Chapter 328: Crimson Dragon Fish

Fang Zhou lowered its sails and anchored in deep enough water to maneuver, sacks of rice being lowered onto the moored sampans, gradually transported up the hill.

The able-bodied men and soldiers on the hill worked in unison, transporting the grain in batches to temporary granaries, while clerks nearby recorded the quantities being stored.

Local militia patrolled the perimeter, preventing refugees from gathering in mobs to loot or steal grain.

After several days, the makeshift relief station had established a relatively orderly and functional system.

Xiang Fang Su and the others, as they toured the camp, frequently heard Liang Qu's name mentioned.

Aside from complaints about not being fed properly on the boats and fearing they'd be thrown overboard, there were also praises calling him a celestial prince descended from the heavens.

Xiang Fang Su asked: "How many relief stations have we passed through on our journey?"

Ran Ran Zhongxi flipped open his documents: "Four in total. All four were visited by Liang Ashui. This station alone has received three thousand two hundred and sixteen refugees—quite a number."

"Liang Ashui's doing well," Ke Ko Wenbin praised without hesitation. "Getting over three thousand people here means Liang Ashui must have a sizable fleet."

A fleet rescuing people meets the baseline. If he could produce a disaster assessment map, no one would dare speak ill."

Xiang Fang Su agreed: "Wei Shao was sent by Wei Lin. I haven't heard his name once along the way. Maybe Liang Ashui is doing even better than Wei Shao."

Performance must be compared.

Liang Qu, already at the Horse-Bound realm, need only match Wei Shao to be considered successful.

Ran Ran Zhongxi closed his documents: "Let's hurry with the supplies. According to that police inspector, we'll meet Liang Ashui tonight!"

…

Outside the boat window.

Able-bodied men and villagers waded through water to irrigate the rice fields.

Liang Qu lowered his gaze, dipped his brush in ink, and resumed writing.

"From mid-August through September this year, rain has been abundant and sunshine scarce; even on days with faint sunlight, it could not counter the continuous downpour.

Water has reached several feet deep in flat areas, over ten feet in low-lying zones—a vast expanse of flood, with only willow tips and roof corners visible.

Summer rice has failed just before harvest; seedlings have been ruined before planting. The people have exhausted every means, yet the flood shows no sign of receding, and there is no hope of drainage. Autumn harvests are likely to fail… one disaster has damaged two harvests; the people's suffering is extraordinary."

Liang Qu carefully copied each word and phrase from the draft submitted by his subordinates.

With little formal education, he had to consult past templates to write convincingly.

After minor revisions, a consolidated disaster report was freshly completed.

Having signed his name, Liang Qu set down his brush—outside, chaos erupted.

Liang Qu shouted: "What's happening now?"

Dou Shou called from the mast: "Sir, there's fighting inside Ganquan Town! A lot of people!"

"Every damn day, more trouble!"

Liang Qu blew dry the ink, closed the ledger, placed it in the cabinet, grabbed Dragon Fubo, his great bow, and quiver, then boarded a sampan and rushed into town.

The sampan rocked as crowds of villagers surrounded a shop in the southeast corner.

Villagers wielded sickles and rakes, wading through water to storm the second floor, smashing and looting.

The second-floor doors stood wide open; furniture was thrown from windows, and two men were shoved out clutching small sacks of rice, tumbling down the eaves, splashing into the water—blood stained the surface, while rice grains floated thickly.

Liang Qu roared.

"Enough!"

A crushing aura surged outward, engulfing the small building. Those swinging wooden clubs felt their chests constrict, faces pale, as if their hearts were gripped and squeezed—no blood could pump, pain searing.

The riot instantly ceased; many turned to Liang Qu with terror in their eyes.

Chen Chen Jiechang and Li Li Libo, who had been trying to maintain order, scrambled out of the shop upon seeing Liang Qu arrive.

Liang Qu pointed at the building: "What's going on?"

"Looting!" Chen Chen Jiechang gasped, clutching his purpled forehead. "They charged in and beat anyone they saw—I and Li Libo both got hit twice."

Li Li Libo pushed through the crowd, fished a floating signboard from the water, its characters clearly written: "Rice Shop."

Liang Qu understood.

The gravest problem in the flood was, of course, food shortage.

Chen Chen Jiechang and the others had just arrived and didn't yet understand; Liang Qu had encountered many such smash-and-grab incidents already.

Most arose from rice shops raising prices outrageously, inciting public anger, or from agitators—barefoot men unafraid of shoes—sparking others to take desperate risks and riot for grain.

Liang Qu shouted: "Where is the rice shop owner?"

"Here!"

Lu Lu Xinqing leapt from the second floor, dragging a swollen, bruised old man by the collar; behind him, Kou Zhuang followed, carrying a unconscious middle-aged man, both splashing water high upon landing.

The old man forced open his swollen, purplish eyelids, saw Liang Qu's official robes, and wailed: "Sir, please be our righteous judge! These vile people! Vile people!"

"Whether they're vile or not isn't your call. Are you the rice shop owner?"

The old man nodded frantically.

"Then tell me—what price are you charging for rice?"

"Ten cash per jin!" the old man cried. "My master is kind-hearted—this is a Liangxin price!"

Even under Liang Qu's aura, someone in the crowd stood up and cursed: "Liar! It's twenty cash per jin! More than doubled! How dare you say it's ten?"

