Chapter 67: Sixty-Eight: New Construction, Total Collapse!

Sixty-Eight: New Construction, Total Collapse!

A cold truth.

Many commoners who came to the Lu Ming Street magistrate’s office to watch the young magistrate adjudicate cases were really there for the reserved finale: the criminal’s final screams before execution.

Thus, the crowd on Lu Ming Street grew larger by the minute.

In the impoverished Jiangnan region, where spiritual entertainment was scarce, watching the magistrate hold court ranked second only to the execution platform at Cai Shi Kou in novelty and appeal.

Herd mentality, and a love for spectacle.

Should one mourn and reflect?

It seems so.

Yet it is precisely these simple, conformist “ignorant masses” who harbor within them something called justice.

Seeing not only the commoners exiled and the bully punished, but the young magistrate personally whipping his own female private secretary, he stood beneath the plaque reading “Longcheng County” at the gate, each lash of his raised whip shattering the silent air.

Not a single stroke was half-hearted or perfunctory.

The crowds packed along the streets—some stared curiously, some bowed in solemn respect, others could not bear to watch.

Among the grain merchants and local gentry who had observed from start to finish, some who had previously wavered in their stance toward the new construction now settled into calm assurance.

Whether feigned or genuine, maintaining clear boundaries between public duty and private emotion, acting strictly by the rules—this is always the most effective tranquilizer.

Far more powerful than all the words spoken and promises drawn in the magistrate’s hall just moments ago.

Because once people know you are a man of principle, they naturally assume you will act with principle.

Why had Liu Ziwen previously united all the local gentry of the county against outsiders?

Besides Liu’s family being the most powerful and having inherited generations of connections to manage Longcheng, it was also because Liu Ziwen had always acted with principle.

But sadly, since the new magistrate took office, Liu Ziwen had failed to guide the gentry in resolving tensions with the Longcheng magistrate’s office, had not placed the people’s interests first, and instead sought only to crush the magistrate underfoot—which would have been bad enough—but Liu Ziwen had also failed utterly to crush the new magistrate.

That was simply unprincipled.

For the gentry who had now tacitly accepted the new construction.

One grain merchant tilted his head and whispered teasingly:

“Young Master Wang, you didn’t misidentify your brother-in-law—he has principles, yet remains flexible, and most importantly, he gets things done, and gets them done well.”

“This is only the beginning of his official career; he doesn’t even need the prestige of a Metropolitan Graduate to open doors. If one day he truly solves Longcheng’s chronic flooding…”

Wang Cao’s eyebrow twitched—yes, you admire him, but the one being whipped is a member of the Xie family.

Another grain merchant suddenly understood, exclaiming in surprise:

“So this entire new construction scheme is just a side benefit—the real profit is the magistrate’s goodwill.”

Wang Cao fell silent.

His colleagues were indeed right, but he had never imagined Ouyang Rong would treat a Xie family heiress this way.

Though Wang Cao had been cheerfully calling him “brother-in-law” these past days, it was merely flattery, a jest.

He had always assumed Ouyang Rong was courting Lady Jiang, for the allure of a Fifth Clan heiress to a low-ranking scholar was exponentially amplified.

Ouyang Rong had already been lucky enough to study under a Xie family Confucian master and even had a beautiful young junior sister—how could he not dote on and protect her?

But now, this looked nothing like what Wang Cao had imagined—was this… disciplining Lady Jiang?

And he had never imagined Lady Jiang would be so meek and obedient—seventy lashes delivered, yet she stood rooted in place, not a single step moved.

This is an insane amount of information.

Ouyang Rong knew nothing of the thoughts below.

After each lash, he heard faint “mm” sounds from his junior sister’s buried face—so she was not silent; only Ouyang Rong, standing closest, could hear them.

When he finally lowered his trembling whip and demanded his question, receiving her unusually obedient reply, he could already see faint bloodstains seeping through her clothing.

For scholars and women, punishment was administered without removing garments; Lady Xie’s attire was fine silk and brocade, with a thick inner corset beneath—so the outer fabric remained intact, yet its softness meant every lash struck flesh directly.

As this whipping ended, the other side completed its seventy strokes of the paddle to Liu Zilin’s buttocks without delay.

He had begun with soft pleas, then turned to furious curses, then collapsed into pitiful wails…

Now Yan Liulang and the others had put down their paddles—he was physically silent, his breath barely a thread, exhaling no more than inhaling…

An old government office runner tossed a gray cloth over the bloodied, flesh-revealed buttocks of this Liu family third son; Liu’s servants rushed forward, faces twisted in grief, to rescue him.

