WSMTATMC C93

Chapter 93

Three hundred li from Qingshui Town, in Angu County, over a thousand conscripted laborers were hauling stones and timber to the riverbank.

Days of heavy rain had swollen the Yellow River; by the look of it, only three chi more and the water would crest the dike.

A petty official overseeing the works cracked a whip and bellowed, “Put your backs into it—no slacking!” Any man who slowed took a lash, skin splitting under the strike.

It was hard to fault his panic: if the embankment broke, none would escape—either drowned by the flood or beheaded afterward. He dared not relax.

Around the Si hour, a carriage arrived, bearing the superintendent of river works.

Handkerchief in hand, he wiped at the sweat beading his brow. The torrent felt like a death warrant; fear gnawed his gut. With him came the county vice magistrate and runners; they were there to inspect the riverworks.

Bowing at the carriage step, the vice magistrate plastered on a smile the moment it stopped. “Lord Feng, you’ve arrived. The main embankment is ahead. It’s too dangerous to go further.”

A grunt came from the carriage.

The vice magistrate turned to an underling. “Call the overseer.”

Soon the petty official ran up and bowed. “Your servant, Supervisor Cui, greets my lord.”

“How fares the reinforcement of the embankment?”

“Reporting to my lord: with three days and nights of continuous labor, we have raised it by three chi. With the rains this heavy, that is the limit.”

“Not enough. Raise it five chi more!”

Supervisor Cui cursed inwardly. In this deluge, even if they died at it, they could not raise it that high.

In fair weather, imperial funds to repair dikes saw no movement from the authorities; only when the rains came did they remember repairs—putting earrings on after boarding the sedan chair—far too late.

“My lord, it is not shirking. There are not enough hands. The laborers have worked three days under rain—no iron man could endure more!”

“If men are short, find them! Draft able-bodied men from neighboring counties. Under no circumstances will the breach be in our jurisdiction!”

“Yes, my lord!”

The petty official had barely turned to go when the vice magistrate added, “Don’t quibble over man, woman, young, or old—any who can help, bring them. Before nightfall, raise it another two chi!”

He gritted his teeth. “Yes, I’ll see to it.”

The grandees in the carriage had not so much as dampened a shoe. Orders given, they signaled the driver to move on.

They had barely gone a few dozen paces when the carriage jolted to a halt. The horse screamed, tossed its head, and bolted sideways.

“Whoa!” No amount of whip or reins would check it; the carriage lurched, flinging the riders about.

Before they could find breath to curse, a wall of water roared down, swallowing all. The Yellow River had breached.

—

At the Chen family’s annex, Chen Xi waited with the villagers gathered outside. Chenjia Village counted seventy-three households; aside from seven who could not be persuaded, nearly all had come—more than two hundred souls in all.

Some bore shoulder-poles with baskets, some carried sacks of grain, some hefted pots and bowls; some even led pigs and sheep or clutched squawking hens—loath to leave anything behind.

Leaving the livestock at home seemed unwise: theft or flood might take them. Better to drive them up the mountain too.

Wang Ying’s family had finished packing: three sealed trunks—clothing for all, quilts, and money—borne uphill by sturdy hired men.

Wang Ying carried Yuanbao on his back, fearful of rain soaking him. He wrapped the child in a raincape and covered him with a bamboo hat.

Madam Li and Chen Rong supported each other; Lin Sui and Qingyun brought household necessities and kept watch nearby.

Chen Bo and Dunzi each shouldered fifty jin of grain; Aunt Chen carried a basket filled with scallions and ginger, jars of salt and sugar—once at the top, they could boil ginger broth to warm everyone.

Mutou and Chunsheng led Wangwang the dog. The big orange cat had vanished—after searching in vain, they hoped it had found its own refuge.

They locked the gate and took the mountain path.

The rain was heavy, the mountain track slick. Every step was placed with care, no one daring to slip.

After roughly half an hour, they reached the rock cave Chen Xi had described.

For fear of beasts within, Chen Xi sent ten stout men in first with hoes and pickaxes to scout.

They braced themselves and went in. Soon they returned. “Nothing inside—just some black birds. When we entered, they flew deeper.”

At that, Chen Xi called everyone to enter and escape the rain.

The cave was shaped like an upside-down gourd. A sloped lip at the entrance would help keep rainwater from flowing in. Inside lay an open area perhaps three zhang across, carpeted with fallen branches and leaves—likely blown in.

Those branches were dry enough to start a fire for cooking.

Deeper within, a narrow passage led to the largest chamber, black as pitch.

Chen Bo tore a strip of cloth, wrapped it around a wooden stave to make a torch, and lit it with a fire striker. Firelight pushed back the dark and revealed the cave.

The stone cavity was more than ten zhang wide, the floor piled with bat guano, rank and fetid.

Startled by the light, the bats took to the air and wheeled in panic; the villagers drove them out with swinging tools.

“Let’s have people tidy this place first,” Wang Ying said. “Once it’s clean, we can lay mats and rest a bit.”

Chen Xi set the people to work; many hands made quick work. Within an hour, the cave was swept.

They pushed the bat droppings to the front chamber; when the rain stopped, they would carry it down to the fields for fertilizer.

