Chapter 361: When Muddy, Good for Silt; When Stirred, Good for Rebound

Some things aspire to the heavens, some must return to earth, but regardless, it is not yet time for him to act.

Put another way, it is unresolved.

Like the emperor’s sudden inspection of the Xuzhou waterway granary—no one knew its origin, no one knew its end—only gazing anxiously toward Mount Yunlong, hoping the emperor would soon depart and continue his southern tour.

But this state of uncertainty often brings unbearable torment.

The emperor’s lingering presence had even disrupted the normal duties of local officials.

For several days, the atmosphere in the Central River Division of the Water Conservancy Office had been utterly unlike usual.

In our dynasty, the Grand Canal is divided into four administrative sections—the Huaitong, North, Central, and South Rivers—each with its own Director of Water Conservancy; the stretch around Xuzhou falls under Li Minqing, Director of the Central River Water Conservancy Office.

Because the Central River Division is situated at Lüliang Hong—‘Hong’ meaning a constriction in the riverbed, where rocky outcrops narrow the flow and impede the current—the office, nestled against the mountain’s shaded side, lets in wind and water but little light.

At noon, sunlight pierced the lattice windows and fell upon the purple sandalwood desk beneath the eastern window of the main hall.

The pile of documents on the desk was so high it blocked the Central River Director’s face from the warming rays as he napped over his work.

The clerk who came to deliver or retrieve documents was clearly Li’s long-time confidant; seeing this, he silently shook his head.

The clerk hurried forward, lifting the mountain of documents aside: “Master, if you wish to nap after lunch, fine—but you must still see daylight in the morning.”

“Don’t end up like County Magistrate Wu—still under fifty, and already seeing floaters in his eyes.”

With the documents moved, Director Li Minqing of the Water Conservancy Office was finally visible, napping in the daylight.

He was about forty, short and sturdy, temples streaked with gray, three deep vertical creases carved into his forehead, a luxurious wool blanket casually draped over his shoulders, revealing beneath it a patched and mended official robe.

Li Minqing was asleep; suddenly exposed to light, he winced, instinctively turning his head and shielding his eyes with his hand—the wool blanket slipped off his shoulder and fell to the floor.

Seeing it was his trusted clerk, he snapped awake and asked urgently: “Back? Did anything go wrong during the emperor’s inspection of the waterway granary today?”

The clerk bent to pick up the wool blanket, folded it carefully, and returned it to the chest.

Confirming no one was nearby, he stepped close to Li Minqing and whispered: “The emperor returned to Mount Yunlong this morning, leaving only a few censors to make a show—those too have just left.”

“Flawless!”

Li Minqing’s heavy burden lifted; he exhaled in relief.

Two days ago, the emperor announced he would inspect the waterway granary—it was like thunder from a clear sky. Especially with news from Peixian: one moment about literary alliances expressing sympathy, the next about newspaper investigations, even inquiries from esoteric Buddhist monks.

Li Minqing truly feared someone had exposed Xuzhou’s affairs to the emperor—he’d been terrified, unable to sleep a night through.

Fortunately… it was thunder without rain.

After reporting the matter most urgent to his master, the clerk added a trivial detail: “But County Magistrate Wu says the grain we moved still cannot be returned lightly.”

“The emperor will likely depart within days. To prevent future censors arriving in Xuzhou from kissing the emperor’s boots and rechecking, Wu wants us to be accommodating—delay the accounting by two or three more days.”

As he spoke, the clerk stole glances at his master’s expression.

No one in Xuzhou’s official circles was unaware of Wu Zhipeng’s ways—greedy to excess, never returning a single benefit once swallowed.

Add to that the gaping holes in the prefectural treasury, and this borrowed grain was likely a meat bun thrown to a dog—gone for good.

Li Minqing knew this well; he shook his head vigorously.

Two days ago, Wu Zhipeng was weeping and wailing like a child; now he’s taking advantage of the Water Conservancy Office.

Utterly corrupt!

Yet perhaps because he’d narrowly escaped disaster, Li Minqing now felt considerably lighter.

He was too lazy to argue with Wu Zhipeng and merely joked, “Next time I visit County Magistrate Wu’s residence, I’ll take a few more qinan pearls and a few more paintings.”