Ouyang Rong took from Yan Liulang a clean, plain white robe he had left at the magistrate’s office and draped it over his junior sister’s trembling back.

Lady Xie Lingjiang could not help but glance at her senior brother’s expression.

He stood in his official robes, lips pressed tight, face calm; after draping the robe, he turned silently, the sunlight striking his face as he ascended the steps.

Ouyang Rong stood atop the three-tiered steps before the magistrate’s gate, facing the crowd beginning to disperse, and declared loudly:

“Since everyone is here! I have an announcement to make.”

The flow of people on Lu Ming Street halted like water striking a wall, then reversed; many turned, stunned, to stare at the tall figure in pale green official robes.

He spoke calmly:

“Since my appointment, I have opened granaries, built refugee camps, employed labor for relief, regulated grain prices… achieving modest success in disaster relief. Yet the root cause of the Butterfly Creek floods remains unsolved.”

“I eat the people’s taxes yet have done nothing substantial—I am deeply ashamed.”

“Know this: Longcheng’s flooding is not merely about comforting refugees, repairing ruined homes, or reviving commerce! If we only relieve disaster without controlling water, if we only pray to heaven without acting, if we only cower in fear instead of standing tall and confronting it—”

“Then all that we have painstakingly rebuilt here today, upon these ruins—your pots, your warm beds, your fields, your wives and daughters—will again be swept away, utterly destroyed, by the next unexpected flood!”

“Longcheng’s floods are not fate—if we do nothing, they are man-made disaster!”

The entire crowd fell utterly silent.

The young magistrate’s voice was not passionate or forceful; yet his eyes were unwavering, stating with absolute certainty a truth he believed without doubt.

He was earnestly revealing to every Longcheng citizen a simple, yet brutally true fact.

Such calm words, spoken with absolute conviction by the speaker himself, carried exceptional power.

Some Longcheng residents who had lost homes and loved ones in the last great flood could not help but cover their faces and weep; the crowd’s silence fractured, and sorrow was the most contagious emotion.

Everyone gathered on Lu Ming Street that day, that moment, fixed their gaze upon the young magistrate, as straight and unwavering as the sunlight above.

Liu Ziwen, who had been turning to leave for his carriage, froze mid-step; the longer he listened, the worse his premonition grew, and he frowned, glancing back at the magistrate’s theatrical performance.

“So how do we control the floods?” Ouyang Rong nodded. “You must all be wondering—should we repair the Di Gong Dam?”

“No.” He shook his head firmly. “The Di Gong Dam treats symptoms, not the root.”

“Then what is the root?”

The young magistrate thrust his index finger sharply westward:

“The winding, flood-blocking Butterfly Creek is the root! Every time the Yunmeng Lake overflows, its waters surge over Butterfly Creek’s channel—once a gentle river nurturing generations of Longcheng, now a monstrous beast devouring lives during flood season!”

“This beast roars, claws, and rages without restraint!”

“If we do not tame this beast, Longcheng’s floods will never end. The rich can flee and relocate; officials can resign and be replaced.”

“But you? Your children? Your children’s children? Will you forever live in terror of floods every four years?”

“Perhaps some of you have grown accustomed, accepted fate, even come to see it as normal. But I am not accustomed. I do not accept fate. I do not see it as normal. As an official, I may not bring prosperity to the land—but I must at least act with a clear conscience and exhaust every human effort!”

“And I firmly believe that among you, these children of Wu and Yue, there are those who will never grow accustomed, never accept fate, never see this as normal!”

“If you are not such a person, you may go home now—because what I say next is only for those who refuse to accept fate! What comes next, only we can do!”

The packed crowd stood motionless, eyes fixed upward, not a single foot moved; some even whispered weakly:

“My lord, what exactly should we do? If we don’t repair the Di Gong Dam, how else can we hold back the water?”

“Good question.”

Ouyang Rong nodded, glanced at Yan Liulang, who immediately led the constables forward to push open the magistrate’s office’s main gate.

The main gate had remained shut during the court session; now, with the combined effort of the constables, it swung fully open.

Before the crowd’s eyes, the scene behind the courtyard emerged:

In the courtyard lay a massive sand table, eight meters long and eight meters wide.

It simulated the general topography of Butterfly Creek upstream and downstream of Longcheng County, with remarkable precision; those who often climbed hills to gaze afar would be astonished to find the sand table reproduced Butterfly Creek’s winding course with startling accuracy.

