[Translation] Don't Let The Country Go (不讓江山): Chapter One: Everything Has Its Limit

When a family accumulates poverty, it suffers. When a nation accumulates poverty, it grows weak. With families suffering and the nation weak, how can the people survive?

In prosperous times, civilization flourishes; in chaotic times, savagery rises. Fortunately, this great central kingdom has thrived for several centuries. Even if it now resembles a massive, empty shell, few outsiders dare provoke it actively. Yet, disaster stems not from external threats but from internal turmoil—after all, the people must eat.

Many fail to grasp that while all wrongdoing is evil, those who turn to violence for money are minor evils, harming individuals. Those who turn to violence for a meal are major evils, bringing chaos to the world.

Not long ago, Yongqing County was overrun by a band of rebels. The county yamen was burned down, and the already meager government granary was looted clean, as if licked by the tongue of some giant beast—not a single grain remained. Not only was the granary emptied, but even the ground seemed scraped bare.

Yongqing County belonged to Youzhou, which nominally fell under Jizhou. Of the thirteen provinces in the realm, Jizhou was the most chaotic.

Inside the granary, a fair-faced young Daoist apprentice wandered around for a while before sighing softly. “Cleaner than my face.” Remembering his face probably wasn’t that clean, he added under his breath, “Cleaner than my butt… What kind of world is this where butts are cleaner than faces?”

Before the county fell, the wealthy families in the city, having received advance warning, had already fled with their carts and horses to safer places. But most townsfolk had nowhere to run. The devastation brought by rebel soldiers far exceeded natural disasters, leaving countless families broken—some killed, others forced to join the rebels, swelling their ranks like a rolling snowball.

The young apprentice, who looked about ten, rubbed his stomach. He had been starving for nearly two days. Two days earlier, they had encountered a wealthy family migrating to Jizhou. Seeing the master and apprentice, they invited them to tell fortunes. The young Daoist’s master, using the *wubei* coins for divination, predicted a great future for the family, especially the young master, who was destined for soaring success. They simply needed to travel northwest, where they would surely meet a noble patron.

The head of the household was delighted and gave a generous fee. But money couldn’t buy food, which was the real hardship. They encountered no food vendors along the way, though they did manage to get a few flatbreads from the wealthy family.

Truth be told, the master and apprentice shouldn’t lack money—at least, that’s what the young apprentice thought. His master, a Daoist known throughout seven counties of Youzhou, went by the Daoist name Longbrow. Even rebels wouldn’t harm him. Having traveled the seven counties for most of his life, he wasn’t exactly a philanthropist but was known for helping others, earning him great respect and a sterling reputation.

The young apprentice sometimes found it amusing that his master, who was frugal to the bone, could be so revered. People were truly complex. In these chaotic times, money was less valuable than grain, yet his master treated money as more precious than life itself.

Leaving the granary, he saw his master laboriously moving corpses one by one to an open area. He had already moved dozens. Corpses lay everywhere in the city, at least a thousand. The old Daoist, already weakened by hunger, could move no more after shifting several dozen.

Leaning against a wall to rest, he looked around for a handy tool. Not a single metal object could be found in the city—no farming tools like shovels or sickles, nor even iron pots or kettles. The rebels had taken all metal to forge weapons and armor.

With no other choice, the old Daoist picked up a broken roof tile and began digging a pit in the open ground. The young apprentice ran over, grabbed another tile, and joined in. Both were starving, their bellies pressed against their backs, yet they persisted.

“Master, there are too many. We can’t bury them all.”

“We don’t need to bury them all.”

“Master, if we don’t bury them all, isn’t that unfair? Then we might as well bury none.”

“Fool, doing what you believe is right with the greatest effort you can muster—that is being true to your conscience. Burying these few dozen is our limit. That’s enough for a clear conscience. Working yourself to death in the name of charity is also wrongdoing.”

The old and young Daoists dug awhile, rested awhile, continuing intermittently for nearly two hours before finishing the pit. They slumped beside it, too exhausted even to breathe, feeling as if they could fall asleep the moment they closed their eyes. After resting a bit, the old Daoist saw his disciple resting with eyes shut. With great effort, he reached into his robe, pulled out a hard, dry flatbread, broke off a large half for his disciple, then split the remaining small half again, taking a tiny bite from the quarter-piece. He pretended his mouth was full, cheeks puffed, and nudged the young apprentice with his shoulder. “Yours.”

The young apprentice looked at the large piece. “Master, where did you get this?”

“The day before yesterday, when I asked that family for food, I told you I got four flatbreads, two each—palm-sized ones you finished in one meal. But I actually asked for five and secretly hid one.”

The young apprentice snorted. “Even I get tricked!”

He took the bread, glanced at the tiny piece in his master’s hand. “Master, yours is too small.”

The old Daoist smiled. “I’ve been eating for a while now. Almost full before I called you.”

The young apprentice sighed. “Tricked me again.”

He tucked the bread into his robe. “Gotta pee first.”

When he returned, a tiny crumb of bread was dangling from his mouth. “Master, master! I saw people on the street—looks like a few scholars with packs, walking fast. They’re almost here.”

The old Daoist grunted in acknowledgment. “The triennial imperial exams. These students are probably rushing to the capital, Daxing City.”

Daxing City, the capital, was thousands of *li* away. Who knew how long the journey would take? It all depended on luck—good or bad. With bad luck, encountering rebels could mean survival was unlikely. Yet these impoverished scholars had no other choice but to gamble on this chance. Succeed, and they could earn an official salary. Fail… well, they could try again in three years. Some kept trying until their hair turned white.