He rose, stretched his neck, and absentmindedly smoothed his robe, riddled with patches.

Though he joked, the clerk who handled the dirty work looked uneasy.

He paused, then warned: “Master, if you intend to curry favor this way, you must proceed with caution.”

“Water Conservancy grain isn’t as plentiful as tribute grain—we’ve diverted nearly half the rations of Xuzhou’s canal laborers.”

“Though it’s not much money, it’s still grain that can’t be conjured from thin air…”

As a retainer, spotting oversights was his duty.

Money was trivial—even less than the cost of a single meal for the entire Water Conservancy Office.

Since Emperor Xiaozong, the canal works offices have held a three-month banquet every year after Frost’s Descent, to celebrate the successful passage of autumn floods.

Meals began at Chen hour and lasted until nightfall; merely willow toothpicks consumed “hundreds of thousands of coins”; ingredients like sea cucumber and shark fin cost “over ten thousand.”

Not only did it cost tens of thousands in gold, but they also hired famous opera troupes from Suzhou and adorned the halls with elegant calligraphy and paintings—“merchants gathered from all directions, every book, painting, and trinket available”—had it not been for such events, how could Lady Li have casually encountered street vendors selling paintings along the roadside?

But money was money, grain was grain: the office colleagues had no lack of funds, but the laborers on the dikes suffered.

Of course, the clerk wasn’t worried the laborers would starve—he feared these mud-stained peasants, ungrateful and unruly, would gather to riot, demand wages maliciously, and disturb their superiors.

Li Minqing heard this and sneered, nostrils flaring.

Having served for years, he had long since perfected his response to such matters.

“This is easy!”

Li Minqing waved his hand and declared: “You’ll go down and issue an order—every dike and worksite must make this slogan familiar to every laborer.”

“Say: The Water Conservancy Office, in support of the Wanli Reforms…”

“Saves one jin of grain per day!”

“The state’s greater good comes first—anyone who dares to riot over a single meal opposes the Reforms, is a rebel!”

The clerk listened, his mouth stretching nearly to his ears.

He raised his thumb, marveling: “Brilliant! Truly brilliant!”

What does “issue an order” mean?

It means our Director Li has merely grasped the spirit—this demand is his own insight.

As for who holds such lofty vision—that’s left for the common folk to imagine. If they can figure it out, perhaps when hungry, they’ll even stand taller!

Li Minqing lifted his chin, thoroughly pleased with his own cleverness.

He smacked his lips, still savoring the thought: “Let them suffer hunger for now. Once the books are balanced, I’ll treat them to extra meat meals—they’ll be grateful to their bones!”

Starving laborers was merely a petty trick to balance accounts—Director Li found it beneath him.

To truly erase the books, one needed a flood.

Since the founding emperor, our dynasty has never held minor officials accountable for natural disasters—worst case, demote the Viceroy or Provincial Governor; a clean, cost-free way to erase losses.

For example, in the fourth year of Longqing, the Yellow River roared, swallowing the canal—eight hundred grain ships sank one after another; “300,000 shi of tribute grain” vanished overnight, buried beneath the same ledger holes—clean, utterly clean.

Then came Longqing fifth year’s Yellow River breach at Suining Port, Wanli second year’s flood at Dangshan, Wanli fifth year’s breach at Taoyuan’s Cui Town… countless tribute grain ships lost.

When such good fortune strikes again, could Director Li possibly begrudge the laborers a single bite of meat?

The clerk, hearing this, recalled those happy days and licked his lips in nostalgia: “Pity these past three years have been calm—still, Director Weng’s dikes were considerate.”

What a fine man Weng Dali was.

He shared profits from waterworks with his subordinates, stood up to the emperor even when he’d wrongly judged cases—such exemplary official virtue, why did the emperor execute him?

In contrast, Pan Jixun is far inferior—he understands neither human nature nor tradition, obsessed with cement and other clever tricks that corrupt ancestral law. Yet somehow, he’s risen steadily these past years.

Truly, good men die young, while villains live forever!

Li Minqing’s thoughts drifted; he swayed back into his armchair: “No matter. Laborers too hungry to eat—what kind of dike can they build?”

