Chapter 25: Twenty-Five: Ling Jiang Seeks a Person

Twenty-Five: Ling Jiang Seeks a Person

Where has Brother Lianghan gone?

Xie Lingjiang had not seen Ouyang Rong for several days.

After settling into the Su family’s residence, she had visited the county government office multiple times to find Ouyang Rong, but never saw him, nor did he come to seek her out.

The last time she saw him was three days ago, when Zhen Shi sent someone to invite her to lunch at Meilu Garden; halfway through the meal, as Xie Lingjiang was still responding to Zhen Shi’s chatter, she saw the young county magistrate hastily set down his bowl and leave the table—she had assumed he was answering the call of nature, but he never returned for the rest of the meal.

On a bright, sunlit afternoon, after dining with the Su family in their mansion, Xie Lingjiang practiced long-range archery in the back garden; guessing the county government office’s noon break was nearly over, she declined the Su matriarch’s invitation to afternoon tea and hurried ahead to the government office.

But after waiting a long while, all the government office staff had returned to duty, yet Ouyang Rong was nowhere to be seen; when she asked a government office runner, he also did not know.

Where is he?

She went straight to Meilu Garden and found Zhen Shi.

“Auntie, do you know where Brother Lianghan has gone?”

“Isn’t Tanlang at the government office?”

“No, he’s been gone for several days.”

“So you’ve missed him?”

“...” Xie Lingjiang’s face was stern: “No. I am his secretary—why didn’t he call me when he had matters?”

“Don’t worry, when he comes home tonight, I’ll scold him for you.”

Zhen Shi smiled sweetly, but she knew this Xie noblewoman’s serious nature couldn’t be teased too far; after a moment’s thought, she added:

“Lately I’ve noticed Tanlang rushing about, walking with wind in his steps, returning late every night, and always coming back covered in dirt—once he even came home caked in yellow mud... Yesterday morning, Yan Liulang came to fetch him; I overheard them talking about some camp outside the city. You could try looking for him in the city outskirts.”

“Thank you, Auntie.”

Without hesitation, Xie Lingjiang turned and left Luming Street, asked for directions, and headed toward the city outskirts—but the sights along the way startled her:

She still remembered how, not long ago, when she and Ouyang Rong had descended the mountain to see her father off at the ferry, refugees carrying entire families were everywhere—in the bustling streets of Longcheng County and along the roads outside the city.

But today, as Xie Lingjiang walked this route, the refugees were not gone entirely, yet they were few—mostly women, children, the elderly, and some stray kids; though still pale and gaunt, their faces no longer bore the vacant, ashen despair of days past, when they collapsed from hunger on the ground.

Moreover, perhaps because the able-bodied men had diminished, the streets had grown noticeably safer.

And the able-bodied refugees she occasionally encountered were all either hauling bricks and mortar, carrying loads or water, hurrying past her, or busy among the ruins of collapsed homes along the roadside.

Xie Lingjiang’s expression was one of astonishment—until she reached the city outskirts.

Then she finally understood where most of the refugees had gone.

Standing atop a small hill crowned with a local earth god shrine, sword in hand, Xie Lingjiang gazed far into the distance.

Between Longcheng County and the great Dagu Mountain where Donglin Temple stood, the outskirts were a vast expanse of flooded fields now drained; golden sunlight poured like a ladle of scalding hot oil onto crisp, golden pancakes.

And the crowds of refugees—grouped or scattered, laboring tirelessly—along with the newly erected tents and thatched huts, resembled grains of hot oil dancing vividly on the freshly fried pancakes before this Xie noblewoman’s eyes; a vibrant, living energy, utterly unlike the languid springtime of “grass and trees spreading, mountains visible,” surged fiercely across the land ahead.

Xie Lingjiang felt this was no longer the melancholy spring she knew, but rather the industrious golden autumn of her childhood, when her father had taken her to the family estate.

This life-changing vitality that transformed mountains and fields moved her silently down the hill, and she approached of her own accord.

Xie Lingjiang entered the bustling relief camp under construction, seeing women and children delivering water and fruit, men driving stakes and erecting tents, cooks boiling pots of water; as she walked, she kept asking about Ouyang Rong whenever she encountered officials in blue robes directing or maintaining order.

“Miss asking for the county magistrate? I saw him and Captain Yan eating on the field ridge at noon; they were heading to the newly built Shuangjiang Camp this afternoon. The camp just started construction yesterday—the magistrate is very strict about latrine locations in every relief camp, forbids open defecation, and personally inspects each one.”

“Shuangjiang Camp?” Xie Lingjiang asked curiously.

“Head south from here—the camp you’re standing in is called Guyu; the one beside it is Lixia Camp. All these names were chosen by the magistrate—he says he’ll build twenty-four relief camps on the outskirts, each named after one of the twenty-four solar terms. The magistrate truly has culture...”

Xie Lingjiang smiled wryly, bid farewell to the blue-robed clerk, and continued southward in search of him...

Xie Lingjiang found Ouyang Rong only at dusk.

