WSMTATMC C96

Chapter 96

In the afternoon, Steward Chen found tools and repaired the mule cart.

Madam Li originally wished to leave that very day, but Wang Ying feared the muddy roads would trap the wheels, and gently persuaded her to wait a bit longer; with the sun so fierce, the ground would soon dry and harden.

That night, everyone slept in the roofless house under the open sky. Wang Ying made the best of hardship by teaching the child to count the stars.

The little one had a good memory—within a short while he could count from one to ten.

Counting and counting, the child grew drowsy. Wang Ying set him beside his grandmother, then rose, entered the ruined house—and slipped into the experimental field.

By chance, Chen Qingyan was there too. The two had not seen each other for six or seven days.

At first sight of Wang Ying, Chen Qingyan was startled, grasping his hands and looking him over. Seeing Wang’s hair disheveled and hems caked in mud, he blurted, “Has something happened at home? How did you get into such a state…”

Only then did Wang Ying recount the flood. “It rained for days on end—our side flooded badly.”

“Was it very bad? How is the family? Is anyone hurt? Why didn’t you tell me sooner!”

“Telling you wouldn’t change anything—only make you worry. Everyone’s safe. The waters have receded, but the villa’s been wrecked and likely uninhabitable.”

Anxiously, Chen Qingyan began to pace. “The house is destroyed—how are you unhurt? Ah Ying, don’t lie to me…”

“Why would I lie? I saw how hard the rain came and took the villagers up the mountain two days early to shelter. There’s a big cavern on the back ridge. We stayed there four or five days and only came back when the water fell today.”

Relief washed over him, but seeing Wang Ying’s pallor, he drew him into his arms, pained. “You’ve borne so much these days.”

“It wasn’t the toil so much as fear—on the mountain we couldn’t tell when the rain would stop. Others even came to seize the cave. Luckily, our village had numbers and scared them off.”

The thought left Chen Qingyan shaken; he had read enough to know that times like these breed unrest. Ah Ying, keeping mother and child safe, had done no small thing.

“It’s past now.”

He pressed a kiss to Wang Ying’s brow. “Should I go back? I can’t rest not seeing you.”

“Laizhou is far. By the time you arrive, we’ll have put the house in order. It wouldn’t help much. Stay and study at the prefecture school.”

“But—”

“Don’t overthink it. I’m home.”

He held him close. At times, it seemed Ah Ying had a stronger heart than most men; apart from reading and writing a few florid lines, he felt lesser in all things. Without Ah Ying, he could hardly take a step.

“Take care of your younger schoolmates out there—and remember to write home. Mother and Third Aunt have been worrying these last few days—saying there’s still no letter from you.”

He had indeed forgotten. “I’ll write as soon as I go back and send it. I leave the household to you.”

“Rest easy.”

After a time together, they parted. Wang Ying had just come out when he ran into Madam Li—both froze, wide-eyed.

“Mother…”

She had not recovered from the shock. “Ah Ying, where did you just go—how did you appear all at once? You frightened me to death…”

He hadn’t expected her to stumble upon it and knew the secret could no longer be hid. He sat her down and told her about the experimental field.

Learning that her grandson could also enter, Madam Li was astonished. “You just saw him?”

Wang Ying nodded. “I told him how things are at home. With such floods, word will reach Laizhou soon anyway. Better he hear it from us than worry over rumors.”

“And those vegetables you sold in winter…” Earlier, Wang Ying had said they grew them at the estate, but the few plots by the warm spring could not possibly produce so much. She had not thought too hard at the time; now it dawned.

“Yes—planted in the field. Fruits and grain too. I didn’t dare tell you before, afraid you’d take me for a spirit.”

She patted his hand. “Silly child. You’ve been with us so long—how could I, who treat you as my own, take you for a demon?”

“But never mention this to outsiders—not even your brother and sister. Understand? Qingyun and Qingsong aren’t married yet—after they do, their hearts may not align with yours.”

Wang Ying was moved by her steadfastness. “I understand.”

She remembered Yuanbao’s sudden disappearance before. “Then Yuanbao can also enter?”

Wang Ying chuckled. “Yes—he slipped in a while ago and gave everyone a fright.”

“That’s fine then; father and son can meet often—lest he forget his sire. Only… could I go in to see Qingyan?”

He shook his head. “No one else can enter. The field… I once took a cricket in, and some unseen force crushed it. After that—”

Madam Li at once put aside the thought. “It’s late. Go to sleep.”

—

At dawn the next day, they set out.