“We’ll just wait for the flood.”

With that, Li Minqing said no more.

He picked up a document, draped it over his face, and drifted back to sleep.

Soon, the drafty, dimly lit signing hall echoed with soft snores.

…

Who wakes first from the great dream?

Having survived the emperor’s inspection, Li Minqing and his colleagues finally relaxed their taut nerves; with nothing to do, they caught up on the sleep they’d lost in restless nights.

They slept in the office, then slept at home, drowsily drifting until the full moon.

As everyone knows, good days bring good fortune.

The moment Li Minqing awoke, he heard good news—and snapped fully awake.

“What? The emperor is departing for Yangzhou?”

Li Minqing halted his concubine as she helped him dress, spitting his mouthwash into the washbasin.

Chang Sansheng, Deputy Commander of Xuzhou’s Military Preparedness, sat sprawled in Li’s bedroom as if it were his own.

Watching his concubine leave, he clicked his tongue: “Good.”

Li Minqing ignored Chang’s implication, pressing: “When does the emperor leave?”

Chang turned, frowning at Li: “Not ‘about to’—he’s already gone. I saw him off myself just now.”

“The Deputy Inspector, the Imperial Hanlin Academy, the Five Armies’ Grand Marshal’s elite guard—all have boarded the ships!”

Li Minqing stared, listening.

When he’d finished, he could no longer contain himself—he opened his mouth wide and let out a hollow, echoing laugh.

Regaining his composure, Li Minqing tore off his tattered official robe and hurled it to the floor!

“Cui’er! Bring me my finest silk!”

Joy lifted his spirit; even his breathing was a grin and raised brow: “Why did the emperor depart so hastily? Didn’t even let the offices bid him farewell properly.”

He’d surely have hated to see him off—but now, if forced, he’d bow and kowtow with true sincerity.

Chang Sansheng reclined in the armchair, waiting for Li to dress, explaining: “Deputy Censor Chen Wude yesterday advised the emperor not to linger too long in provincial towns—the emperor listened.”

“But mostly, the emperor was just saving face.”

“The monks on the mountain say Imperial Consort Li wanted to claim the Crane-Release Pavilion on Mount Yunlong as her personal retreat—the emperor adamantly refused, and they quarreled bitterly.”

“Frustrated, the emperor decided to seek Li Chunfang’s mediation—really, he just wanted to complain—and set off southward straight for Yangzhou.”

Li Minqing chuckled heartily.

It seems the widespread rumors of unrest in the imperial harem are not without foundation.

Moments later, Li Minqing also snapped out of his gossip-induced daze and sighed with lingering dread: “These past few days, I’ve walked on eggshells, terrified something would go wrong—but somehow, we’ve made it through.”

Chang Sansheng sighed in sympathetic understanding, then added with regret: “If only the Emperor had left two days earlier, Zhang Chi wouldn’t have slipped away.”

Upon hearing that name, Li Minqing immediately frowned.

Back then, when we moved against Zhang Zhan, we hesitated and didn’t finish the job—leaving behind such a menace who’s now spreading every single impeachment memo that was once filed against him.

Fortunately, he’s been flapping around like a headless fly, and fortunately, Xiao Jiucheng wasn’t foolish enough to ignore us—he kept us informed. Most fortunate of all, from the Prefect and the Water Conservancy Bureau to the Military Supply Commissioner, the Revenue Branch, and the Censor, down to the county yamen, local gentry, and literati in Xuzhou, all are caught in the same net.

Otherwise, Zhang Chi might have truly blown a massive hole in us.

Thinking of this, Li Minqing’s expression turned grim: “Let’s send someone to his hometown in Henan!”

The monk may run, but the temple won’t.

As he spoke, Li Minqing made a slashing gesture with his palm.

Chang Sansheng shook his head and grabbed his hand: “Our reach doesn’t extend to Henan.”

“Besides, though the Emperor has moved on, a group of advance officials still trail behind. The Military Supply Commissioner must deal with Li Rusong, the advance inspector of defenses, these next few days—we can’t afford to be distracted under their eyes.”

“Better to act than sit idle. Let’s first locate him, then settle accounts later.”

