue, spitting several times.

Tea had entered the imperial court in the Western Jin era, and now, in the Southern and Northern Dynasties, only officials or quasi-officials could drink it, and the annual supply was limited.

All current tea was tribute tea, with few varieties and poor quality—bitter, not fragrant, dry and cloying, truly undrinkable.

Even the cheapest modern teas sold by the pound tasted better. Ming Tian, a black tea enthusiast, used to drinking the finest with his boss, could not stomach this.

This wasn’t tea—it was filth.

After half a month in this world, Ming Tian was too exhausted to complain, sighing helplessly as he lay in his chair.

The matter of Douhu Prefecture was no different. How many times would he need to endure such ordeals? Was this some kind of play? When would he achieve greatness and leave this wretched era?

"Are you done making a scene?" As Ming Tian sighed, Yin Chan, silent all day, finally spoke.

Ming Tian was surprised.

"What’s wrong? You haven’t spoken all day. Is something troubling you?"

He looked at her. Yin Chan’s expression was grim.

Though she was always reserved, it now seemed something serious weighed on her.

Ming Tian sensed something was wrong and ordered the Prefect, "Everyone, get out."

"Yes, yes! As you command!"

The Prefect seemed delighted. No wonder; he and his staff had been tormented all morning, and to escape this scourge was a relief.

After closing the door and ensuring no one was left, Yin Chan glanced at An Luo.

An Luo was startled, "Uh, Miss Yin Chan, what is it?"

"You leave too. I have urgent matters to discuss with Ming Tian."

"Ah?" An Luo looked at Ming Tian.

Ming Tian sympathized with his earnest gaze, but Yin Chan’s attitude clearly signaled something important. He set his face and nodded to An Luo.

An Luo was an honest man. He considered Ming Tian a brother and cared for Yin Chan; though he longed to know the matter, he restrained himself and left, saying, "I’ll be at the door. Ming Tian, Miss Yin Chan, call for me if needed."

He truly was straightforward.

Ming Tian smiled, then turned serious toward Yin Chan. "Go ahead. What’s the matter?"

Yin Chan took a deep breath, her voice slightly hoarse.

"On the day we met, when I explained this era to you, I told you who the emperor would be six months from now, right?"

Ming Tian was puzzled why she brought this up, but nodded for her to continue.

"Do you know the Prefect’s surname and given name?"

Ming Tian searched his memory, recalling a 'Yu' character on the plaque outside, but hadn’t heard the full name.

"Surname Yu, but I don’t know the given name."

Yin Chan smiled, pulling a letter from her sleeve and placing it on the table. "See for yourself. I stole this from the adviser at the door; I was reading it secretly."

Ming Tian shook his head, pushing the letter back. "No, you’d better just say it. I dislike reading officials’ letters—full of jargon, like another species’ language."

"Alright."

Retrieving the letter, Yin Chan’s face became as grim as stone. "This Prefect’s name is Yu Baoqing. Historically, Yu Baoqing wasn’t supposed to be a Prefect, so perhaps the records are mistaken. There are so many records, errors are normal. After reading this letter, I’m even more convinced."

"Who is Yu Baoqing?" Ming Tian knew nothing of history.

Yin Chan was silent for a long time before asking, "You know that six months from now, Emperor Xiao Luan of Qi dies, and Xiao Baojuan ascends as the Eastern Prince, yes?"

"I know, but what does that have to do with the Prefect’s name?"

"It’s related! Xiao Baojuan had a favored concubine. For her, he emptied the treasury—Qi’s downfall can be attributed half to her."

Ming Tian guessed, "Wait, you mean..."

"Exactly, Pan Consort."

Yin Chan nodded and sighed. "That woman’s name was Pan Yu’er, originally called Yu Ni Zi. She changed her name after entering the palace. She’s now under Marshal Wang Jingze in Wuxing Commandery, and this Prefect Yu Baoqing is her father! This letter is a family note sent by Pan Yu’er. Her entering the palace marked a turning point in history. For us, it’s an opportunity!"

A faint smile appeared on Yin Chan’s face. "If we fail to seize it, having bullied Yu Baoqing today, when Pan Yu’er enters the palace in half a year, you might suffer badly. But if we succeed, her entrance could mark the moment we achieve greatness!"

The word 'greatness' made Ming Tian’s heart tighten.

What mattered most to him was, without a doubt, greatness.

This wretched era was unlivable for a modern person—even breathing felt torturous.

"Where is Pan Yu’er now?" Ming Tian slapped the table, unable to suppress his excitement.

"Good question. We’re even luckier."

Yin Chan teased, sharing Ming Tian’s exhilaration. "Our journey to Jiankang coincides with hers. The letter says Wang Jingze is now in Southern Lanling Commandery!"

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