BEGW C79

Chapter 79

The wound at the back of Jiang Yuxun’s head had yet to heal, so for the past few days, he had only tied his hair with a ribbon.

His long, inky hair fell loosely over his shoulders, now slightly dampened by melted snow.

After brushing the snow off his clothes, Ying Changchuan even took out a silk handkerchief and gently wiped the wet ends of his hair.

A faint tickle spread through Jiang Yuxun’s chest, though he maintained a calm facade. “…In reply to Your Majesty, I am quite all right.”

“Good,” Ying Changchuan said with a soft laugh as he withdrew his hand. He added casually, “My dear subject, your injuries have yet to heal completely. You should take care and move slowly.”

His tone and manner were so natural, as though this were something he had done countless times before.

Having said so, he finally turned and walked toward the courtyard.

Jiang Yuxun paused briefly before following the Emperor forward.

At some point, the soldiers on the walls had cleared away the snow.

Inside the Prefect’s residence, the civil and military officials stood silent, afraid even to breathe.

Two officials hidden behind the pillars exchanged furtive glances.

And in the next moment, they saw the same disbelief reflected in each other’s eyes.

The local officials of Taoyan Commandery gawked wide-eyed at the stationed generals, frantically trading looks.

His Majesty and Lord Jiang… what is this?!

A general who had once followed Ying Changchuan in battle immediately shook his head like a rattle drum.

The fear in his eyes was no less than theirs.

I’ve been stationed here in Taoyan as long as you have—how should I know what’s going on?!

Seeing the Emperor approach, the generals hastily straightened and saluted.

Yet, the one who should have stood perfectly still could not help but sneak a few glances upward.

Having once fought alongside Ying Changchuan across the empire, he had some understanding of the Emperor.

In his memory, Ying Changchuan never spoke of anything unrelated to state affairs with his subordinates.

But today, somehow, His Majesty had slowed his pace and was walking side by side with Jiang Yuxun.

Judging by the faint smile on his lips, the conversation between them was certainly not about politics.

“Cough, cough… General Hong? General Hong?”

It was only when his colleague whispered the reminder that General Hong realized everyone else had already stepped aside to either side of the wooden gate.

Startled, he hurriedly moved back—but being too absorbed in watching, he had forgotten what was behind him.

A blur of brown suddenly filled his vision.

Before he could react, his nose nearly collided with a pillar—just a hair’s breadth away.

That was close. Too close.

…

The Prefect’s residence in Taoyan was small. The room where Tong Hailin was resting was not far from where the officials had gathered to greet the Emperor.

As the court officials followed Ying Changchuan out of sight, Jiang Yuxun was about to enter Tong Hailin’s room when he suddenly realized something serious—wait, where was Zhuang Youli?!

He turned around in search.

At the very center of the courtyard, Zhuang Youli—dressed in a sheepskin coat—felt a biting chill creep into his palms.

Still clutching the honey jar, he groggily rose to his feet, then slowly leaned against the wall as he shuffled toward Jiang Yuxun.

“…Father, Mother, I’m doomed this time.”

You might not believe this when I say it—

I… I… accidentally hit the Emperor.

At that thought, Zhuang Youli swallowed hard, dazedly reciting the Zhou Code in his head.

Now… which article was it that covered this offense again?

Before he could recall the exact punishment, Jiang Yuxun’s voice came from beside him. “Youli, are you all right?”

His voice was full of concern. He gently helped the dazed, trembling Zhuang Youli beneath the eaves.

“Why don’t you let me hold the honey jar for you?”

Jiang Yuxun’s calm tone pulled Zhuang Youli out of his stupor.

The next moment, Zhuang Youli raised his head and stared intently at him.

“Ah Xun, can you promise me one thing?” His expression had never been this solemn.

Before Jiang Yuxun could respond, Zhuang Youli suddenly gripped his right hand tightly.

“What is it? You can say it,” Jiang Yuxun said, startled by his seriousness.

As a friend, Zhuang Youli was usually nothing like this.

But when faced with life and death, there was no time for hesitation.

He took a deep breath and said in an agonized tone, “Ah Xun, I think I’m doomed this time.”

“It won’t come to that—”

Zhuang Youli lifted his head abruptly, looking dead into Jiang Yuxun’s eyes with grave earnestness. “So can you… put in a good word for me with His Majesty? Maybe… whisper something on the pillow side?”

Jiang Yuxun: …

Wait—what do you mean by ‘pillow side’?!

Inside the Taoyan Prefect’s residence, Jiang Yuxun slowly broke into laughter.

He patted Zhuang Youli’s hand gently and said with the softest tone, “Forget it. You’re beyond saving.”

Let’s perish together, then.

Just as the soldiers had finished clearing the courtyard of snow, the sky turned gray once more.

