WSMTATMC C113

Chapter 113

After three rounds of wine, everyone was slightly tipsy; the children, having eaten their fill, went to play in the east room, leaving the adults to chat.

The first topic raised was the flood.

Chen Qingyan and the others had not experienced it and did not understand how severe it was—especially Qingsong and Qinghuai, who assumed the family came to the prefectural city simply because the flood ruined the crops.

So Wang Ying began to recount the events in detail.

“In the middle of the sixth month, the rain began. It fell for three straight days at first; the river on the estate rose more than three feet, nearly spilling into the fields.”

That little river usually barely reached an adult’s knee. Back when Master Liang lived on the estate, he would often catch fish and shrimp there.

“Seeing how fierce the rain was, I gathered the villagers to dig mud and build embankments—hoping we might save the crops. If we couldn’t, then there was no helping it. But that afternoon the downpour worsened—the sky felt split open, and rain poured as if tipping basins and ladles without stopping. I immediately decided we had to seek refuge in the mountain; if the water surged suddenly, we wouldn’t even have time to run.”

Quietly, Chen Qingyan gave a thumbs-up. In decisiveness and clarity, even he felt inferior; in that situation, he could not have led the whole village, young and old, up the mountain to shelter.

Steward Chen picked up the thread: “The young master sent me to notify the village to head up the mountain. Just then, Steward Chen of the estate said there’s a cave on the back mountain—could shield wind and rain. I thought it a good place and rushed back to tell the young master.”

Wang Ying continued: “Early the next morning, everyone packed up and went up. Several households refused to come; Chen Xi couldn’t persuade them. Who knew that the water wasn’t too high in the morning, but by afternoon it had drowned the roads.”

Master Liang said, “That must have been a dike breach; swift water can flood within half a day.”

“At that time, we had no idea the Yellow River had breached—only thought the heavy rains caused it. On the second day, Tian Ju and the others went down to scout—the water was already near the rooftops. Those who hadn’t fled in time… who knows where the flood swept them.”

Everyone sighed; in the face of natural calamity, humans are as ants—without resistance. Luckily, Wang Ying’s foresight helped many escape.

Madam Li sipped tea: “Even on the mountain there was no peace. The cave was damp and cold—but at least it sheltered from wind and rain. After two days, a group from the neighboring village tried to seize it.”

“What? Even that happened!” Chen Qingyan was surprised; Wang Ying had never mentioned this in the field.

Wang Ying said, “It started with a man from our estate who tried to take advantage of a widow in the chaos; I drove him out. He chanced upon refugees from Zheng Village on the mountain, then led them to seize the cave. Fortunately, we had far more people, and many carried tools and knives—the sight frightened them off before they dared enter.”

Even now, he felt a lingering chill—at any moment that could have turned into a brawl. Lucky the Zheng villagers were fearful and held back.

“We lived in the mountain four days. When the rain stopped, we descended to find the estate torn ragged by the flood—over a foot of silt on the ground—and our second courtyard reduced to a few walls.”

Master Liang’s heart ached—what a fine little courtyard; thinking back, he had only truly enjoyed two days of simple peace on the Chen estate.

Wang Ying said: “We couldn’t live on the estate, so we returned to the town—only to find it much the same. Houses washed away, nine in ten homes empty, corpses littering the streets with no one to collect them.

“Fortunately, the old house was solidly built—little damage, though half the main hall collapsed and sections of the wall were broken. We repaired it after returning.”

Even in a few words, all could feel how hard it had been.

“The time in town was also bitter. First, the living had no grain. Luckily, our storehouse still held much that hadn’t been soaked. I decided to send it to the estate so they could replant quickly—if they endured till autumn, they could eat.”

Others did not know—but surely Chen Qingyan did—from where that grain had come.

What followed, they knew: Lord Wang sent men to fetch them to the prefectural city.

Master Liang sighed: “At first we didn’t think the flood was so severe—news was slow and never arrived. Only when Assistant Prefect Wang sent word that the lower Yellow River had breached did I realize the gravity and beg him to send people to inquire.”

“And thanks to Lord Wang’s men, or we could not have entered the city on our own.”

“Floods spread far—trouble reached the prefectural city. Outside the walls, thousands gathered; some came from places with plague as well; the guard was strict.”

More sighs followed.

Master Liang said: “Wang Yi helped on both ends and spent no small effort. Qingyan—tomorrow come with me to thank him in person.”

“Yes!”

After the home news, the talk turned to the journey’s encounters—the three picked the most vivid moments to share.

As the saying goes: better to travel ten thousand miles than read ten thousand books.

Though the journey was rough, it broadened their horizons; many lines understood in books alone gained depth on the road.

They even recited their poems. Wang Ying was not adept at this, but could judge quality. Compared to before, the three had grown immensely—their verses no longer skimmed the surface but held deeper substance—the “bones” Master Liang had spoken of.

