Chapter 363: Chickens Crowing, Waiting for Dawn: Eat Less, Work More

“Has no attempt been made to resolve the inland flooding along this route?”

As Zhu Yijun traveled, he could only describe the damage as widespread inundation.

The Yellow River had carved countless small streams near Xuzhou, drowning homes and fields; even after the flood season receded, water remained pooled, forming inland floods.

Even the roads were not spared—this was no longer mere waterlogging; there were ponds spanning the very path!

The party detoured around the water, and Zhang Junlü shook his head, explaining to the Emperor: “Your Majesty, there is virtually no solution.”

“The inland flooding in Xuzhou stems first from groundwater recharge; open channels are intermittent and nearly impossible to map accurately, compounded by autumn floods and Yellow River overflow, whose newly carved channels rarely follow consistent paths.”

“The geography is especially complex.”

“Beyond geography, every village and household has built its own bridges—old, crude, and severely narrowing the riverbed; their culverts are too small, severely obstructing flood flow and causing overflows on both banks.”

“When I first assumed office, I considered widening the river and diverting flow, but the total dredging of the 32-li riverbank in my jurisdiction, plus land acquisition compensation, would require a staggering sum of silver—”

“Later, when the local people heard rumors that the Water Office planned to dismantle the self-built bridges, they immediately gathered in protest, and the matter was dropped.”

The speaker was helpless; the listener powerless.

Zhu Yijun suddenly understood why, afterward, the people of Xuzhou would rather abandon their vital position on the Grand Canal and jointly petition to dig a new channel to divert water.

This living environment was truly unsustainable.

Silence fell.

“Your Majesty, two more li ahead lies Lilingpu.”

Zhang Junlü, experiencing for the first time the peril of serving a sovereign, grew ever more cautious in reporting each stop, mindful of the Emperor’s capricious moods.

Winter evenings arrived slightly earlier.

Beneath the setting sun, the cluster of buildings two li away was barely visible.

Zhu Yijun gazed at the faint outline of the settlement and asked: “Lilingpu—how many pu-sheds does Xuzhou currently have? How many laborers?”

”

A pu was essentially a police station with communal dormitories, responsible for patrolling, maintaining order, digging wells, postal delivery, and capturing bandits.

Yet the Water Office’s pu were grueling posts, with no official staffing; most labor was performed by conscripted laborers.

Zhang Junlü paused, startled.

He was merely a Director; the Emperor’s question about the entire Xuzhou river stretch was beyond his knowledge.

At that moment, Wan Gong stepped in: “Your Majesty, the pu-sheds were established in the thirteenth year of Yongle, upon petition by the Earl of Pingjiang, Chen Xuan, with one every five li from Tongzhou to Yizhen, totaling five hundred and sixty-eight.”

“Over successive reigns, some were abolished or streamlined; today, there are four hundred and twenty-seven.”

“From Xuzhou to Huai’an, a river stretch of six hundred and five li, there are sixty-one pu-sheds.”

“As for laborers, their categories are numerous, and frequent shifts due to construction schedules make precise real-time counts impossible.”

The number of laborers on the river and canal was immense, yet their duties were exceptionally specialized.

Lock laborers and current laborers managed sluices; dike laborers maintained embankments; flood laborers, water-level watchers, and surveyors maintained the Xu and Lü floods and transported massive stones; shallow laborers patrolled, maintained order, and delivered mail; spring laborers dredged springs to supplement river flow—each role distinct.

Moreover, prefectures and counties conscripted laborers according to specific projects, so monthly numbers varied.

Even the Ministry of Works could not track them accurately.

After Wan Gong finished, Pan Jixun added timely clarification: “For October this year, on the stretch from Xuzhou to Huai’an: there are seven sluices, with 110 lock laborers; 169 dike sections, with 2,532 dike laborers; for the three Xuzhou floods, 901 flood laborers at Baibu Flood, and 1,550 at the Lüliang floods; the shallow laborers assigned to the pu-sheds total 1,180, with approximately 863 currently on duty.”

Locks, 110 lock keepers; 169 river embankments, 2,532 embankment workers; Xuanchou’s Three Rapids, 901 rapid workers at Baibu Rapid, 1,550 rapid workers at Liangliang Rapids; 1,180 shallow-dredging workers assigned, approximately 863 currently on duty.

“As for other laborers, I cannot account for them all.”