Having laughed with Zhuang Youli only moments ago, Jiang Yuxun now felt his mood sink with the weather.

Though only a few days had passed, Tong Hailin’s condition had worsened far beyond what Jiang Yuxun expected.

His face was waxen, his lips parched. He lay motionless on the bed, his breathing faint.

The arm that had been fractured still hung weakly at his side, its fingertips drained of color.

“…Lord Tong’s condition has deteriorated. In Lingping County, he could still sit and walk, but ever since returning to Xikou City, he’s been bedridden,” the attending physician murmured as he applied needles.

At last, he sighed deeply.

“Just a few days ago, he could still speak…” Zhuang Youli said, voice trembling as his nose stung. “What illness does Lord Tong suffer from?”

The physician shook his head, then lowered his voice. “I fear it is miasma.”

Jiang Yuxun clenched his jaw.

In the undeveloped southern lands of old, swamps and primitive forests stretched endlessly.

The air was hot and humid, rain frequent.

Over time, decaying plants and animal carcasses in that environment bred the deadly vapors known as miasma¹.

To modern ears, the term might sound unfamiliar—but in ancient times, countless lives were claimed by it.

Upon hearing this, Zhuang Youli’s face turned ghostly pale. “…Why would Lord Tong contract miasma?”

Jiang Yuxun finally spoke, “During the southern expedition years ago, Lord Tong could hardly adapt to Taoyan’s climate. Within days, he grew thin. Later, in order to complete his maps, he ventured deep into the forests and swamps again and again. In time, he became afflicted.”

Yes—Tong Hailin had never been suited for Taoyan’s damp air.

Yet, for the sake of a blueprint whose realization was uncertain, he stayed.

Zhuang Youli sniffled softly.

Jiang Yuxun turned away, clenching his fists.

“…Lord Jiang?”

Hearing their voices, Tong Hailin, who had been unconscious, suddenly opened his eyes.

They were clouded, unable to focus.

Jiang Yuxun immediately stepped forward and sat beside him. “Lord Tong, we are—”

But Tong Hailin’s feeble mind could barely form words.

His murmurs were incoherent; only fragments about the Yi River’s waterway reached Jiang Yuxun’s ears.

Moments later, word spread that Tong Hailin was awake, and his wife hurried into the room.

Jiang Yuxun and Zhuang Youli exchanged glances—then quietly withdrew, allowing her privacy.

…

A thin layer of snow once again blanketed the courtyard.

It was still early. Jiang Yuxun did not return to the ship but sat alone upon the long stone steps.

After a while, he murmured, “…This trip was so sudden. Had I known, I would have brought some wine.”

Hugging his knees, his voice grew heavy.

Years ago, aboard the southern tour boat, Tong Hailin had promised him that when he next came, Taoyan would be unrecognizable.

And Jiang Yuxun, in turn, had promised to send him a jar of fine wine once he brewed another good batch.

If only I had brought a jar with me…

That thought struck him like lightning. Jiang Yuxun abruptly rose and hurried toward the ship.

It’s not too late to bring the wine to Taoyan now.

Tong Hailin’s condition fluctuated, and snow continued to fall sporadically over Taoyan.

Before anyone realized, the New Year had passed.

By the time Jiang Yuxun came to himself, the land was beginning to thaw.

Snowfall is gentle, but melting snow is cruel.

The hardest season had come.

The freeze and thaw came faster each day.

The once lively streets soon turned silent again.

Fortunately, thanks to countless women working tirelessly, the final batch of winter coats was completed before the thaw and distributed among the people.

Charcoal from surrounding commanderies filled the heating shortages.

Through grit and unity, Taoyan had finally survived its disaster.

The ship, moored for so long, now raised its anchors and continued southward.

Though the ice disaster was grave, the vast empire had no shortage of affairs awaiting the court’s attention.

Though he wished for more time with Tong Hailin, Jiang Yuxun’s party could not linger.

…

Having come all this way south, they could not skip Shuo Lin Commandery.

Beyond Fengling, the air grew warm.

Nestled among low hills, Shuo Lin was already brimming with spring.

The New Year had come late that year.

While the north still shivered in ice and frost, the people of Shuo Lin were tilling their fields and preparing to sow.

Unlike Taoyan, which turned swamps into fertile plains, Shuo Lin’s barren hills had been reshaped into orderly terraces over the past two years.

In another month, the Haifeng rice would blanket the land.

Then, the scenery would transform once more.

Compared to the last time he visited, Shuo Lin’s roads were broader and smoother.

Villages dotted both sides of the official road, more numerous than before.

Refugees who once fled famine had returned, rebuilding their homes and livelihoods.

On the hilltops, the people had built water reservoirs called “shutang.”

They stored rainwater during the wet season and released it during droughts to irrigate the terraced fields—a simple yet ingenious design.

In densely populated areas, waterwheels were also constructed for irrigation.