Because they had napped earlier, none were tired; they chatted till late before returning to their rooms.

Wang Ying and Chen Qingyan entered hand in hand. Yuanbao was already asleep in his little bed. They loosened their hair, doffed outer robes, and lay down.

“Just lying beside you feels comfortable,” Chen murmured, nuzzling Wang’s neck, arm around his waist, body relaxing.

Wang Ying squeezed his hand and patted it. “Me too.”

Since crossing over, four years had nearly passed. He hadn’t imagined the depth of attachment and feeling he now had for him.

In his previous life, an orphan of his parents’ generation loss, he had thought he would never marry, never have a child—held pessimism toward love.

Unexpectedly, one accident sent him to a strange era—only for him to meet Chen Qingyan with such luck.

From this moment, their bond grew tighter—no longer only lovers, but lifelong soulmates.

—

The next morning, Master Liang rose early and, with gifts and Chen Qingyan in tow, paid a call on the Wang household.

It was the twenty-ninth day of the twelfth month; the prefectural yamen had long since closed for the holiday. Assistant Prefect Wang was receiving visitors at home; hearing that Master Liang had come, he stood to welcome him personally.

“Boqing—when did you return? Come inside!”

They entered the main hall; servants brought hot tea at once.

“Arrived yesterday morning. Rested a day, then came to see you—and bring a few specialties from Yangzhou.”

Two bolts of fine brocade, precious medicinal herbs, and some southern delicacies.

Assistant Prefect Wang feigned reproach: “What are you doing bringing things—what’s our relationship?”

“This time we owe you. Without your help, my pupil’s whole family couldn’t have entered the city.”

“Such a small matter—no need to thank me.” He had the gifts carried off and began catching up.

They had first met when Wang Yi had been demoted to Jizhou as Registrar.

At the time, Liang Boqing, disillusioned with officialdom, had traveled to Jizhou; by chance, both loved poetry, calligraphy, painting—thus becoming friends.

Those days, Wang’s path in office was bumpy, so he took Liang to roam mountains and rivers around Jizhou. They wrote many poems and essays and forged a deep friendship.

In a blink, more than twenty years had passed; their bond had not thinned—that was why Wang had relayed messages and dispatched men to fetch the Chen family.

Chen Qingyan knelt and bowed. “Please accept the junior’s respects.”

“Up with you. Even without me, your husband would have found a way to keep his people alive.”

Master Liang chuckled, “How so?”

“That young Wang Ying is something—he’d barely arrived and already opened a shop. Word spread across the city that he was my dear nephew, and that I’d helped him open it.”

Chen Qingyan startled. “Forgive him, my lord!”

He hadn’t known Ah Ying dared borrow the Assistant Prefect’s name to open shop.

Liang waved it off, laughing. “The child has always been like this—bear with him.”

“Hah, what’s there to fuss over? Even if he hadn’t borrowed my name, I’d have helped. But it’s better he can stand on his own—saves me worry. You know how great the flood was—Liu Wenzhou angered the Emperor and was demoted to Liuzhou—remote, miasmal, little different from exile.”

“On the road, I said as much. The penalty is heavy, but it’s his own fault. For years they never inspected the Yellow River’s embankments; so many people suffered.”

Wang Yi gave a bitter smile. “Bad luck, too—without the storm, he would have been recalled to the capital next year. Too late now; I’ll be dragged with him—no transfers for three years.”

“You’re of an age—shouldn’t you rest?”

“I want to, but will my family let me? Four sons, more than a dozen grandsons—if I don’t help them carve a path, how can I be at ease?”

Liang frowned. “Children and grandchildren have their own fortunes. You can help a moment, not a lifetime. When we old fellows die, won’t they have to rely on themselves?”

Only from Liang would Wang take such words; any other speaker would have been met with anger.

Truth be told, none of Wang’s sons was promising—most stopped at licentiate and never advanced.

“Ah—the sons can’t be counted on. I only hope a few grandsons show some spine.”

Liang could only sigh that his old friend had grown less free-hearted with age.

“Enough about me. Are your disciples ready for the exam next year?”

“Yes. Qingyan and Qinghuai first; Qingsong is younger—wait two years.”

“These lads are bright, not ones to remain in the pond. If one takes the top, I’ll bask in reflected glory.”

The more provincial graduates a prefecture produced, the higher its evaluation. At the last autumn session, Jizhou had produced only seven—in the middle of the empire’s seventeen prefectures.

Suzhou ranked first with thirty-three; Yangzhou second with thirty-one.

Those at the bottom were poor, remote prefectures—sometimes producing none at all. Once assigned to such places, making any political record in one’s life becomes very hard!

Footnotes

• “Nine in ten homes empty” (十户九空): Idiom describing near-total depopulation after disaster.
• “Better to travel ten thousand miles…”: Classical proverb emphasizing experience over book learning.
• Yellow River dike breaches: Historically frequent and devastating; maintenance lapses led to catastrophic floods.