Li Minqing was reluctant but had no choice: “Very well.”

After saying this, the two fell silent.

Today was, after all, a good day. Li Minqing quickly shook off his extra thoughts and regained his easy composure: “Enough of that.”

“Don’t go back on duty today, Brother Chang. Let’s summon Prefect Wu and head to the opera house for some music.”

Deputy Commissioner Chang Sansheng, Prefect Wu Zhipeng of Xuzhou, and Director Li Minqing of the Water Conservancy Bureau were all regular patrons of the opera house—indeed, the opera house itself was funded by these three men.

Beyond shared interests, their tastes aligned perfectly.

Chang Sansheng had no objection to the proposal and immediately ordered a subordinate to send word to Prefect Wu Zhipeng to meet at the opera house.

Li Minqing hastily dressed, grabbed Chang Sansheng’s arm in eagerness, and rushed toward the opera house he’d been away from for days: “By the way, I just acquired a treasure last month—rehearsed for over a month. I’ll have you two elder brothers judge it later.”

Chang Sansheng, trailing behind his disreputable friend, humored him with a guess: “A treasure? Could it be Governor Wang’s new play, ‘The Distant Mountains’? I heard the troupe just finished rehearsing it.”

Li Minqing, shedding his recent shabbiness, donned splendid robes, carried a parrot, and strode out of his residence with grandeur.

As they walked down the street, commoners respectfully cleared a path for Master Li.

“Not that. Before autumn, I found a performer who…”

Li Minqing, savoring his familiar sense of ease, lowered his voice and whispered mysteriously to Chang Sansheng: “He bears a striking six-tenths resemblance to the portrait of the Jianwen Emperor! Those eyes, that expression… and he’s surnamed Ju!”

Chang Sansheng stared at Li Minqing, utterly speechless.

He’d assumed it was a beauty—turns out it’s this? He didn’t see the appeal, and replied offhandedly: “So what if he’s surnamed Ju?” Li Minqing, lost in his amusement, chuckled: “Brother Chang, you’ve never been to the southeast—you wouldn’t know. In Guangdong and Guangxi, ‘Ju’ and ‘Zhu’ are indistinguishable.”

“The troupe has already cast him as the secondary lead. Today he’ll perform the role of Cao Mao.”

Chang Sansheng, fanning himself with a paper fan in winter like a refined scholar: “Good. Recently, by chance, I acquired Wang Yeyun’s ‘Dragon Boat Painting.’ I’d like you to examine it, younger brother.”

“‘The Dragon Boat Painting’!? That’s priceless!”

“Talking of money is vulgar—it cost me 2,300 taels. But the real marvel is that among the thousand figures in the painting, not a single face is repeated. In technique alone, it surpasses Qian Gu’s ‘Wanli Discourse on the Dao!’”

“….”

The two chatted back and forth—opera, calligraphy, paintings, jewels, gold—revealing the dull, monotonous life of a “three-year clean prefect.”

As they spoke, a four-man palanquin approached from across the street.

Recognizing the palanquin, the two smiled and stepped forward, bowing in greeting: “Prefect Wu, what a grand procession! Riding in a palanquin while on duty—don’t you fear the censors hearing of it?”

Unlike the mythical thirty-two-man palanquin.

For scholars, soldiers, and commoners, a four-man palanquin was already a major display; riding one during work hours drew particular attention.

As they drew near, a man leaned out of the palanquin—it was indeed Prefect Wu Zhipeng of Xuzhou.

Yet Wu Zhipeng’s expression was grim. He waved them over hastily, gesturing for them to board the palanquin for a private talk.

Chang Sansheng and Li Minqing exchanged glances, puzzled, but still climbed into Wu’s palanquin.

Once inside, Wu Zhipeng spoke at once: “Gentlemen, we cannot go to the opera house. Director Pan has summoned us to Mount Yunlong for an emergency meeting.”

The two stared blankly, stunned for a moment.

A meeting?

Chang Sansheng, bewildered, fired off a string of questions: “Director Pan? Summoning us? About what?”

Of course, Pan Jixun could summon officials across the Water Conservancy Bureau, Military Supply Commission, Prefectural Office, and Grain Transport Administration.