When she first arrived at the southernmost camp—Shuangjiang, just beginning construction—the refugees’ nickname for him, “Radish Magistrate,” was nowhere to be found.

The low-ranking clerk stationed at the camp told her that shortly before her arrival, news had arrived from Qingming Camp in the north that a laborer had sustained a bone injury, so the magistrate had rushed off to find a doctor.

Thus, the two had perfectly missed each other.

So she circled back again in the afternoon, and only as the sun neared its setting did she find the man resting on a field ridge still covered in yellow mud.

He seemed unsurprised to see her; wiping his hands again on his already filthy, mud-caked hem, he smiled, then took the clean water pouch she silently offered.

“You...”

Xie Lingjiang had been slightly resentful—why was he running all over the place, making her search all afternoon? But seeing him tilt his head and gulp water straight down his throat like a man dying of thirst, the words died on her lips; softly she asked:

“Why do they call you ‘Radish Magistrate’?”

Hearing this, Ouyang Rong sighed with feeling: “I thought Donglin Temple’s pickled radishes were delicious enough, but the pickled radishes brought by the old ladies and aunts are even better—I couldn’t resist eating more these past few meals. Lingjiang, it seems true masters live among the common folk.”

One of the attendants collapsed on the ridge beside them couldn’t help interjecting:

“For the past few days, the magistrate has eaten every meal with the refugees, sharing their porridge; Captain Yan couldn’t bear it, so he fetched some pickled radishes—the magistrate eats them with every meal. ‘Radish Magistrate’ is a title of respect from the people, now known throughout the city and countryside.”

Xie Lingjiang was torn between laughter and exasperation—how did it feel like he was treating the pickled radishes as a reward?

She said directly to Ouyang Rong: “Then tonight at dinner, I’m trying some too.”

Ouyang Rong nodded helplessly; seeing the sun sinking, he carefully instructed his attendants on the relief camp’s affairs after a full day’s labor, and they all departed.

On the field ridge bathed in slanting sunset, only the two disciples of Bai Lu Dong Academy remained, and their two long, stretched shadows.

Xie Lingjiang paid no mind to the dirt, sitting beside Ouyang Rong.

Her sword rested across her knees; her starlit eyes fixed on the red sun hiding behind Dagu Mountain; from this angle, the ancient temple belonging to the Southern Lotus Sect appeared pitch-black, its outline merely traced by golden light.

“Have you been busy with all this these past days? Did you organize them yourself? Is this what you meant by... labor-for-relief?” asked this Xie noblewoman.

“Twelve thousand nine hundred and eighty-one people,” the young magistrate said suddenly, without answering.

“What?” she frowned.

“In the first year of the Holy Calendar of the Great Zhou, the fourth month, the Yunmeng Marsh flooded; Longcheng was submerged. As of today at noon, the disaster has left twelve thousand nine hundred and eighty-one refugees—nearly two-fifths of the county’s population.

“Among them, four thousand three hundred and seventy-three are orphans, the elderly, the sick, or the weak—unable to support themselves.

“About eleven hundred are missing; those who fled to other counties are unknown; those who died are unknown.”

Xie Lingjiang fell silent, watching as he continued his recitation:

“Grain reserves in the public granaries, as of yesterday: nine thousand eight hundred and seventeen dan...

“Twenty-four relief camps planned; eighteen have been roughly constructed; thirty-three grain distribution points and porridge stalls established; each person is allotted one sheng of relief grain daily, children half a sheng.

“To prevent trampling, men and women collect rations separately, each taking two days’ worth at once... No one may leave the relief camp without cause, or they will be denied rations...

“As of today, labor-for-relief has recruited two thousand seven hundred able-bodied men, consuming three thousand six hundred labor-days, paid in millet.

“Another eight hundred able-bodied men have repaired collapsed homes for ninety wealthy households still possessing wealth, consuming nine hundred and thirty labor-days, paid directly by the households...”

Ouyang Rong recited these numbers—long since calculated countless times in his mind—then exhaled deeply, turning to his stunned junior sister with solemn sincerity:

“This foundation is now stabilized. If we follow the rules established these past days, we can ensure the women, children, elderly, and weak are fed, the able-bodied are not idle, labor-for-relief is implemented, work is done, surplus grain is harvested, and when the disaster ends, homes will be rebuilt...

“Now we only wait for more relief grain from the imperial court and Jiangzhou, then we will begin rebuilding new flood defenses.”

In the last sliver of sunset, Xie Lingjiang saw the young magistrate rise with emotion, pointing toward the laboring people on the fields, as if asking in wonder:

“So why should we beg wealthy landowners and benevolent elders to give alms of thin porridge? Why should we be treated like livestock, fed scraps? These people don’t need a few grains of food, stolen from them and then given back as charity—they need land they can till, homes they can build with their own hands, work they can do with their own sweat. They need no one’s charity.”

Then, as the cold wind blew fiercer, making her grip her sword tighter, Xie Lingjiang saw this senior brother, now merged with the mountain and ancient temple into a dark silhouette, say calmly:

“To hell with the great benefactors.”

She saw the “qi” again.