The old man shot back: "Not ten? Then you—face covered in pockmarks! Did I not sell you ten cash per jin? You heartless wretch, joining the looters?"

Liang Qu looked up—the young man with the pockmarked face lowered his head, too afraid to reply.

It was true!

Li Li Libo was baffled: "What's going on? Some sell at ten, others at twenty?"

"Hmm."

At that moment, the middle-aged Mankou Zhuang had dragged out blinked open his eyes, regaining consciousness.

The rice shop owner broke free and clutched the man: "Master! Master, are you alright?"

Seeing the man awake, Liang Qu stood on the sampan and asked: "Are you the owner of this rice shop?"

Lin Lin Zishi's head spun; he didn't answer immediately, stared blankly, then took in his surroundings. With the old man's help, he barely stood and bowed to Liang Qu.

"Your humble servant, Lin Lin Zishi, bows to you, sir. I dare not deceive you—this rice shop belongs to me."

"I ask you again—what is the price of your rice?"

"For rice alone, ten or eighteen cash per jin."

Lin Lin Zishi spoke slowly.

The price hike was real, the flat price was real—but they were for different people.

On the first day of the flood, Lin Lin Zishi gathered neighbors, promising that if they helped guard his family's granary, he would sell rice at flat price to them; but to outsiders, the price was indeed eighteen cash per jin—doubled.

He believed this would protect his shop from looting, preserve his assets, and still earn profit.

But man plans, heaven laughs. Today, someone led a large group of refugee outsiders to storm the shop.

The mob was too numerous; neighbors arrived too late. Those nearby couldn't hold them back—and some defected, joining the looters.

Once chaos erupted, more villagers arrived and joined the scramble, forgetting their earlier promises.

Why pay flat price when you can just steal?

Liang Qu questioned several outsiders.

His tall frame, solemn robes, and prior aura intimidated them—no one dared lie.

"Someone told me there were corrupt merchants profiting from the disaster in Ganquan Town—I thought, 'This is justice!' and came along…"

"They said the merchants were making money while ignoring our deaths—better to strike while we can…"

"I was angry, so I came along…"

All were incited by others.

As for who started it, everyone pointed fingers, forming a tangled web—with no clear origin.

It was a case with no head.

"Weird… so complicated…"

Li Li Libo stared in disbelief.

Liang Qu's temples throbbed—every incident was a headache.

Lin Lin Zishi, local, outsider—each had their own cunning.

"Lin Lin Zishi!"

"Your humble servant is here."

"I order you to sell rice at flat price—sell all rice, then sell mixed grains. Each person may buy half a jin of rice daily with a token. After that, any additional purchase must be at market price."

"Sir, my house was washed away—I have no firewood, no stove."

"Yes, we can't cook!"

Someone shouted, and others echoed.

"Did I finish speaking?" Liang Qu's gaze lowered, his aura surged again—the noise ceased. "Every morning, twice; noon, twice—you must sell flat-price porridge. To buy porridge, first buy a token, then present it to receive your portion.

Tokens come in four types: large ones cost ten cash and grant three bowls of porridge; medium ones… additionally, set up free 'token porridge' for the destitute—village elders will manage distribution. As for you…"

Liang Qu's gaze swept over the crowd, tangible as steel: "Each of you gets ten lashes! Next time, execution without pardon! Don't think numbers protect you—those bold enough, try it!"

Lin Lin Zishi bowed deeply: "Sir, your wisdom shines!"

"Sir, your wisdom shines!"

Villagers murmured in scattered agreement.

"Kou Zhuang, Chen Jiechang—you stay to enforce this. Li Libo, Lu Lu Xinqing—come with me."

Liang Qu turned and left.

Those left behind stared at the burly Kou Zhuang and the "slight" Chen Chen Jiechang.

The pockmarked face grinned: "My lord, can we choose?"

"Of course," Chen Jiechang chuckled. "Fifteen strokes or twenty? Thirty isn't out of the question."

"…"

On the sampan, Li Li Libo fawned: "Water Brother, you're amazing—you dealt with them in an instant! Those four kinds of tallies…"

"Nonsense! It's all in the books."

Liang Qu pulled out *Comprehensive Treatise on Dike Construction* from his robe and tossed it to Li Li Libo.

The book didn't just explain how to repair the dam—it also covered refugee resettlement. He had simply read it through once, and every tally's price remained unchanged.

It further stressed that refugees must not be given porridge directly; they must first be issued tokens.

Li Li Libo seized it like a treasure and immediately began studying it.

The fiery clouds dimmed, casting long slanted shadows across the river.

As the sampan neared the boat, Liang Qu was about to board when distant shouts rang out again.

Soon, a group rushed over in panic—their leader was none other than Old Song.

"What's happened?"

Old Song's face was flushed red—whether from the sunset or blood rushing to his head, he pointed far off: "My lord Liang Qu, come quickly! Someone's found a Crimson Dragon Fish!"

"Crimson Dragon Fish?"

"A legendary fish from Heishuihe—rare as hen's teeth after decades! Its whole body glows crimson, covered in dragon scales and whiskers. They say it appears only when a sage walks the earth!"

As Old Song spoke, his words trailed off. He scanned Liang Qu from head to toe, dancing with excitement.

"I get it! I get it! My lord Liang Qu—you're that sage!"