After all, as Director of River and Grain Transport and Provincial Military Commander, he held both civil and military authority. Any official along the two rivers was, in name, his subordinate—even county magistrates and prefects, who also held river and lake oversight duties, fell under his jurisdiction.

But what was strange was how unlike Pan Jixun’s usual behavior this was.

In the second year of Wanli, Pan Jixun submitted his “Memorial on the Management of the Two Rivers.” Besides six river-control measures, he proposed eight administrative reforms for river works.

Chang Sansheng, then Director of Sluice Gates, was the first to act—he immediately rallied local officials from Xuzhou, Huai, and Si prefectures to jointly impeach Pan Jixun for purging rivals and appointing cronies.

During the Ministry of Works’ deliberation, perhaps due to Zhu Heng’s longstanding feud with Pan Jixun, only the six river-control measures were submitted to court.

In the third year of Wanli, Pan Jixun again submitted a memorial denouncing Deputy Commissioner Lin Shao of Xuzhou for incompetence in river management.

Lin Shao reacted faster—he spread rumors accusing Pan Jixun of corruption, incompetence, and arrogance. Had Zhang Juzheng not intervened, Pan would have been stripped of his post then and there.

Zhu Heng even wrote him a personal letter, advising that river administration and personnel matters be left to the River Censor, so Pan could focus solely on engineering and avoid derailing water control.

Since then, Pan Jixun had devoted himself entirely to engineering, ignoring all river administration.

So why, today, was he acting out of character—summoning a meeting like a commanding official?

Wu Zhipeng glanced at the two and knew they hadn’t returned to their offices.

He lifted the curtain to check outside; seeing they’d entered a quiet alley, he spoke slowly: “Officially, the Emperor left behind instructions, and Director Pan is to deliver them to us personally.”

Hearing this, Li Minqing scoffed: “I heard Pan Jixun and Hu Zhili were summoned and scolded by the Emperor—now they’re trying to regain face by lecturing us.”

That made sense. Chang Sansheng nodded in agreement.

He studied Wu Zhipeng closely, growing more puzzled: “This isn’t a major matter—why are you so frightened?”

Can’t Director Pan occasionally flex his authority?

Grain transport isn’t salt monopoly. Pan Jixun isn’t Hai Rui. What’s there to fear?

Wu Zhipeng opened his mouth, then hesitated.

After a long pause, he sighed and voiced his unease: “Something feels off. The Emperor’s inspection was half-hearted and strange. And Pan Jixun’s sudden meeting is strange too.”

“Even stranger—this morning, Governor Deng Yizan passed through on his way back to Henan and made a special stop at the prefectural office.”

“He took away Zhang Guoxi with official documents.”

At the name, Li and Chang both looked startled—no wonder Wu Zhipeng was so shaken.

Zhang Guoxi, courtesy name Junlü, was the 97th-ranked Jinshi of the third class in the second year of Wanli, same cohort as Wu Zhipeng, just a hundred places higher.

The grudges between Wu Zhipeng and Zhang Junlü ran deep.

Years ago, both were posted to Henan—Zhang as magistrate of Yifeng, Wu as magistrate of Kaicheng, neighboring counties.

But fate turned cruel: upon arrival, the Yellow River flooded both Yifeng and Kaicheng.

Wu Zhipeng, ever scheming, didn’t care about “drowning your neighbor.” He secretly opened the floodgates at night, saving Kaicheng but drowning Yifeng—thus forging an unbreakable enmity between the two colleagues.

For five years, they battled from Yifeng to Xuzhou, each hating the other with every fiber.

Now, Wu Zhipeng had finally crushed Zhang Junlü and thrown him into prison—only for Deng Yizan to intervene. No wonder he was furious.

Li Minqing eyed Wu Zhipeng with a strange expression, smugly remarking: “Brother Wu, I warned you back then—someone with a Jinshi degree can’t be easily branded and exiled.”

“So how’s it going now?”

“Forget it. Let’s spare the bastard’s life—give Governor Deng a face.”

Though the public calls us corrupt officials, we still know boundaries.

A clean official without backing who came to Xuzhou? We could crush him however we pleased.

