Chapter 19: Nineteen, A Family of Virtuous People

Nineteen, A Family of Virtuous People

Ouyang Rong discovered that the waters of Longcheng were indeed deep.

After descending the mountain, the official road to Longcheng County was frequently blocked by temporary “lakes.”

The fields outside Longcheng County resembled a blank sheet of paper scribbled over with circles by a child, divided into countless marshlands.

Fortunately, Donglin Temple’s incense offerings were abundant, and many fishermen ferried pilgrims across; Ouyang Rong, Xie Ling, Yan Wuxu, and others traveled this way, delivering Xie Xun to Penglang Ferry on Butterfly Creek, where he boarded a large vessel bound for Jiangzhou, transferring there to return to Bai Lu Dong Academy.

Butterfly Creek was not actually a creek but a broad river, winding like one wing of a butterfly, hence the name given by Longcheng locals, and its banks bloomed with butterflies of every color.

It lay between Yunmeng Marsh to the south and the Yangtze River to the north, serving as the primary link between these two major water systems.

Thus, Penglang Ferry connected north and south: northward to the prosperous Suzhe heartland of Jiangnan Dao, southward to Lingnan Dao, bustling with merchants and trade.

Longcheng County itself sprawled along both eastern and western banks of Butterfly Creek, thriving around it; most buildings, including the county government office, crowded the eastern bank, while the western bank was more scattered, housing the mansions and estates of Longcheng’s wealthy.

Even now, amid the flood, the docks remained lively and laborers continued hauling goods; only the refugees dragging their families onto the streets hinted at the flood’s devastation.

Ouyang Rong, Yan Wuxu, and Xie Ling stood on the bustling eastern dock, watching Xie Xun’s boat drift farther away.

Zhen Shi had only seen Xie Xun down the mountain before returning to pack and prepare to relocate to the county government office; she did not come along.

The wind at the ferry was strong, and the morning sun warmed their bodies.

“Little sister, please look after me in the future.”

“Brother Lianghan, let’s address each other as equals—just use my courtesy name.”

“Fine.”

Ouyang Rong paid no mind to Xie Ling’s formal reserve; he turned and squinted at the opposite bank of Butterfly Creek.

“Is there a market nearby? I need to buy some supplies.”

Xie Ling asked; Yan Wuxu pointed in a direction, leaving only the young county magistrate and the blue-clad constable behind.

“My Lord, where shall we go now? Should we return to the government office? I’ve already informed Assistant Magistrate Diao and the others as you ordered—they should be waiting for us there.”

“Not yet.” Ouyang Rong shook his head, then suddenly pointed across the river: “Who owns that high fortress and courtyard on the hill over there? And what are those smoky workshops surrounding the hill?”

Yan Wuxu didn’t even look—he knew exactly what the magistrate meant—and replied directly:

“That’s the Liu family compound; the workshops at the foot of the hill are the famed Gu Yue Sword Workshop, also owned by the Liu family.”

“Gu Yue Sword Workshop? The Liu family?”

Yan Wuxu explained patiently:

“Longcheng was once part of Wu-Yue territory; in pre-Qin times, it was renowned across the land as a sword-forging hub, allegedly where a master named something-or-other dug into the mountains beside Butterfly Creek to build furnaces and cast swords for the Son of Heaven and the feudal lords… so some sword-making techniques have persisted locally; there were many swordsmiths. But since our dynasty’s founding, this craft gradually declined, leaving only a handful of sword workshops—Gu Yue is one of the oldest.”

“The Liu family is the region’s most powerful clan; their ancestors made their fortune in water transport here, but until now they were merely wealthy landowners. Yet this generation’s young master had great ambition—he spent a fortune years ago to take over the decaying Gu Yue Sword Workshop and merge it with several others, and since then, his business has flourished.”

“Our people love swords. Now, the swords forged by Gu Yue are wildly popular among the upper echelons of the Zhou realm; reportedly, they’ve become prized treasures on the desks of imperial nobles and Guanzhong elites, universally recognized as a famed sword workshop. Even the finest blades by their top master smiths are nearly impossible to obtain—even the Inspector of Jiangzhou must wait in line.”