The more astonishing feature of this miniature landscape was that water drawn from a well circulated through it, and under the control of Liu Ashan and others’ devices, the water flowing into the “Butterfly Creek” on the table surged violently.

Logically, if the water fully mimicked Butterfly Creek’s tortuous path, it would have burst its banks, flooding most of the sand table.

Yet now, no matter how much water poured in, no matter how fast, it flowed steadily through the entire sand table—no overflow, no breach.

Among the crowd on the street, those on tiptoe straining to see suddenly noticed something different about the sand table’s Butterfly Creek.

It seemed a new “straight” channel had been added—ignoring the two “J”-shaped curves resembling butterfly wings, it directly connected the ends, forming a shape like a “U.”

The original section where Peng Lang Ferry stood—the butterfly-wing “J-J” stretch—became a tributary.

This new “horizontal” main channel allowed water rushing down from Yunmeng Lake to flow unimpeded through Longcheng’s midstream and into the Yangtze River downstream.

The more they stared, the more amazed they became—this simple addition of a single “horizontal” line, as if carved by divine hands, had tamed the once violent, flood-prone Butterfly Creek into a docile little lamb!

The sand table’s simulation might seem theoretical, yet a certain rhythm of time and the glimmer of hope emerging from despair slowly revealed itself—like the first light before dawn.

Ouyang Rong watched the changing expressions of the Longcheng people, pointed behind him without turning, and declared proudly:

“Since Yunmeng’s floods always struggle to reach the river, we will carve a new channel to guide them in! Since Butterfly Creek is winding and cannot drain floodwaters, we will straighten it and make it obey! Since this beast roars and rages without restraint, we will unite as officials and people, pick up shovels, dredge and expand—until we dig through and tame it completely!”

His words struck like thunder, shaking the entire crowd; many stood stunned, silent—even those who had already processed their shock, like Xie Lingjiang, Yan Liulang, and Wang Cao, involuntarily turned to stare at the young magistrate.

Yet even as his words convinced, someone in the crowd still voiced concern:

“My lord, if we carve a new channel, what happens to Peng Lang Ferry… and the ancient sword furnaces on the west bank? Won’t this divert Butterfly Creek’s water? Elders say the creek carries dragon qi—its furnace locations cannot be moved, and changing the channel…”

The young magistrate extended two slender fingers, cutting him off coldly:

“First, Peng Lang Ferry is not abandoned—it was simply built too small; the magistrate’s office merely adds another ferry to share the burden.”

“Second: tell me, which matters more—the swords of distant nobles, or the pots, beds, wives, and daughters of the people of Longcheng?”

The questioner fell silent instantly.

The young magistrate’s tone made it clear: this was not a choice—it was a death sentence… no, a free point.

The only problem had been “solved,” and the crowd fell silent. The people, generations ravaged by floods, exchanged glances; and as they imagined this grand, unprecedented “miracle of craftsmanship” about to begin, many of those who dared to dream began breathing heavily.

Under the scorching midday sun, the young county magistrate, sweat beading on his brow yet eyes fixed straight ahead, declared with a voice that rang through the entire assembly:

“I hereby announce that, effective immediately, the Longcheng County Office will lead the recruitment of able-bodied youths from across Longcheng, in collaboration with dozens of merchants and local gentry, to begin the hydraulic project of straightening the Butterfly Creek! We will dig a brand-new channel east of Luming Street, and construct a brand-new ferry pier and several brand-new wharf market streets!”

“I know this is something none of you have ever heard of—never before in Longcheng County, nor anywhere in Jiangnan Circuit, nor even throughout the entire Zhou Dynasty. But I am certain this hydraulic project will benefit our generation and bring glory for a thousand ages! I urge you all to lend your full support and work together to finally eradicate Longcheng’s flooding.”

“Lastly, I know there may still be a few individuals with minor objections—but… this is not a consultation. It is a notice.”

With those final words, Ouyang Rong seemed to imply something, then turned and walked away.

Behind him, most of the people along Luming Street were elated; many surged toward the displayed hydraulic sand model, eager to study it.

Yet behind this throng of excitement, a young master of the Liu family stood frozen, his hands and feet icy despite the sun, his body swaying as if about to collapse—until a crippled servant beside him caught his arm.

Liu Ziwen took a deep breath, and suddenly understood one thing:

This Ouyang Lianghan wasn’t here to seize that object—he was genuinely, damn it, here to control the floods. And he was even willing to… completely ruin his own position to do it.

Four thousand characters.