Roads had been scoured by the flood and were treacherous. Steward Chen drove cautiously.

On the way, they encountered other survivors—hollow-eyed faces watching them pass. Some even tried to seize the cart; Steward Chen brandished the whip with a shout and scattered them.

After many hazards they reached the town. At the outskirts, several bodies lay sprawled in the road, blocking their way.

Fearing a ruse, Steward Chen dared not dismount. He took a pole and prodded them—only to find they were dead.

A scream rose from the cart; Wang Ying covered Yuanbao’s eyes. After a long half-minute to steady himself, Steward Chen dragged the corpses aside and drove on.

Bodies were everywhere—some bloated white from the water, some grotesquely swollen, others already maggot-riddled in the heat—sights to haunt many nights.

Wang Ying’s heart sank. The town was no better than the estate…

At home, they found the gates yawning open. Porter Linzi was nowhere, the courtyard choked with silt and debris, several dead chickens and dogs stinking in the mud.

In the central court, half the main hall had collapsed. Inside, furniture lay strewn in ruin; not a piece intact.

One glance and Madam Li nearly fainted.

Qingyun hurried to catch her. “Mother!”

Though they had steeled themselves, to see a home of half a lifetime reduced to rubble was another thing altogether.

She remembered entering this house as a new bride, Xian-ge playing with her under the eaves; remembered when Qingyan took his first steps in this very yard; remembered paper money fluttering when her husband passed…

Sweet and bitter alike—the place held so many memories. To see it thus—her heart could hardly bear it.

Chen Rong wept red-eyed. She had grown up here; though married out, this had always been her room—what Father and Mother left her. Now even that last trace was gone.

After a while, they stifled their grief and searched for the servants left behind. No one was found. Wang Ying steadied himself: no bodies meant hope—perhaps they’d fled to safety.

The main compound was uninhabitable and could not be cleared quickly. They picked a few intact rooms in the rear to live in for now.

Wang Ying surveyed: “Don’t rush the rooms yet—repair the front gate first. The city has few people left, and some will take advantage—rob grain. We prepare early.”

At once, Steward Chen sent Dunzi to mend the gate.

The others shoveled out mud and hauled beds into the sun to dry.

Chen Rong and Madam Li shed their ornate outer skirts, tied their hair, threw on short jackets, and joined the work.

Though long used to comfort, neither was delicate. They did not wallow, but pressed on with the children.

Mutou and Chunsheng kept by Yuanbao, playing with the kittens and puppies.

The big orange cat and Wangwang the dog had been brought along; left in the village, they’d likely have been eaten.

After patching, the gate barred from within. Dunzi rammed it a few times from outside—it held. Only then did Steward Chen relax.

While the others busied themselves, Wang Ying went alone to the innermost storehouse.

Inside, everything had been soaked to ruin, but the rafters held a dry upper tier. He could stash millet from the field up there and pass it off as spared from flood.

Tomorrow he would send Dunzi to the estate and have men collect seed grain—sow this crop quickly, so as not to miss the season.

Dusk fell; the children grew hungry. Aunt Chen hurried to light the stove.

A great pot of rice gruel with a little salted vegetable—everyone ate with relish. Home, even broken, was steadier than a cave.

That night, Mutou and Chunsheng slept in the front opposite wing with Steward Chen and the men.

Wang Ying’s family squeezed into two rooms at the rear: Wang Ying and Yuanbao shared one bed; Madam Li with Qingyun another; Chen Rong with Lin Sui a third.

Past midnight, shouting jarred them awake. Wang Ying grabbed a coat, then doubled back for the kitchen cleaver.

Steward Chen and Dunzi were already berating those pounding the gate. “Get lost! You know whose house this is? You dare make trouble here?”

“Master, please—our children are starving. Spare some food!”

“Scram! I’ve none to spare for myself. Push it and I’ll take your head!”

Still they rammed. These were notorious town bullies who’d survived the flood—seven or eight of them banded together to loot grain and valuables house by house.

They had already stripped the Chen storehouse once. But today, seeing the gate repaired, they figured someone had returned—and came sniffing.

As the gate shuddered, Steward Chen and Dunzi steeled themselves to risk their lives holding it.

Wang Ying tightened his grip on the cleaver, peered through the crack, and when one leaned in to slam—swung.

A howl split the air as the blade bit into a shoulder. The man stumbled back, cursing, clutching bleeding flesh.

Wang Ying roared, “The flood didn’t drown you—I’ll be the one to carve you up!”

The men outside reeled at the ferocity—and, muttering, slunk away.