These two river experts were no idle men; flanking the Emperor on either side, they recited figures effortlessly, answering his every question.

Zhu Yijun nodded slowly, gaining a rough sense of the scale.

The Earl of Pingjiang claimed Xuzhou had thirty thousand laborers—likely during flood season; outside autumn floods, conscripted laborers probably numbered around eight thousand.

Zhu Yijun gazed at the withered, yellow grass along the banks and the bare trees stripped bare by the cold wind, and asked curiously: “Are these trees along the riverbank planted by the pu laborers?”

Willow trees along the dike, besides beautifying spring mist, served the practical purpose of stabilizing soil.

Planting trees to stabilize soil was no novel idea; the Guanzi’s “Du Di” already recorded: “Plant thorns and brambles to secure the land.”

It was genuine ancestral wisdom.

Since the founding of the dynasty, the Earl of Pingjiang, Chen Xuan, through practice, developed a mature theory and standardized willow planting along the riverbanks to reinforce dikes—the title “Earl of Pingjiang” was not granted in vain.

By the early Jiajing era, Tao Xie, as Vice Censor-in-Chief of Henan, codified the law: “Plant willows along the riverbanks to reinforce dikes,” and taught different planting methods: which vegetation “could protect dikes against overflow,” and which plants “were exclusively for dike reinforcement.”

Zhu Yijun had not expected the trees to be planted so densely—nearly like a greenbelt.

Zhang Junlü followed the Emperor’s gaze and nodded: “Reeds and rushes are planted by dike laborers; grasses and catalpa trees by shallow laborers; willows by spring laborers.”

Laborers’ duties were clearly divided—even the types of trees planted differed.

Wan Gong, seeing the Emperor’s approving expression, proudly claimed credit: “Your Majesty, for two hundred years, our dynasty has persistently planted without ceasing—no achievement surpasses this.”

“Take willows alone: from Yanzhou in Shandong through Xuzhou to Taoyuan, Huai’an, Yingzhou, Fengyang, and other prefectures and counties, we plant low willows one per chi, deep willows one per five chi, woven willows one per seven chi, and riverside willows one every fifteen steps.”

“In the third year of JingTai, the Earl of WuGong petitioned the Ministry of Works, stating: ‘Dense planting of one hundred thousand willows—this is a century-long achievement.’”

The Earl of WuGong was Xu Youzhen.

To Emperor Daizong, Xu the Third was a weakling, yet in water management, he was commendable.

Wan Gong, mounted on his donkey, lifted his chin high: “By last year, seventy-three thousand seven hundred and seventy willows had been planted along the river and canal banks!”

His pride was unmistakable.

Zhu Yijun was equally astonished—seven hundred thousand trees!? The number dwarfed any previous dynasty.

This did not even include other vegetation.

Amid his amazement, he could not help but wonder: “Surely no one dares to steal them?”

Trees were excellent building material and fuel—worth as much as coins lying on the ground.

Zhang Junlü turned and explained: “Your Majesty, the pu patrols exist precisely to prevent tree theft.”

“The Water Office conducts regular inspections; any failure to prune, theft, or insect damage is punished according to regulations.”

This was, of course, a sign of sound governance.

Yet Zhu Yijun could not help sighing: “No wonder everyone says corvée labor is cruel.”

Even part-time tree planting is this burdensome—how much worse must hauling boats, repairing dikes, and hauling bricks be?

He spurred his horse forward, continuing to inquire about the ratio of conscripted to hired laborers, and food allowances.

As the Emperor and his ministers spoke, Zhu Yijun’s peripheral vision caught a group of rough-clad figures near the roadside, holding saws and iron tools, gathered around a swaying willow tree.

The moment he glanced over, the towering willow gave way and crashed to the ground with a thunderous crash.

Dust billowed up; the men stared at each other in silence.

This was clearly willow theft.

Zhang Junlü’s face darkened—he had just been boasting of the Water Office’s success in preventing theft, and now this happened right before him.

And this spot was only a few hundred steps from Lilingpu!

“What are you doing!”

Zhang Junlü reined his horse closer and barked sharply.

The thieves turned and saw a group of mounted men in armor, swords at their sides—unfamiliar intruders.

Their attire—what kind of military officer was this?

The thieves shuddered in unison and pressed back-to-back.

The leader swallowed hard and forced a smile: “Gentlemen, finders keepers—these eight straightest willows are our tribute to you, honored officers. May you prosper, prosper, prosper!”