The livestock would also stay in the front—else the stink of their leavings would overwhelm.

When the chamber was clean, Chen Bo spread the mats they had brought; everyone sat together in a circle.

Wang Ying touched his son’s cheek. “Cold?”

“No.”

He felt the small palm—warm; the clothes were dry. He relaxed a little.

Madam Li put a hand to her grandson’s brow. “Is Yuanbao afraid?”

“With Ah Fu and Grandma, Great-Aunt, Auntie, Uncle… here, Yuanbao’s not afraid.” The little one named them one by one and made the elders smile—lightening the mood.

In the meantime, some resolved to descend once more to fetch what they had left.

Chen Bo also meant to go for more grain, fearing that what the crowd had brought would not suffice. Wang Ying stopped him and said under his breath, “No need. I’ve got it on me.”

Chen Bo blinked, then nodded, understanding. He had long known his young master was not like other men; since the young master and lord did not speak of it, neither would he ask. He would pretend to know nothing.

Wang Ying told Chen Bo to set up a cauldron in the front chamber and boil ginger sugar-water to warm everyone.

Water was plentiful in the cave. A bucket left out filled quickly. A fire was kindled, two jin of ginger sliced in, and soon a brimming cauldron of broth simmered.

Aunt Chen ladled for their own family first, then called the old, the women, and the children to take theirs. Such folk were naturally weaker than the men and most apt to fall ill.

When they finished the first pot, she added water for a second, so all could have a bowl.

Spicy heat brought a fine sweat to every brow.

“I don’t know when this rain will stop,” Chen Rong said, worried. “I wonder about the county—did it get this much? Did Qiu and Cao Kun find shelter?”

“Don’t fret too much,” Madam Li said, patting her arm. “The county has the yamen watching. At the first sign of trouble, they’ll tell the people to seek safety.”

Near noon, those who had gone down returned. People crowded forward to ask: “How is it below? How deep is the water?”

Tian Daniu wrung his clothes and said, “At my place in the west of the village, it’s past the knee. In the east, some places are likely up to the waist.”

Chen Xi blanched—his home lay in the east; his house was likely under. “When we left this morning, it wasn’t so deep. In one morning, it rose that much?”

“I don’t know. It came all at once—rose in a moment.”

Wang Ying’s heart tightened. The upstream channel must have breached. By the look of it, the water would only climb higher.

At noon, the villagers cooked as best they could. Dry wood was scarce; some households pooled their fuel and shared a fire, others simply boiled water and soaked dry rations.

After eating, many descended to carry up more—if grain stayed below in such water, it would be ruined.

Chen Dashun joined them. There was still much grain at home, and with the water so deep, he wanted to salvage what he could.

But when they reached the mountain’s foot, a sheet of water barred the way. The path was gone, submerged entirely—churned with muddy runoff, depth indiscernible.

“Do we still go?” someone asked, uneasy.

Dashun rolled up his pants and stepped into the flow. In an instant, he was swept two or three zhang downstream!

Terrified, he grabbed a branch and scrambled ashore, panting. “Don’t go! Nothing is worth a life. Back up the mountain!”

They returned empty-handed—and their report hit like a blow.

None had expected a flood this fierce. As for the seven families who had not left—no one knew. If only they hadn’t been swept away.

Someone began to weep quietly. The fields were gone, the houses washed away, a lifetime’s savings evaporated in a blink. When the waters receded, how were they to live?

The men didn’t cry, but sighs rose on every side. Against flood and fire, one could only accept misfortune—there was no other way.

Chen Xi cleared his throat. “Don’t give in to despair. Houses may be gone, but lives remain. If the master hadn’t led us up here, many households would be shattered and dead!”

Voices broke out.

“Thanks to the master’s foresight—we never thought a real flood would come!”

A young ge’er wiped his eyes. “Had I known it would be this bad, I’d have run to Lijiazhuang last night to fetch my parents up the mountain too.”

“Say no more. My son married in the next village—I don’t know if they made it to higher ground.”

The villages stood close. If Chenjia Village was flooded, so would the others be. The women choked up again.

Suppressed sobbing swelled until it became a chorus of grief.

Crying would do them good; bottling disaster inside would only breed sickness.

Yuanbao shrank into Wang Ying’s arms, clutching his robe. “Ah Fu, why are they crying?”

Wang Ying sighed and rubbed his own brow against the child’s cheek. “When bad things happen, hearts hurt.”

By evening, the water had risen another chi. Men kept watch below and ran messages up.

“The water’s over the rooftops now. I reckon those who didn’t come up have been swallowed…”

Most had expected it. Shock was dulled; tears had been spent in the afternoon. Numbness settled in.

They boiled porridge for supper. Wang Ying fed his son half a bowl and slipped a cooked egg from his robe, peeled it, and placed it in his hand.

This time, Yuanbao wasted nothing—he ate both white and yolk clean.

Footnotes:

• Units and distances: 1 li ≈ 0.5 km; 1 chi ≈ 33 cm; “five chi” ≈ 1.65 m. “Three chi” from crest indicates imminent overtopping. 
• River governance: Ad hoc forced labor and late-stage embankment orders were common in premodern flood response; officials faced collective punishment for breaches, driving harsh conscription.