But if he had backing? We’d show him some courtesy—let him join our circle and share the spoils, or if not, part ways amicably.

As long as he didn’t scream like Zhang Zhan, vowing mutual destruction, a few harmless impeachment memorials in our official correspondence were enough to preserve appearances.

So strictly speaking, Zhang Junlü only had a personal grudge against Wu Zhipeng—he wasn’t a madman like Zhang Zhan who bit at everyone.

Li Minqing didn’t care at all.

Wu Zhipeng shot Li Minqing a glance, barely holding back his irritation: “I’m afraid Deng Yizan has ulterior motives!”

Though Wu Zhipeng’s words were startling, Li and Chang exchanged glances, their eyes betraying pity.

To this degree, such bitter enemies were, in truth, a pair of tragic lovers.

Chang Sansheng cleared his throat and asked gently: “What reason did Deng Yizan give for coming to Xuzhou to take Zhang Junlü?”

Wu Zhipeng’s face darkened, yet he remained composed: “Deng Yizan claims the people of Yifeng County have repeatedly petitioned his office, begging him to intervene and ensure Zhang Junlü receives a fair fate.”

“He was worn down, so he obtained a warrant from the Ministry of Justice.”

Li Minqing interjected: “You think that’s an excuse? He couldn’t possibly have that kind of reputation?”

Wu Zhipeng fell silent, hesitating.

After a moment, he shook his head: “It’s probably true.”

After Zhang Junlü’s arrest, officials, laborers, cooks, and peasants from Yifeng paid their own way to Xuzhou to visit him—even entire villages pooled money to send gentry as delegates.

Outside the prison, farmers knelt daily, holding fried dough sticks and baked bread, weeping loudly, begging to see Zhang Junlü just once.

Given Deng Yizan’s nature, he’d be hard-pressed not to soften at such a scene—Wu Zhipeng himself had once won Deng Yizan’s trust in Henan using this very tactic.

Li Minqing studied Wu Zhipeng’s face and became certain he was seeing ghosts.

He patted Wu Zhipeng’s shoulder and comforted him: “Brother Wu, we don’t compete with clean officials for public favor. We shouldn’t envy them.”

He thought Deng was going to overturn Zhang Junlü’s case—turns out it’s just a routine matter.

Wu Zhipeng, utterly exasperated, violently shook off Li Minqing’s hand and snarled: “Zhang Junlü was one of our defeated clean officials! And now, with the Emperor’s inspection of the grain depots and Pan Jixun’s sudden meeting—don’t you find it suspicious?!”

Chang Sansheng glanced at the anxious Wu Zhonghang, then at Li Minqing, who showed not the slightest concern.

After a moment’s thought, he spoke words of fairness: “Brother Wu, the case of your opening the floodgates in Henan was settled by Governor Deng; would he not be inviting trouble if he tried to overturn it?”

“Let us ask ourselves honestly—would you or I have done such a thing?”

“In my view, it was merely Deng Yizan seeking fame and reputation, catering to the people of Yifeng, and doing it as an afterthought.”

“Moreover, if the Water Storage Depot and Director Pan had truly been found guilty of anything, wouldn’t the Emperor already know?”

“If the Embroidered Uniform Guard had moved immediately to arrest us and throw us in prison, the Emperor wouldn’t have simply marched south to Yangzhou without a single word of inquiry.”

“The fact that the Emperor is now heading south proves we have nothing to fear.”

Wu Zhonghang fell silent.

This argument left him momentarily without a rebuttal.

Yet the warning in his heart still urged him: something was amiss; he must remain vigilant.

After stammering for a long while, Wu Zhonghang could only vaguely retort: “Perhaps the Emperor fears our power runs deep and fears shaking the foundations of the river and canal system—so he’s deliberately creating confusion…”

By the end, even he sounded unconvinced, and his voice trailed off.

Chang Sansheng soothed him: “If Brother Wu still feels uneasy, just inform everyone afterward and increase vigilance.”

Li Minqing grunted: “Enough, Brother Wu, stop worrying needlessly. First, take me back to the Department of Waterworks. I’ll change into some ragged clothes, then pay my respects to Director Pan.”