He pointed to the felled willow.

Zhang Junlü’s expression turned grim.

As he drew nearer, he saw these men had not stolen just one or two trees—within a hundred steps, over a dozen large willows lay crooked and fallen!

Each tree represented decades of river work!

Seeing the Emperor remained silent, Zhang Junlü snapped coldly: “Stealing willows—don’t you fear being caught by the shallow laborers of Lilingpu and dragged before the magistrate?”

The leader thought this was a refusal to accept the bribe.

He clasped his fists and bowed with a sly grin: “Take them, gentlemen—we’re the shallow laborers of Lilingpu!”

Zhang Junlü was stunned, at a loss for words.

Zhu Yijun, however, grew curious and studied them closely.

Most were in their forties or fifties, dressed in coarse hemp and short brown tunics, elbows and shoulders worn pale, pant legs rolled to the knees, calves nearly hairless, crisscrossed with countless open wounds.

As the saying goes, “Jump into the Yellow River and you can’t wash clean”—because Yellow River silt clings; prolonged soaking peels away layer after layer of skin. Whether these thieves, Zhang Junlü, or even Zhang Zhan of Peixian’s corpse—all had the same hairless legs.

The leader bowed, revealing deformed finger joints—marks of years gripping tow ropes.

All these signs confirmed they were indeed shallow laborers.

Once Zhu Yijun confirmed they were not disguised ambushers, he rode past his guards and approached, studying them curiously.

At that moment, one of the laborers, sharp-eyed, stared fixedly at Zhang Junlü and ventured softly: “Master Zhang? Is that Master Zhang?”

At once, all the laborers turned to gaze at Zhang Junlü.

“Master Zhang? Wasn’t he thrown into prison by Wu Fukuai?”

“It really is him!”

“Master Zhang! Has the court cleared your name? Thank heaven and earth!”

They crowded around Zhang Junlü, chattering excitedly, examining him closely.

The leader stared for a long moment, then grinned: “I’m Wang Wu, head shallow laborer of Lilingpu! Master Zhang stayed here years ago—slept in my hut!”

Zhang Junlü had been released from prison, unclear whether truly exonerated; now surrounded by laborers’ earnest concern, he instinctively turned his head away.

Zhu Yijun, watching this reception, glanced sidelong at Deng Yizan.

From the laborers’ attitude alone, one could see Zhang Junlü’s standing among the people—titles like “Master” and “Blue Sky” were not casually bestowed.

Even if we step back a thousand paces, how could every laborer recognize your face if you never left the yamen?

These “Old Master” titles were earned step by step along the river canal by these laborers themselves.

This sharply contrasts with the nickname of the Department Magistrate Wu Zhipeng—“Wu the Exaggerator” wasn’t given for nothing; he’d dam a small pond and call it a reservoir, dig a few cubic feet of earth and stone and claim to have dredged the Yellow River.

Though the laborers were glad for the ease, they knew perfectly well who among Zhang and Wu was better or worse.

Zhu Yijun reined his horse forward and steadied the flustered Zhang Junlü, saying: “We are reviewing Master Zhang’s case; this inspection of the river conditions is part of that.”

“If there are no major leaks, Master Zhang’s innocence will be cleared soon.”

Upon hearing this, the laborers’ faces lit up with joy.

But Zhu Yijun changed tone, fixing his gaze on the shallow-labor foreman: “You’re Wang Wu, right?—So, your theft of willow wood was learned during Master Zhang’s tenure? Was Master Zhang truly negligent?”

The foreman’s face turned pale with panic, nearly leaping up.

He hurriedly explained: “No, no! We never did this before! Only after Old Master Zhang left did the officials lose restraint—we struggled to eat, so we had no choice but to find our own way.”

Those behind the Emperor exchanged knowing glances.

Struggling to eat? Forced to cut wood? It sounded like an absurd excuse.

Wan Gong couldn’t help asking: “Are you laborers or hired laborers?”

“The court has long set standards: shallow laborers receive three dou of grain monthly; hired laborers get one tael and two cash. How could you starve?”

Laborers served personally; hired laborers paid the government to avoid labor, and the government recruited substitutes.

The former received grain rations: three dou per month, with one dou now worth fifty-three cash.

The latter’s pay varied by task and month: “Lock keepers and bridge keepers received nine cash monthly; others one tael,” and “those far away earned one tael and two cash monthly; those nearby, nine cash.”