The old Daoist ate his tiny piece of bread, gulped down several mouthfuls of water, felt a bit of warmth in his stomach, and regained some strength. He began dragging the corpses into the pit. Just then, the scholars passed by. Their faces were pale as ghosts, having witnessed the city’s horrors. Fear ran deep in their bones.

“Daoist Master,” one scholar asked curiously, “there are so many more bodies outside. Why aren’t you burying them all?”

The old Daoist glanced back at him, too tired to speak.

Another scholar snorted. “Putting on a show, probably seeking empty fame. Burying a few people so he can boast about it later, expecting gratitude. What kind of world is this?”

The other two also looked indignant. One muttered, “He’s not afraid of retribution!”

The young apprentice felt angry but thought wasting breath on them wasn’t worth the effort. Instead, he frowned and sighed. “What a pity.”

Longbrow also sighed. “What a pity.”

The first scholar couldn’t help asking, “Pity what?”

The old Daoist remained silent. The young apprentice shook his head. “What a pity. The four of you are going to take the exams together, but only one…”

He looked at the old Daoist. “Master, my cultivation is insufficient. Did I see wrongly?”

The old Daoist shook his head. “You saw correctly. Indeed, only one.”

The four of them grew anxious. One strode up to the old Daoist. “You charlatan! What nonsense are you spouting?”

“My Daoist name is Longbrow. I never spout nonsense.”

The old Daoist looked the man in the eye. Upon hearing the name “Longbrow,” the man’s eyes immediately lit up. “So it’s the revered Longbrow! I offended you earlier. Master, what did you mean by your words?”

The old Daoist shook his head, silent.

The scholar gritted his teeth, took out his money pouch, and counted out a few coins. “I won’t let you speak for free.”

Seeing the money, the old Daoist’s eyes also lit up. Though the few coins couldn’t even buy a pancake, he immediately took them, weighed them in his hand, tucked them into his robe, and said, “If I’m not mistaken, the four of you are equally learned and often gather to study together. Not only are your knowledge levels similar, but your thinking aligns closely. With your abilities, passing the exams shouldn’t be difficult. However, since you all come from the same place, your exam answers will likely be nearly identical. According to an unwritten rule of the court, it’s impossible to select four candidates from the same locality. So, they can only choose the best one.”

Hearing this, the four scholars’ faces turned grim. One quickly stepped forward. “Master, is there a way to resolve this?”

The old Daoist glanced at his hand. The scholar immediately understood, took out a few more coins, and handed them over. The old Daoist pocketed them and said, “Simple. You just need to prove the four of you are not from the same place.”

The four gathered around. One said, “Master, our registered domiciles are recorded, issued by the Youzhou Academy with official seals. How could we possibly prove we’re not from the same place? And there are travel permits too!”

“Ah, indeed difficult.”

The old Daoist fell silent for a moment, then sighed. “All four of you possess talent for governing. If all could enter officialdom, it would benefit the people. I… I’m already old and fearless of heavenly punishment. I’ll risk my life to help you.”

He opened his pack, took out some items, and laid them out one by one.

“I can forge your academic credentials and travel permits so convincingly that even official seals won’t show flaws. This truly invites heavenly retribution. If not for the sake of the common people, I wouldn’t take such a risk. Having seen through worldly affairs, I don’t seek longevity, only peace of mind. Five taels of silver per set.”

At this last sentence, the young apprentice nearly choked back a laugh.

One scholar said, “We… how could we afford five taels each? Even if we could, we’d have almost nothing left. How could we reach Daxing City?”

The young apprentice tugged his sleeve. “Bargain. Try bargaining. My master is kind-hearted, very open to bargaining.”

The scholar’s face brightened. “Master, could it be cheaper?”

The old Daoist looked troubled. “That’s inviting heavenly punishment.”

Another scholar tentatively suggested, “If you help us, as you said, it’s for the benefit of the people. That should bring good karma, offsetting the heavenly punishment.”

He said this without much confidence. In chaotic times, people believed more in gods and buddhas.

The old Daoist’s eyes, however, lit up. “What you say isn’t without reason. Then I’ll give you a discount… one tael each. I’ll just charge you the cost price.”

The four were overjoyed, each producing one tael of silver. The old Daoist looked righteous. “I do not touch such worldly wealth. This silver will also be used to aid the people. Give it to my disciple.”

The young apprentice collected the silver. The old Daoist immediately began forging the fake credentials and permits with astonishing speed. He used the four men’s own document covers but replaced the inner pages. Then he took out four seals, stamped each fake credential with a *pa-pa-pa-pa*. The four each took one, examined them carefully—truly indistinguishable from the real thing.

The old Daoist added a few warnings about keeping this secret, and the four men left, thanking him profusely.

The young apprentice was curious. “Master, how did you know they were equally learned and thought alike?”

“In this world,” the old Daoist said, taking the four taels of silver from his disciple and tucking them into his own robe, then continuing to bury the corpses. “Scholars despise those beneath them. They wouldn’t associate with those they look down upon, and they can’t ingratiate themselves with those above them. So these four must share similar flaws. If they couldn’t flatter each other, how would they stick together? People are like that—looking down on those inferior, yet unable to enter circles a level higher…”

The young apprentice asked again, “Master, will any of them really become officials?”

“Become officials, my foot.”

The old Daoist snorted. “So foolish and penniless? Become officials?”

The young apprentice chuckled. “Then we didn’t cheat enough. Should’ve asked for two taels each.”

The old Daoist shook his head. “They don’t have much money. Taking one tael each is because their intentions are not pure. Taking more would mean my intentions are not pure.”

He looked at the young apprentice. “Li Diudiu, remember this: everything has its limit.”