Wu Zhonghang remained reluctant: “Are you truly going?”

Li Minqing waved his hand decisively: “We’re going to a meeting—what could Pan Jixun possibly do to us?!”

…

Meanwhile, a group of unexpected guests arrived at Li Jiajing.

After clearing away the onlookers, the party stood atop a certain dike, pointing and discussing the raging river.

“...I’ve long wished to come see the Yellow River, to learn from its history. A thousand years of managing the Yellow River is the story of our hundred million Huaxia people’s struggle.”

After speaking these words, Zhu Yijun turned his gaze from the Yellow River to Sun Jigao: “Have you finished recording?”

Sun Jigao, who had been furiously writing in the Daily Records, hurriedly completed his final stroke—Zhaozheng qi lu, qian shou qi cui—and hastily put down his brush.

Zhu Yijun nodded at this, signaling Pan Jixun to proceed with the main matter.

Pan Jixun wasted no time: “Throughout history, the Yellow River has breached its banks over a thousand times, changed course more than twenty major times, and nearly flooded twice every three years.”

“Overall, the lower reaches of the Yellow River’s course changes can be divided into three periods: northward flow, eastward flow, and southward flow.”

“Before Wang Mang’s third year of founding his state, it was the northward flow period; the lower Yellow River flowed through today’s Daguh River into Shaohai.”

Zhu Yijun waved his hand to interrupt Pan Jixun: “Say Bohai.”

Pan Jixun paused, then realized Shaohai had been renamed Bohai by imperial decree.

He readily corrected himself: “In Wang Mang’s third year, the Yellow River breached at Weijun and flooded for years; after Wang Jing’s river management, it shifted eastward, flowing through today’s Shandong into Bohai.”

“Until the eighth year of Qingli in the previous Song dynasty, it remained in the eastward flow period.”

“After Jianyan’s second year, the Yellow River gradually encroached upon the Si River and diverted the Huai River, flowing south through the Si River, converging at Qingkou into the Huai River, then entering the Great Ming Sea… ah, the East China Sea.”

“Until today, it has remained in the southward flow period.”

Zhu Yijun now had a clearer understanding and summarized: “So, over a thousand years, the Yellow River has gradually shifted from north to south.”

Pan Jixun carefully chose his words to explain patiently to the Emperor: “The upper and middle reaches have not changed so orderly—Ningxia’s section has moved westward and eastward; the Hetao section has swung north and south; the Yongji-Tongguan section has been chaotic and frequent.”

“But speaking solely of the lower reaches, it has indeed gradually shifted southward.”

Zhu Yijun pondered a moment, then asked an outsider’s question: “If water constriction and sand flushing fails, would it be better for the Yellow River to divert south through Huai, or return to Bohai?”

Pan Jixun frowned and instinctively rebutted: “Your Majesty, water constriction and sand flushing has already proven effective. Since Wanli’s fifth year, the Yellow River has suffered no further disturbances—how can you say it has failed?”

What was the situation before Wanli’s fifth year?

In Wanli’s fourth year, it breached Feng and Pei; in the third year, Dangshan; in the second year, the Huai River overflowed; in the first year, it breached Fangcun; in Longqing’s fifth year, it breached Wangjiakou; in the fourth year, Pizhou; in the third year, Peixian…

It wasn’t just annual breaches—it was nearly constant.

But since water constriction and sand flushing was implemented, success came in Wanli’s fifth year, and the Yellow River instantly fell silent—years of calm have followed!

How could this be called failure?

Seeing Pan Jixun’s stubborn expression, Zhu Yijun opened his mouth but held back.

He very much wanted to say the effectiveness lasted only ten years—that by Wanli’s fifteenth year, the old chaos returned—but the statement had no context, and he didn’t know how to begin.

Zhu Yijun changed tack: “The hidden dangers of the river and canal system run deep—how can we not prepare in advance?”

Pan Jixun had no reply.

“Your Majesty, Zhang Junlü has arrived.”

Everyone turned around.

There, dusty and weary, Deng Yizan climbed onto the dike and bowed to the Emperor.

Zhu Yijun gave a slight nod: “Let’s go. Have him show us how Xuzhou’s river and canal system has been ruined.”