WSMTATMC C97

Chapter 97

Laizhou Prefecture Academy.

Today was the monthly rest day. At dawn, Liang An was already waiting with a carriage outside the academy gates for the three students.

Spotting them with book cases on their backs, he waved. “This way, young masters!”

Chen Qinghuai and Chen Qingsong ran over cheerfully; only Chen Qingyan came slowly, face taut, step by step.

Ever since he learned of the flood at home, worry had lodged in his chest; not wanting to burden his younger brothers, he had told them nothing.

Once in the carriage, the two younger ones chattered about what they’d eat upon returning.

“Finally we can stop eating fish. I’ve had so much lately I could vomit.”

Qinghuai nodded vigorously. “Tonight let’s have roast chicken. I know a place whose Beggar’s Chicken is especially good!”

Liang An said, “Young Master Huai means Aunt Fourth’s Beggar’s Chicken, yes?”

“That’s right! Uncle An, will you take me there?”

“No need to go—I’ve already bought it. Eat at home.”

Qinghuai and Qingsong clapped in delight—wishing they could fly home to taste it at once.

Only Qingyan remained grim, gazing out the window, lost in thought.

Qingsong sidled over and whispered, “Elder Brother, is something wrong?”

“Huh? No, nothing. What did you say?”

“Master bought us Beggar’s Chicken.”

“Oh.” Qingyan forced a smile. “Then we must savor it well.”

After half an hour the carriage reached Liang’s residence. A second carriage stood at the gate—guests, perhaps.

Inside, Master Liang Boqing was seeing someone out; their talk was ending. The man bowed and took his leave.

Liang beckoned the three in. “Back already?”

“Greetings, Master.”

“Go bathe and change. Later, I’ll test what you’ve learned these days at the academy.”

“Yes.” They saluted properly and withdrew.

At the door, Liang suddenly called, “Qingyan, stay a moment. I have something to tell you.”

Turning back, Qingyan saw solemnity cloud his master’s face. “Sit. Don’t be alarmed—I must tell you something.”

Qingyan had guessed already. Drawing a breath, he said, “Please speak, Master.”

“An urgent letter came from Jizhou. Days of heavy rain breached the Yellow River dikes; three counties in Jizhou suffered severely—among them, Longquan County…”

Though he had known already, hearing it from his master struck him like a blow. His eyes flushed red.

The Yellow River breached… would there be anything left of home?

“Don’t panic. I’ve written to a friend in Jizhou. Assistant Prefect Wang has men under him—we hope they can go look. If all are safe, they’ll bring them to Jizhou to settle. If… if…”

Liang could not go on. He turned away, pressing his sleeve to his eyes.

How could this be fate?

Heaven had no eyes!

Wang Ying was such a good child, and little Yuanbao, that impish darling—he had not doted on them nearly enough…

Over long months living together, Liang had already taken them into his heart as family. The old man could not help but break into sobs.

Qingyan hurried to comfort him. “Master, please don’t grieve. They will be safe.”

“How can they be? With water like that—the Jizhou prefect was demoted, and I heard the Water Bureau officials drowned outright; else they’d have faced extinction of their households!”

“This flood is heaven’s wrath and man’s fault. The Yellow River embankments went four years without reinforcement. Court silver was allocated, but layer by layer those corrupt officials stripped it bare—none used to shore up the dikes!

“The innocent people suffer—nearby counties are near emptied…”

Qingyan swallowed. “I understand. If there’s nothing else, this student will withdraw.”

“You won’t return to see them?”

He shook his head. “No. Returning now won’t change outcomes. All I can do is set my mind on study. When I pass as provincial graduate and enter office, only then can I wield power to change such things.”

Liang hadn’t expected such words. After a long pause, he sighed. “When Heaven places a burden on a man, it first wears his will and labors his sinews. Good child—go.”

—

Back to the household.

After Wang Ying routed the door-crashers, no one relaxed. Steward Chen and Dunzi hurried to reinforce the gate, lest the thugs return.

None but a few children dared shut their eyes that night.

At the Ox hour before dawn, Dunzi drove the cart back to the estate.

His errand was not only to summon the folk for seed grain, but also to bring back a few men to guard the house, in case of trouble.

Once he left, Steward Chen barred the gate tight and kept a constant watch through a side window, sweating each time a passerby crossed the lane.

Perhaps yesterday’s show of force had sobered them—no one came all morning.

Near noon, just as the porridge finished cooking, pounding rattled the gate again.

“Here—this is the house! I smell millet porridge!”

“Damn it—break the door! They must be hoarding grain. Smash the gate and take it!”

Steward Chen jolted, snatching up a cudgel. “Cur bastards! This is the house of Chen Jing, Prefect of Shanzhou. Rob here, and you’ll die for nothing!”