These were all sums clearly recorded in the Ministry of Works’ accounts—how could anyone starve?

The foreman, seeing Wan Gong’s official bearing and recognizing him as a stranger, hesitated, unsure of his status.

But those behind him couldn’t hold back, raising their necks indignantly: “We’re laborers! We used to get three dou monthly—enough to eat.”

“But the officials went mad—they declared that from this month on, we must save one jin of grain per day!”

Laborers had no discipline; once someone started, chaos erupted.

“If not for this, we wouldn’t cut the dike trees—we live right by the river!”

“The Police Inspector said from now on, we’ll get only one dou monthly until work ends—we’ll starve! How can we pull boats if we can’t eat?”

Everyone stared in shock—one jin saved daily?

Zhu Yijun studied the laborers’ expressions—they seemed genuine—and his brow tightened further.

One dou equals ten sheng; grain weights vary.

For example, one dou of millet weighs about thirteen and a half jin; one dou of wheat, fourteen and a half jin.

Shallow laborers perform heavy work; three dou was a reasonable ration, even exceeding the thirty-nine point seven jin allotted in later eras for heavy laborers.

But reduced to one dou—they’d be forced to eat bran and greens!

Zhang Junlü turned livid, forgetting he was interrupting the Vice Minister of Works, and roared: “Save one jin daily? Who’s gone mad?!”

The foreman flinched at Zhang’s phrasing.

He quickly bowed in supplication: “Old Master Zhang, don’t say ‘gone mad’!”

His companions echoed him.

“Not mad! Not mad at all!”

Someone whispered, warning Zhang Junlü: “They say it was His Majesty’s own words.”

The foreman, seeing his companions blabbering recklessly, grew inwardly furious.

He dared not cut them off, and resumed pleading innocence: “Precisely because of this, the Inspector said this month’s ration should be one dou—but since His Majesty hadn’t yet ordered it, we couldn’t deduct it, so we owe two dou extra—”

The ministers listened to the laborers’ accusations, their expressions strange.

They hadn’t expected the blame to land on the Emperor.

“Nonsense!”

The Directorate of Ceremonial, unable to bear the Emperor bearing slander, Wei Chao snapped: “Where did you hear this street gossip? It’s an insult to the ears!”

The foreman shuddered.

He sensed accusation and hurriedly explained: “No! I didn’t make this up—it was said right in the yamen!”

He pointed toward the nearby shallow station: “Your Excellencies, look—the Inspector hung banners there at noon!”

Wei Chao frowned, instinctively following the foreman’s gaze.

Night had fully fallen; visibility was poor.

The station ahead was densely packed with houses; lanterns lit along the riverbank barely revealed banners a hundred paces away.

What they saw froze them in horror!

The station’s exterior was covered in banners.

【To Support the Wanli Reforms, Save One Jin of Grain Daily】

【Today’s Service Shows Loyalty to Court; Tomorrow’s Reforms Will Benefit the People】

【Eat Only One Dou—Save Grain for Old Age】

The powerful slogans blared before them; from Emperor to laborer, all flushed crimson beneath them.

Just as the atmosphere grew strange,

a thin boy sprinted from the direction of the station, stumbling and scrambling.

He shouted without pause: “Uncle Wu! Uncle Wu, something’s wrong!”

“The villagers in the station all ate something bad—they’re all vomiting foam and having diarrhea!”

The foreman’s face turned ashen: “What?!”

Shallow laborers were recruited locally; Wang Wu was barely forty but held high status in the village, so he was appointed as the shallow station elder—commonly called the foreman.

Thus, if anyone died or fell ill, he had no face to face his fellow villagers.

Hearing his kin were vomiting foam, his face turned deathly pale.

The boy gripped the foreman’s arm, gasping for breath, desperate: “Quick, Uncle Wu, come with me to fetch the physician!”

Vomiting and diarrhea meant food poisoning; delay treatment, and even immortals couldn’t save them.

The foreman knew the urgency—he grabbed the boy and bolted away.

The laborers abandoned the freshly cut willows and rushed after him.

In an instant, the roadside fell silent.

When the ministers turned back to seek the Emperor’s orders, they saw Jiang Keqian already leading men to saddle horses and gallop after the foreman.

The Embroidered Uniform Guard had taken on the duty of saving lives—fast horses, swift riders, rushing to fetch the physician.

As for the Emperor, he had silently spurred his horse and followed the laborers toward Lili Station.