“So the Liu family must be filthy rich?”

“Filthy rich? Years ago, the Liu family, through connections in Luoyang, presented swords to Empress Wei, who was so delighted she granted them the honorary title of Imperial Swordmaker, ordering them to cast swords—and now they’re exempt from nearly half their local taxes.”

“The Liu family is now Longcheng’s foremost clan; all other local gentry and powerful families follow their lead. The entire western bank of Butterfly Creek is filled with their sword furnaces; they own nearly half the county’s best farmland and assets, and half the town’s people depend on their enterprises for livelihood; many incoming boats stop solely to buy swords.”

“Hmm, controlling the city’s backbone industry…”

“My Lord, do you know what the people of Longcheng call the Liu family?”

Ouyang Rong thought a moment, then smiled. “Not ‘Liu Half-City,’ by any chance?”

“Huh, that’s actually quite apt—but close enough. The people privately call them the Dragon King family, saying the Liu family on the western bank is a Dragon King temple no flood can wash away. For years, no matter how severe the floods, they’ve remained untouched, growing richer instead—aren’t they just like a Dragon King?”

“Then let me guess—these Liu people are also generous benefactors, aren’t they?”

Yan Wuxu looked surprised. “How did you know? Did you hear of this before?”

He added: “The current head of the Liu family is the eldest son, Liu Ziwen, who is known for charity. During this flood, at Assistant Magistrate Diao’s invitation, he led the effort to set up porridge stalls and has indeed earned a reputation for goodness in the county.”

Ouyang Rong gazed at the row of sword furnaces across the river, squinting to himself: “Such a local tyrant.”

Yan Wuxu suddenly remembered something and added: “A Shan’s family are official slaves of the Gu Yue Sword Workshop, so they took the Liu surname.”

Ouyang Rong nodded—he now understood why A Qing bore the character “Yue” branded on her forehead. And he wondered how many such official slaves and craftsmen existed in that workshop across the river.

The young magistrate stood quietly a while longer, feeling the wind off the river, surveying the aging, dilapidated dock.

The images of starving refugees he’d passed since leaving Donglin Temple still swirled in his mind.

He was not heartless or neglectful, ignoring the refugees sleeping on the streets while leisurely strolling and enjoying the breeze.

He sought to understand one question—until he grasped it, no amount of frantic relief work would be effective, for he’d never grasp the core contradiction.

Sometimes, man-made disasters were more terrifying than natural ones…

At last, Ouyang Rong turned.

“Let’s go. Find Little Sister at the West Market—we’re returning to the government office.”

…

About half a li away, in a bustling market.

Food fell from the sky.

Literally fell from the sky.

Roast chicken.

Grilled fish.

Bird’s nest.

Shark fin.

Steamed pork.

And so on—these rare delicacies, precious in the county, rained from above.

They landed on the old stone pavement of the main street.

Too bad no bowls were beneath them—the food was dusty, yet still smelled and looked delicious.

Steam rose, still glistening with oil.

The first to spot this “miracle from heaven” was a crippled beggar boy; a piece of braised pork smashed onto his head. Furious, he grabbed it, bewildered, rubbed his eyes, then devoured it greedily, nearly biting off his own fingers.

Then the crippled boy lunged forward, letting food strike him, raising both hands to the sky to catch more.

If one guessed right, he was trying to become a “living dish tray”—but soon, the scent of meat drew other “living dish trays.”

The starving refugees sprawled across the street surged forward.

Crawling, standing, leaping.

Crying, laughing, crying while laughing.

Above them, dozens of meters up, a window was flung open.

A large hand grabbed dishes and hurled them out the window, one after another.

It wasn’t a miracle from heaven after all.

Someone was throwing food.

“Sigh, I can’t let Brother do all the good deeds—I must do good deeds too. Our family is full of virtuous people. They say good people get good rewards, and I agree—do you disagree? Surely you’re not cruel enough to oppose?”

“So please, bring the dishes faster—if you delay my good deeds, I’ll throw you and the cooks out the window. You know me—everyone thrown out praises me for keeping my word.”