No one could have anticipated that a simple work reassignment would set the entire city buzzing.
Ordinary people have always loved gossiping about celebrities and important figures.
In Longcheng, the most famous were the Lord himself, and right behind him, the Four Maids.
The four of them had followed the Lord from the very beginning, and within the organization they stood at the very apex of the power pyramid. Every aspect of their lives had always been a subject of keen public attention and heated discussion.
Had it been any other member of the Zhao household, the incident might have passed without much notice.
But the moment word got out that Zhao Jinxiu had relinquished all her government posts, it was all anyone in the city could talk about.
If such a thing as a trending topics chart had existed then, this story would have claimed the undisputed number one spot — easily outpacing even the second biggest story, the latest round of pay raises, and keeping it firmly pinned beneath.
The overwhelming majority of people held the Lord in reverent awe, but their feelings toward the Four Maids were different — respectful, fond, and admiring, yet unafraid.
The moment the news broke, wild speculation erupted across the city.
Some said that since Jinxiu handled the finances, maybe she had embezzled from the Lord.
The first person to voice this theory ended up beaten beyond recognition, and would likely never show his face in Longcheng again.
Others suggested that Jinxiu might have made a serious mistake that had cost the Lord dearly.
Most people thought this quite plausible — after all, no one is without fault — and eager suggestions came pouring in from all directions.
Some hoped Jinxiu would offer the Lord a sincere apology and earn his forgiveness.
Others proposed that she should just tell everyone what the trouble was, and if things were truly dire, they could all pitch in — pooling money if need be — to help her through it.
Jinxiu: I truly, deeply thank you all.
Another theory drew enormous attention, though whenever people discussed it, they made sure to find a secluded corner well away from prying ears.
The speculation was this: Jinxiu was nearly fifteen now — what if the Lord's anger had something to do with… a man?
Hey, go ahead and talk all you want — but why are you raising your eyebrows like that? That excited look on your face is just asking for a smack!
This theory also attracted considerable support. People acknowledged it was only human nature, but agreed that Jinxiu had indeed been in the wrong.
Jinxiu was the Lord's maid — how could she go off looking for another man?
The Lord was so good, so capable, so exceptional — surely Jinxiu should be working to stay close to him!
And if someday she were to bear him a child or two…
So many people proposed that they all band together to track down whoever the man was and see about making him disappear.
Jinxiu: I f***ing thank you all!
And just like that, Longcheng's very first grand romantic scandal swept through the city like a storm.
It left everyone feeling rather at a loss — none more so than Jinxiu herself, the unwilling protagonist standing at the eye of the tempest.
Jinyuan came bounding into Jinxiu's room, lifting this corner, nudging that door open.
"Tsk, tsk — where is he? Where could he be? Where is this man hiding?"
Jinxiu, draped elegantly across the sofa in her sleeping robe with a glass of fruit wine in hand, was working very hard to suppress her fury. The corner of her eye twitched steadily.
"Zhao! Jin! Yuan! That is enough!"
"Ha ha ha—" Jinyuan came scampering over and bounced onto the sofa, wrapping herself around one of Jinxiu's arms.
She nuzzled her little head against her.
"Sister Jinxiu, I know exactly what's going on."
Jinxiu choked on her fruit wine, and shoved Jinyuan's head away with flustered indignation. "You know nothing."
"How could I not know? You just want fewer work duties, so you don't have to go to the office every day and can spend more time by the Lord's side!"
Some of Jinxiu's agitation ebbed. She nodded. "That's right. I want to keep the Lord company. He's nearly thirty-seven, after all."
"Exactly. He's getting on in years — we really should be there for him more."
"He may look young, but his age is what it is. A man like that needs companionship."
Jinxiu's expression shifted back toward displeasure, and she pushed Jinyuan further away along the sofa.
Getting on in years! He's at the most charming age a man can be, isn't he? And still so young at heart.
Jinyuan planted herself there for the rest of the day and refused to leave come nightfall, insisting on sharing Jinxiu's bed.
Jinxiu could do nothing about it, and eventually let her have her way.
Click — Jinyuan switched off the light and flung herself into Jinxiu's arms in the dark.
"Heh heh, Sister, yours are so big!"
"Stop fooling around and go to sleep! What would a little kid know about any of this."
"I'm not so little anymore — I'm almost twelve. And even if I don't quite understand what it means to like someone, I can tell what you and Big Sister are thinking."
Jinxiu's whole body trembled, and she said nothing.
"But the Lord will probably find it very hard to accept. In his eyes, we're more like daughters, aren't we."
"The Lord probably wouldn't be willing to be a beast like that."
"Shut — shut up! Sleep — go to sleep!"
While topic number one showed no signs of cooling, topic number two was generating plenty of heat in its own right.
This had been a year of rapid growth in Longcheng. The silver in the storehouses was overflowing.
Even after a full year of extravagant spending, the stockpiles kept growing — money came in faster than it went out.
Add to that the establishment of various factories producing at enormous scale, generating ever-greater profits.
The harvests had been plentiful year after year, with more grain than anyone could eat — so much that the surplus was being processed into feed for livestock.
And so, with Zhao Baihui's approval, the annual government assembly announced that civil servant salaries and wages across all Zhao family enterprises would be raised by fifty percent.
The base daily wage for the first pay grade now stood at three yuan.
To illustrate: take Zhao Jinyi, a district chief, who drew a ninth-grade salary at five-point-four times the base rate — sixteen yuan and two jiao per day, four hundred and eighty-six yuan per month.
Her base salary still led everyone else — she was the one person whose pay left the Lord at a net daily loss of six yuan and two jiao.
After this raise, of course, several more people joined her in that rarefied category of those capable of putting the Lord in the red.
The seventh-grade rate came to three-point-seven times the base, or eleven yuan and one jiao per day. Few people drew seventh-grade pay — it was reserved for major district administrators, town chiefs, and district security precinct heads.
Ordinary civil servants earned three yuan a day, or ninety yuan a month, up from sixty — a considerable improvement by any measure.
When civil servant wages rose, standard wages for ordinary workers in the district followed.
An able-bodied laborer's daily wage also reached two yuan.
Even an elderly worker past their prime could expect one yuan a day without difficulty.
One yuan meant twenty fen for a night in the dormitory apartments, eighty fen for two meals — enough to live with dignity.
There were also the education stipends, which hadn't risen quite as sharply, but now came to five jiao per day.
Perhaps not lavish, but certainly enough to get by.
This sparked yet another wave of enrollment fever. People with little aptitude — or none at all — streamed in to sign up for classes.
If others could graduate in nine months, surely I could manage it in three to five years?
Get that certificate, and the second half of my life is taken care of.
A few years ago, a person couldn't have dreamed this dream even in sleep.
In truth, the coursework wasn't particularly difficult. No matter how slow a learner, any ordinary person could absolutely get through it in two years.