Chapter 89 Chaos Has Emerged – This Is Fate's Will
The torrential rain has been falling for seven days straight.
Li Dashan stood on the high ground at the village entrance, watching the turbid floodwaters, like a hungry beast, swallow up the riverside village where he had lived for thirty-five years. His mud-brick house swayed twice in the flood, then collapsed like a softened pancake, splashing up huge sprays of water.
“It’s all over…” Li Dashan muttered to himself, his rough fingers digging deep into his palms. He could clearly hear his wife’s suppressed sobs behind him, and his five-year-old son’s terrified choking.
"Dad, our home..." The son tugged at his clothes, his face pale.
Li Dashan squatted down and wiped the rain and tears from his son's face with his calloused hands: "Don't be afraid, the government will send people to rescue us soon."
These words seemed to give the surrounding villagers a glimmer of hope. The dozens of people gathered on the high ground began to whisper among themselves.
"Yes, I've heard that the county magistrate is very compassionate towards the people."
"Didn't the imperial court exempt the neighboring county from taxes the year before last when it flooded?"
"It's alright, the government will definitely distribute relief grain once the floodwaters recede..."
Village head Zhao Dequan walked over, leaning on his cane, water droplets still clinging to his white beard: "Don't panic, everyone. I've already sent someone to the county to inform them. The county magistrate is kind and won't abandon us."
Li Dashan nodded and pulled his wife and children up to higher ground. The rain was still falling, but it had lessened somewhat. He gazed at the floating belongings in the distance—the spinning wheel of Widow Zhang, the anvil of Blacksmith Wang, and the wooden plow he had made himself—all now floating on the floodwaters.
Three days later, the floodwaters finally began to recede.
The villagers waded through knee-deep mud back to their village, and the sight before them silenced them all. Only a tenth of the houses remained, the fields had turned into a swamp, and even the century-old locust tree at the village entrance had been uprooted.
Li Dashan trudged through the mud to the ruins of his home, where he found a broken hoe. It was their most valuable possession, bought just last autumn after the harvest.
"Husband, how are we going to live like this..." Wang, the wife, slumped down in the mud, tightly hugging her son.
Li Dashan didn't speak, but gripped the hoe handle even tighter. He looked up towards the county town; there should be officials there, hot porridge, clean clothes, and a doctor to treat the sick...
That evening, the more than one hundred survivors huddled in the Zhao family ancestral hall, the only building in the village that hadn't been completely destroyed. After counting the people, Zhao Dequan's expression grew even more grave: "Twenty-seven people are missing, mostly the elderly and children..."
The fate of these people needs no further explanation.
A low sobbing sound came from inside the ancestral hall.
"Don't be too sad, everyone," Zhao Dequan raised his voice. "I sent someone to the county again this morning, this time my son went in person. The county magistrate said that the imperial relief grain will arrive by the day after tomorrow at the latest!"
These words were like a shot in the arm, rekindling hope in the despairing crowd. Seeing the tears in his wife's eyes, Li Dashan breathed a sigh of relief.
The day after tomorrow, if we just hold on for two more days...
On the morning of the seventh day, Li Dashan was awakened by his son's crying.
"Dad, I'm hungry..." The child's face had thinned, and his lips were chapped.
A sense of despair permeated the ancestral hall. The elderly huddled in a corner, and the children, no longer crying, stared blankly with empty eyes. Zhao Dequan's son, whom he had sent out three days ago, had not returned, nor had any government officials appeared.
"I'm going to find something to eat." Li Dashan picked up the broken hoe handle and decided to risk going back to the village to check.
The village, now devastated by the receding floodwaters, reeked of decay. Li Dashan, trudging through the mud, finally unearthed his family's buried grain jar at the base of a collapsed wall. The moment he lifted the lid, his heart sank – the grain was completely rotten and covered in mold.
"Brother Dashan..." a weak voice came from behind. Li Dashan turned around and saw Widow Zhang standing not far away, holding her three-year-old daughter. The mother and daughter were so thin that they were unrecognizable.
"Have you... found anything to eat?" Li Dashan asked.
Widow Zhang shook her head, tears streaming silently down her face: "Everything's gone... Niu Niu hasn't eaten for two days..."
Looking at the moldy grain in the grain jar, Li Dashan gritted his teeth and grabbed two handfuls of relatively intact beans, stuffing them into the hands of Widow Zhang: "Make do with these for now, the officials should be here soon."
When Li Dashan returned to the ancestral hall, he sensed something was amiss. A group of people were gathered together, and arguing could be heard from the center.
"That's the last bit of food my family has!" An old man clutched a cloth bag tightly.
"Old man, everyone's starving to death, and you're still hiding things?" The hooligan Wang Er and a few young men were robbing.
Li Dashan was about to step forward when his wife stopped him: "Don't go... Wang Er and his gang robbed all of Liu's grain at the west end of the village yesterday. Old Man Liu tried to stop them, and they beat him up..."
Li Dashan stared at his wife in shock, then looked around. In a corner of the ancestral hall, several unfamiliar men were staring at the women, their gazes making him very uncomfortable. Zhao Dequan sat in the chair in the center of the ancestral hall, seemingly aging ten years overnight, oblivious to the chaos before him.
As night fell, the atmosphere in the ancestral hall grew even more eerie. Li Dashan settled his wife and children in the corner closest to the wall, then stood guard beside them, hoe handle in hand. In the middle of the night, he heard a woman's scream, a man's sinister laugh, and Zhao Dequan's hoarse shouts, followed by a muffled thud...
The next morning, Li Dashan saw Zhao Dequan lying at the entrance of the ancestral hall. The old man had a bloody hole in his forehead, and his eyes were still open, looking towards the county town.