Not only rice paddies—vast tea gardens now adorned the slopes as well.

“Lord Jiang!”

“Lord Jiang, come have some tea—”

As soon as Jiang Yuxun entered the tea fields, a group of children surrounded him.

Before he could react, someone dashed out of a house carrying a teapot. “Lord Jiang! Try my family’s tea! It’s from a hundred-year-old tea tree—the taste is unlike any other!”

The child tiptoed, offering the teapot with both hands.

Jiang Yuxun chuckled and accepted it quickly.

Before he even took a sip, he recognized the boy. “…You’re Axi?”

The same child who years ago had been thin and starving in his mother’s arms had now grown so tall.

The boy’s face flushed scarlet.

He hadn’t expected Jiang Yuxun to remember him. “It’s me, Lord Jiang! Please try the tea—how is it?”

Expectant gazes surrounded him.

Jiang Yuxun smiled, poured himself a cup, and said, “Fragrant and mellow, indeed.”

Axi nodded eagerly. “These tea leaves are for the nobles of Kecan. They’re smooth and rich! If Lord Jiang likes it, you can even boil it with fresh milk—it’s delicious!”

By now, most of Shuo Lin’s people had learned the official tongue through phonetic teaching.

The children around him spoke fluently, without a trace of their old accent.

Returning after several years, Jiang Yuxun’s first impression was that he no longer needed an interpreter to travel through the commandery.

As he sipped the tea, a little girl tugged on his sleeve timidly. “Lord Jiang, when we sent the first batch of tea cakes to Kecan, we kept one small box for you. Please don’t forget to take it before you leave.”

Jiang Yuxun had once told them that compressed black tea could last for over a decade without spoiling.

So they had kept the very first batch, waiting for him to come and taste it himself.

“Of course,” he said with a smile, gently ruffling her hair. “I’ll share it with the other officials before we go.”

As they spoke, light rain began to fall.

Fine droplets descended from the clouds, thin as silk threads linking heaven and earth.

“Oh no, it’s raining!”

The children quickly covered their heads.

“Lord Jiang, please come inside!” the little girl said anxiously, tugging at his sleeve.

“All right,” Jiang Yuxun nodded, folding his cup and following them indoors.

The children surrounded him as they walked toward the house.

Just as they were about to enter, Jiang Yuxun paused and turned northward.

Dark clouds gathered atop the distant mountains, hiding both sun and sky.

That… was the direction of Taoyan Commandery.

A dull ache rose in his chest—strange and suffocating.

※

Ying Changchuan was a man who valued military matters above all.

Wherever he went, the first thing he inspected was the army.

Though the journey was rushed, upon arriving in Shuo Lin, he immediately went to the barracks, accompanied by Prefect Lou Zhuozheng.

In his absence, all other affairs naturally fell upon Jiang Yuxun.

The rain, having come suddenly, showed no sign of stopping.

After staying briefly in the garden, Jiang Yuxun returned to the prefecture under an umbrella.

It was only four or five in the afternoon, yet the sky was so dark it was impossible to tell day from night.

As he stepped into the Prefect’s residence, the sound of hooves broke through the downpour.

“Lord Jiang, be careful!” came the cry of an attendant from behind.

Instinctively, Jiang Yuxun stepped back just as a horse burst through the gates, thundering past him like a black bolt of lightning.

Rain splashed high, soaking the hem of his robe.

Raindrops pattered relentlessly against the umbrella, forming a curtain that blurred the world outside.

He squinted—recognizing the rider as a courier official.

“…Why such haste?”

Gripping the umbrella tightly, Jiang Yuxun hurried after him toward the main hall.

“Careful, my lord! Your injury hasn’t healed—”

The attendant’s voice followed anxiously.

But Jiang Yuxun did not slow—his pace only quickened.

By the time he reached the hall, half his robe was drenched.

“Lord Jiang Yuxun, Minister of Works—arrives!”

With a heavy clang, the doors burst open.

Before he could cross the threshold, the drenched courier turned sharply to face him, kneeling halfway on the ground.

The candlelight flickered in the damp air.

The atmosphere in the hall was oppressive—too silent.

Zhuang Youli stood with his back to the light, his body trembling.

The chill wind blew through the open door, snuffing out several candles.

The room dimmed abruptly.

The courier bowed deeply. “This humble servant, Han Fayun, greets Lord Jiang—”

Jiang Yuxun’s old wound throbbed sharply, but he steadied himself, nodding slightly.

“No need for formality,” he said, voice trembling despite his best effort. “Lord Han, what urgent news do you bring?”

Never before had he seen a courier in such a miserable state.

An ill omen gnawed at his heart.

Outside, thunder cracked.

Lightning split the sky, its flash illuminating the entire city—the distant sea glinting coldly.

Someone gasped.