A moment’s hush—then laughter. “What prefect? When men can’t live, who cares whose house it is? Break it!”

Learning from yesterday, they didn’t shoulder the gate, but hefted a thick log, several together, and rammed.

Dong! Dong! Dong! Each blow thudded into the gut.

Wang Ying pulled Madam Li and Chen Rong close. “Mother, Aunt—take the younger ones and Yuanbao to the back wood shed. If the front breaks, crawl out the drainage tunnel!”

“No, how can I leave you alone—Ah Ying…”

He whispered in her ear. She paled, nodded, hugged Yuanbao, and fled with the others.

Up front, Steward Chen still braced the gate. Wang Ying came, palms slick on the cleaver’s handle. “If they break through—run. Don’t think of anything else.”

“Young master, you—”

“Don’t worry for me. I have a place to hide.”

Steward Chen stamped his foot. “Aye!”

The wood splintered and cracked—bang!—a gaping hole burst in the gate.

A man peered in and locked eyes with Wang Ying.

“Well now—such a pretty gē’er! When we’re in, that one’s mine. The rest of you take the goods!”

Vile words dripped from their mouths. Wang Ying’s face only hardened—drag it out a little longer—let Dunzi return in time.

Just as the gate was about to give way, the clatter of a mule cart came. Dunzi cracked his whip and shouted, “Who dares make trouble at the Master’s gate!”

Before the cart halted, seven or eight men sprang from it, brandishing cudgels and shovels, charging the thugs.

Seeing equal numbers, the intruders stood their ground, flexing for a fight.

But they had misjudged farmhands’ strength—and after flood had destroyed fields and houses, men’s chests smoldered with rage. Given a target, how could they relent?

In less than fifteen minutes, the lot were thrashed and scattered, fleeing in all directions.

Wang Ying called off the pursuit. “Enough—back!”

Chen Dashun spat and rubbed his neck—only now feeling where a stick had caught him. “Master—are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Why so few of you?”

“More are behind. Dunzi said there was trouble here—we few rode ahead. The rest are on foot—won’t arrive till afternoon.”

After a sleepless night and strain beyond measure, Wang Ying’s face was wan. With danger past, he hurried to call his elders back from the rear.

The others were no better—especially Madam Li. The once-elegant matron now wore gray, hair bound in a rough cloth, all polish gone.

Seeing the estate men arrive, all finally relaxed.

“Aunt Chen—cook porridge.”

“Aye.”

Half an hour later, another group arrived, trotting to the gate.

Finding others patching the doors, they joined, and soon both leaves were refitted, sturdier than before.

“Dashun—come.”

“Here!”

Wang Ying led him to the back wood shed. Inside were eight neatly stacked sacks of millet.

Dashun gaped. “This… this is—”

“Grain we stored at home. By luck it wasn’t washed away. Take it back and distribute to the estate folk—get it in the ground at once.”

This flood was not pure curse; the silt it left was rich—enough to bless fields with three years of harvest.

Dashun was struck speechless, then fell to his knees, knocking three times to the floor. “This saving grace cannot be repaid. I’ll serve as ox or horse for a lifetime!”

“Up. When the porridge is ready, take the grain back. Leave seven or eight to help tidy the house.”

“Aye!” He ran to gather men to load.

Tears rimmed eyes as they hefted the life-saving millet. With this, they could endure months—and by autumn, no one need starve.

They loaded the cart; seven estate men remained—those with brothers at home stayed, the rest drove back, promising to return the cart at dawn.

Among the seven were familiar faces—one was Tian Daniu, the young man who had volunteered to scout during the mountain refuge.

He was tall and guileless, smile all teeth and no eyes. With brothers at home and both parents alive, he came willingly.

“Daniu, take men to clear the side rooms. Find places to sleep. You’re on watch tonight.”

“Yes!”

Daniu’s crew set to work—shoveling out the courtyard silt until stone pavers emerged again.

Where roofs had fallen, nothing could be done—the beams had been elm over a foot thick. None could be bought now. They would wait for better wood someday.

They made the side rooms habitable, patched the roofs, and moved in.

Because of the separation of men and women, Steward Chen had a door added between front and back courts. The men were forbidden to enter the rear yard.

Rural men were simple and obedient—told to keep out, they did. Seven split into two teams: by day, repairing; by night, standing watch against intruders.

Thus it continued until the morning of the fifth day—when a knock sounded again at the front gate.

Footnotes

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• Beggar’s Chicken (叫花鸡): A whole chicken marinated, wrapped (traditionally in lotus leaves and clay), and baked, yielding tender, fragrant meat. 
• “Heaven places a great burden…”: From Mencius; often quoted to console and exhort perseverance under hardship.