Chapter Twenty-Nine: A Letter from the Second Master

By mid-November, a letter from Yunzhou and an imperial notice arrived almost simultaneously. Second Master Liu described in detail the events of the past two months. Yunzhou had been in grave danger at first, and with no other choice, Second Master Liu proposed to Magistrate Xu the desperate plan of sacrificing Xing County to save Yunzhou. Given the gravity of the matter, Magistrate Xu hesitated for a long time, even convening all the officials for a day and a night of deliberation. He placed his official hat on the table—a gesture of resolve and readiness to face the worst—which shocked everyone into decisive action.

Xing County was flooded, but Yunzhou and its neighboring towns ultimately survived. For a full month, Second Master Liu ate and slept on the dikes, never leaving even as the waters rose and receded. And he was not alone; nearly all the officials did the same. Their example inspired everyone in Yunzhou—from constables and soldiers to the common folk—so that all who were able-bodied stood on the front lines. United in heart and spirit, the people of Yunzhou withstood the greatest flood in a century with indomitable resolve.

But when the waters receded, the real challenge had only begun. Second Master Liu left the dike without even returning home; he was immediately dispatched to inspect the counties and towns. Though there was no widespread inundation, the losses remained severe: houses collapsed, crops were destroyed, roads were blocked, and there were casualties. The prefecture not only had to tally the damage but also comfort the victims and organize what relief they could.

The most urgent matter was the destruction of several main roads running north and south, which had become completely impassable. It took over twenty days of hard labor by soldiers and civilians to clear the roads. Worried that his family would be anxious, Second Master Liu sent a letter home at the first opportunity to assure them of his safety.

While Yunzhou was fighting for its survival, Hengzhou fell into utter chaos. After the dikes gave way, Huaxing and Heng’an Counties were the first to be flooded, and the waters spread outward, with Hengzhou bearing the brunt. The survivors fled toward Hengzhou and beyond. Refugees poured into the city, yet no officials or soldiers were there to stop them or offer comfort. At last, someone shouted, “Jinhu Tan has fled! All the officials have run away!”

The words set off a hornet’s nest. The furious masses stormed the yamen, looting and rampaging. The city was swept into an instant maelstrom of violence and riot, while the floodwaters continued their merciless advance. In their panic to escape, people rushed the city gates, and not only were many drowned, but many more were killed or trampled to death in the ensuing chaos.

When the Third Prince arrived with the imperial disaster relief team, he was confronted with a true wasteland strewn with corpses. The survivors were either stranded on high ground or clustered in towns far from the Han River. Except for those who fled south, fewer than one-fifth of Hengzhou’s original population remained.

The greatest problem was not the devastation, but the burning hatred of the people for the court and its officials. Their rage turned them into true rioters—they seized grain carts, smashed granaries, and confronted the soldiers, making it impossible for the imperial relief efforts to proceed. Unexpectedly, the seventeen-year-old Third Prince proved to be a forceful character. With an iron hand, he imprisoned or executed the ringleaders—dozens were beheaded—and then, using gentler measures, pacified the people. In the end, he succeeded in restoring order to Hengzhou.

It was at this time that the imperial notice appeared in every major city in the south, promising that all refugees could return home and would receive land, grain, and seeds according to headcount. The worst-hit areas would be exempt from taxes for three years, and other towns for two years. Refugees, seeing the proclamation, spread the word and began longing to return home. For people of any age, their homeland is their roots; few would willingly live as wanderers.

Wucheng began organizing the return of refugees in an orderly fashion. Here, Lord Liu’s compassion shone through—he was the first to donate old winter clothes and money, and called upon the city’s residents to do the same. In response, the wealthy gave money, others gave clothing, making sure every returnee had a warm coat and dry rations for the journey. The south gate was flung open, and waves of refugees set out for home. In little more than ten days, the roads outside the gate were filled once more with merchants and traders. The southern market reopened, and Wucheng regained its former bustle and prosperity. Were it not for the makeshift shelters lingering near the gate, one might think the southern floods had never happened.

The Third Prince, Liu Yi, was highly praised for his outstanding work in disaster relief, both by senior officials and the emperor himself. As for Magistrate Xu and his colleagues in Yunzhou, petitions for commendation and censure alike flooded the court. In the end, the emperor declared that merits and faults would cancel each other out, thus ending a heated debate. When Magistrate Xu received the imperial bulletin, he broke into a cold sweat but finally felt at ease. His subordinates might have felt wronged on his behalf, but he knew that keeping his head was blessing enough. The other provinces received varying degrees of reward as well, and Lord Liu’s exemplary care for the people earned him the emperor’s personal commendation—though that is a tale for another time.

As for Liu Qin, upon receiving Second Master Liu’s letter, the old matron released her a few days early. After more than twenty days in confinement, Liu Qin was like a bird let out of its cage, breathing in the fresh, chill air scented with winter plum and marveling at the blue of the sky, the vigor of the trees, the brightness of the flowers, and the joy in her heart.

In the main house, laughter and cheer abounded—for the first time since news of the flood, the family felt such happiness. The old matron lay on her couch, reading and rereading her son’s letter of reassurance, her joy unmistakable. Ever since the uncertainty over her second son’s safety, she had not slept or eaten well. A mother’s heart worries endlessly, especially when her child is in danger—it is as if her heart is roasted over fire and drowned in water. If she could have, she would have taken his place.

But now, her son was safe. With relief, her taut nerves finally slackened, exhaustion washed over her, and she fainted on the spot. Only after hurriedly being given medicine and soup did she revive, and upon waking, immediately demanded to see her son’s letter, fearing it was all a dream.

Liu Qin skipped into the main house. In her recent worry for her son, the old matron had neglected her daughter and now, feeling guilty, quickly beckoned Liu Qin over, drew her into a loving embrace, and showered her with affection—so much so that Cai Xinlan and the maids could not help but giggle behind their hands.

It took some effort for Liu Qin to extricate herself from her mother’s enthusiastic embrace—not that she disliked affection, but the strong scent of medicine on her mother was overwhelming. After all, the old matron had been ailing for some time, taking more medicine than food.

Meanwhile, in the Wucheng yamen, Lord Liu and his eldest son remained deep in discussion. They had dismissed all servants, and the elder son closed the door, standing before his father with a grave expression. “Father, the matter has been thoroughly investigated—it was the Fang family.”

Lord Liu’s gaze sharpened. “You mean the manipulated grain prices in the city were orchestrated by the Fang family?”

The eldest son nodded, saying no more. Lord Liu fell silent, his fingers tapping the tabletop, his face calm but his narrowed eyes betraying deep contemplation.