Then Han Fayun dropped to his knees, his voice shaking.

“Reporting to Lord Jiang… Prefect Tong Hailin of Taoyan Commandery… has passed away.”

The words echoed again and again in the hall.

Spring thunder rolled, awakening the land beneath Fengling.

Snow still blanketed Taoyan, yet the spring winds had already begun to stir.

But before the oars could break through the thawing ice, the prefect who had drawn its riverways fell into eternal slumber.

Another thunderclap shook the eaves.

Half the candles went out.

From the shadows, Zhuang Youli broke into sobs.

Others soon joined, their quiet weeping mingling with the storm.

“…Lord Tong… he hadn’t even seen Taoyan’s green bridges and flowing waters yet,” Zhuang Youli’s voice trembled. “He wanted to wear the cotton clothes made from Taoyan’s own harvest… Why did he have to go so soon?”

“Just a little longer…”

“Why couldn’t he hold on a few more years?”

Tong Hailin had been an official from the previous dynasty.

Most of the young officials here had known him since childhood.

Now, they struggled to suppress their grief.

Zhuang Youli’s sobs blended with thunder, echoing through the hall.

Even the officials of Shuo Lin could not hold back their tears.

Recalling their journey to the Yi River with him—his proud smile as he unfolded his maps—

Jiang Yuxun’s body trembled.

But he noticed everyone’s gaze turning toward him.

With the Emperor absent, it was up to him to stand firm.

If he faltered now, what

would that say of them all?

Jiang Yuxun clenched his fists, forcing his voice steady.

“Whether it is the governance of Taoyan or the destiny of Great Zhou, neither can be accomplished in one lifetime. For those who come after, this is nothing more than a relay—one messenger passing the baton to the next.”

“Wh-what do you mean?” Zhuang Youli sniffled, raising his head.

Lightning flashed again, illuminating the hall as Jiang Yuxun’s voice rolled like thunder.

“The Taoyan of the future will not only be a land of rivers and bridges—it will become a place of unparalleled prosperity.”

Countless scenes from future centuries—poems and paintings of Taoyan’s beauty—flitted through his mind.

“Neither Lord Tong nor any of us will live to see that end,” Jiang Yuxun said softly. “We each walk only the first part of the road. None of us reach the finish line.”

Zhuang Youli wiped his tears; the others bowed their heads in silence.

The room was so quiet that the sound of rain became deafening.

“Lord Han only carried the message part of the way,” Jiang Yuxun continued. “He did not bear it from beginning to end.”

The courier slowly looked up.

Rain lashed the windows; lightning painted Jiang Yuxun’s face in cold hues.

He closed his eyes briefly. “But for every courier who’s carried the letter, even for a moment—they need not regret that they didn’t reach the end.”

The rain roared louder.

No one spoke.

At last, Jiang Yuxun opened his eyes. “It’s late. Everyone should rest. Tomorrow, we set out for Taoyan.”

As prefect, Tong Hailin’s funeral would be handled by the court.

By duty and by heart, they must return swiftly.

“Yes, Lord Jiang—”

Amidst the quiet sobs, the officials filed out.

As the courier passed, he whispered, “Lord Jiang, the Prefect bade us tell you—he received your wine, and it was sweet. The taste of your heart, he understood.”

“And… Taoyan’s scenery is truly splendid. This time… he came with joy, and departed fulfilled.”

When the words faded, the courier bowed deeply and left.

A gust of wind blew through the open doors, extinguishing the last of the candles.

Darkness swallowed the hall.

Only then did Jiang Yuxun’s body begin to tremble uncontrollably.

He clenched his fists and bit his lip.

Came with joy, departed fulfilled…

The cold wind howled through the doorway.

Noticing the puddles gathering at his feet, Jiang Yuxun finally stirred, turning to close the doors.

And at that moment, illuminated by lightning, he saw—

A dark figure striding swiftly through the storm.

His steps were hurried—faster than Jiang Yuxun had ever seen.

Within moments, he stood before him.

“Your Majesty…” Jiang Yuxun whispered, stunned.

The Emperor, who should have been in the barracks, had returned through the tempest.

Their eyes met. Ying Changchuan said nothing.

He simply stood in the doorway, shielding Jiang Yuxun from the rain—then, slowly, opened his arms.

The grief Jiang Yuxun had fought to suppress surged at once.

He stepped forward instinctively, wrapping his arms around the Emperor and pressing his face against the fabric of his robes.

Moments later, Ying Changchuan’s arms lowered, circling him firmly.

He gently stroked Jiang Yuxun’s still-healing shoulder.

“It’s all right,” he murmured. “Cry if you need to.”

Footnotes

1. Miasma (瘴氣) – In pre-modern times, this referred to deadly vapors believed to arise from decay in humid regions. It often caused severe fevers or death among travelers and settlers in southern China and Southeast Asia.