“The village head…the village head was taken by Wang Er and his men…” a villager said, trembling.
Li Dashan felt a wave of dizziness. The authorities hadn't arrived, order had collapsed, and even the respected village head had been killed. He looked at the people lying haphazardly in the ancestral hall; some were starving and on the verge of death, others were dividing up looted food, and still others were groping helpless women...
"Husband, what should we do?" The wife hugged her son tightly, her voice trembling.
Li Dashan looked towards the county town, but there was still no movement there. He gripped the hoe handle tightly and suddenly understood something—in this forgotten corner, they had no government, no law, only the most primal instinct for survival.
Just then, he saw his wife secretly take half a moldy biscuit from her bosom and give it to a child who was about to faint from hunger. The child was Zhang the widow's daughter.
"You..." Li Dashan wanted to say that was their last ration of food, but the words caught in his throat. Even in the darkest hour of humanity, his wife remained kind, but what about him? He touched the handle of the hoe, wondering if he would become like Wang Er tomorrow...
It started raining again outside the ancestral hall.
The wind in the capital city grows colder day by day.
The old emperor was too old; his withered fingers rested on the dragon throne like a dry, rotten piece of firewood, as if they would break at the slightest touch. Yet his eyes remained wide open, cloudy, as if trying to see through the thoughts of everyone below.
But who can truly see through it all?
The princes below were already itching for a chance; who wouldn't want to wield that supreme power? Once you've tasted power, it's hard to give it up. The eldest prince stood outside the hall, gazing at the soaring eaves of the Golden Palace, a cold smile playing on his lips.
He knows all too well what power tastes like.
From a young age, he knew he was the eldest son, the one closest to the throne. But the old emperor delayed in appointing an heir, allowing his brothers to fight amongst themselves like a pack of hungry wolves eyeing the same piece of meat. He was already impatient—why should he wait? Why should he endure?
The old emperor was biased.
Everyone in the court could see it, but no one dared to say it.
The youngest son of the Imperial Concubine was only fifteen or sixteen years old, yet he already enjoyed the Emperor's favor. The luminous pearl presented as tribute a few days ago was casually bestowed upon him by the old Emperor without even lifting his eyelids; when a senior official from the previous dynasty submitted a memorial advising the prince not to be arrogant, the memorial was dismissed by the Imperial Concubine with a nonchalant "the child is naughty" before it even reached the Emperor's court.
The eldest prince stood under the eaves, his knuckles white from gripping the glass so tightly.
On what grounds?
He was the eldest son! He was the one who studied military strategy diligently from a young age and shared the old emperor's burdens in the court! But in the old emperor's eyes, there was only that immature young son—simply because he had a handsome appearance, and simply because the concubine's whispers in his ear were too gentle.
He refused.
Rumors had already spread throughout the palace that the old emperor intended to depose the eldest son and install a younger one in his place.
The eldest prince sneered.
Fine, since the old man is heartless, don't blame him for being unjust.
The south was hit by a major flood, inundating several counties. Flood victims were displaced, and corpses littered the fields. Public resentment boiled over, bandits rose up everywhere, and chaos was brewing. This was all the fault of the incompetent ruler; Heaven, unable to bear seeing his utter incompetence, sent down divine punishment.
If someone else takes this position, God will be satisfied, and the flood will stop.
The eldest prince narrowed his eyes.
Chaos is good. The more chaotic things are, the more opportunities there are.
He had already secretly contacted several border generals, promising them great rewards; he had also won over several senior officials in the court, hinting that he would be richly rewarded in the future. Even the chief eunuch in the palace had accepted his money and could deliver a "perfectly timed" message to him at any time.
It's just a matter of timing.
The old emperor's health deteriorated day by day; his coughs drifted faintly from the depths of the palace, like a broken bellows. The eldest prince knew it was near.
He glanced down at his sleeves—the bright yellow lining was faintly visible, yet perfectly concealed by the outer robe.
He wouldn't be foolish enough to wear a dragon robe directly, but he could wear bright yellow clothes.
But soon, he will be able to change his clothes.
The eldest prince had never walked so lightly; he was about to obtain the most supreme power in the world.
So when his staff came to report that Jiang Yuanshan had transferred yamen runners from the government offices near Songyang County, he simply waved his hand and said, "It's just Songyang County, transferring a hundred people is more than enough."
However, he was genuinely interested in those two generals. You see, apart from the chief, the other leaders of Black Wind Stronghold were all quite capable. Take Mountain Tiger for example, he ate like a real tiger and wielded his knife with incredible skill.
On the battlefield, he was a force to be reckoned with, capable of taking on a hundred enemies single-handedly.
Qin Shubao actually defeated Kaishanhu in just three moves. How could the First Prince not want to recruit such a fierce general?
After all, he is currently short of manpower, especially for such a fierce general.
I wish Jiang Yuanshan all the best.
The eldest prince played with the tribute jade, his expression indifferent; he cared nothing for other matters.
The advisor's hands trembled slightly as he held the urgent memorial; the words on the bamboo slip—"Seven breaches in the dike, 100,000 disaster victims"—were blurred by sweat. He looked at the eldest prince, who was playing with a tribute jade, and his Adam's apple bobbed a few times: "Your Majesty, an urgent report from Huai'an Prefecture: the floods have submerged eight counties; the victims are gnawing on tree bark, resorting to cannibalism… Shouldn't we open the granaries…?"
"Let them fend for themselves," the eldest prince interrupted casually, his fingertips lightly stroking the jade disc.
"This is the will of Heaven."
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