“Scribe Zhou is from the Zhou family. Though he works under Magistrate Zhang, he’s not the magistrate’s man. In fact, Magistrate Zhang often follows Scribe Zhou’s lead,” Constable Zhang said quietly.
“Why?” Jin Feng asked, surprised.
Typically, scribes were the magistrate’s lackeys, handling tasks the magistrate couldn’t openly do.
But in Jinchuan County, the magistrate was the scribe’s puppet.
That was intriguing.
“Magistrate Zhang came from humble beginnings. His rise to this position was entirely due to the Zhou family’s support and connections,” Constable Zhang said. “Even now, his family remains in his hometown, not brought here.”
Jin Feng understood instantly.
The magistrate was under the Zhou family’s thumb.
“Scribe Zhou has his eye on you,” Constable Zhang continued, “but not for money.”
“Not for money?” Jin Feng was puzzled.
If bandits robbed, what else could it be for?
To uphold justice and rob the rich to help the poor?
“Mr. Jin, didn’t you invent a new spinning wheel that spins several times faster than the old ones?” Constable Zhang said. “I heard Scribe Zhou’s family is in the textile business.”
“So he’s after my spinning wheel,” Jin Feng realised.
The textile factory employed many workers, so the news of the new spinning wheel couldn’t be hidden.
That it hadn’t been copied yet was due to Tang Dongdong’s excellent secrecy measures.
“A bailiff who used to work under me, now guarding Scribe Zhou, mentioned over drinks that Zhou ordered him to get the spinning wheel,” Constable Zhang said. “The bandits setting up a checkpoint at Copper Mountain is likely to pressure you into giving in.”
“Is that so?” Jin Feng gave Constable Zhang a deep look. “Constable Zhang, are you a retired Iron Forest Army soldier?”
“Yes, I was among the first to fight under the Marquis,” Constable Zhang said, his eyes nostalgic. “Few of my old comrades are still alive. Why do you ask, Mr. Jin?”
“Just curious,” Jin Feng said, shaking his head with a smile.
The bailiff telling Constable Zhang about the spinning wheel was clearly meant to pass the message to Jin Feng, pressuring him to yield.
Jin Feng had thought Constable Zhang might have switched allegiance to Scribe Zhou, but it seemed he hadn’t betrayed Qing Huai.
He might not even realise he was being used.
“Why not move the workshop to the county? The bandits wouldn’t be a problem then,” Constable Zhang suggested.
In his view, this was the best solution, as it would eliminate the need for deliveries.
But Jin Feng didn’t agree. “Thank you, Constable Zhang. I’ll think about it.”
When Tang Dongdong first proposed the workshop, Jin Feng had considered this.
But Jinchuan County was small, with little space for a factory.
Most people there had their own livelihoods, and idle hands were scarce. Even if Jin Feng built a factory, hiring workers would be a challenge.
So he decided to build in Xihe Bay.
Looking back, it was a wise choice.
The new spinning wheel’s design wasn’t overly complex. A skilled carpenter could replicate it with some study.
The reason it hadn’t spread was that everyone, from workers to kitchen staff, was trustworthy.
If the factory were in the county, Jin Feng suspected the spinning wheel would have been stolen long ago.
He knew the wheel’s simple design would eventually leak.
If it spread unintentionally, it could improve Dakang’s textile industry, benefiting the people, which he could accept.
But Scribe Zhou wanted it for his family’s gain, using such tactics to force him.
That was too ugly.
Even if Jin Feng smashed every spinning wheel, he wouldn’t let Zhou succeed.
“If Scribe Zhou backs the Iron Jar Mountain bandits, why go through all this trouble?” Jin Feng asked. “Why not just send the bandits to steal it?”
“He knows your connection to the Marquis and probably doesn’t want to burn bridges,” Constable Zhang said. “But I hear the Zhou family is as powerful as the Marquis’s. They supply most of the tribute cloth to the Dangxiang and Jurchen. With the Marquis away from Jinchuan, you should be cautious.”
“That powerful?” Jin Feng was stunned.
The Dangxiang and Jurchen, nomadic tribes with little textile industry, demanded astronomical amounts of cloth annually.
The Zhou family securing such a large share suggested influence in the court comparable to Duke Qing’s.
“With such a background, why is Scribe Zhou in a small place like Jinchuan County?” Jin Feng wondered.
“I don’t know,” Constable Zhang shook his head.
Having asked enough, Jin Feng chatted briefly with Constable Zhang, saw him out, then headed to the back hills.
A family like the Zhous could crush him with a flick of their wrist. He needed clarity.
He was certain Constable Zhang was just a messenger, unaware of being used and knowing little.
Jin Feng had to find Qing Muluan.
“Sir, what brings you to the back hills?” Qing Muluan wiped sweat from her cheek and sat casually beside him. “Here to watch us train?”
“No, I came to see you.”
“What for?” she asked curiously.
“Do you know the Zhou family?” Jin Feng asked.
“Which Zhou family?”
“The one supplying tribute cloth to the court.”
“Oh, that one,” Qing Muluan nodded. “I know of them.”
“Do you know Scribe Zhou from Jinchuan County?” Jin Feng pressed.
“How would I know a petty county scribe?” Qing Muluan shook her head, then stood abruptly. “Sir, did he offend you? Wait here, I’ll go to the county and drag him back for you to deal with.”
“You need to curb that impulsiveness,” Jin Feng said, half-laughing, pulling her back to sit. “No need to grab anyone. Just help me investigate.”
“Investigate what?”
“His background, especially his connection to the Zhou family.”
“No problem, leave it to me,” Qing Muluan said confidently, patting her chest. She called out, “A-Mei, come here.”
“Yes, Miss?” A tall female soldier ran over.
She was the leader of the female soldiers, Qing Muluan’s deputy.
“Take my token to Xiangji Grain and Oil Shop on West Street in Jinchuan County. Tell the shopkeeper to investigate Scribe Zhou from the county office,” Qing Muluan said, handing A-Mei a jade pendant. “Tell him to dig deep.”
“Yes, ma’am.” A-Mei, still in her training clothes, rode off on horseback.
“That’s it?” Jin Feng asked, skeptical.
“Don’t forget, my brother is the Governor of Xichuan. How could we not have eyes in Jinchuan?” Qing Muluan winked proudly. “Sir, don’t worry. I’ll dig up everything about this Scribe Zhou, back three generations.”
