Chapter Eight: The Foundation of the People

At Liwan Wharf, the soldiers on patrol had all withdrawn into the teahouses and taverns along the street. They had long since received orders from their superiors: today, not a single boat would be allowed to weigh anchor and enter the river. With this rare lull in their duties and the rain falling, they gathered in small groups, seeking shelter and idleness inside the teahouses and taverns.

Only the several large boats that had docked that afternoon still retained ten men each to keep watch aboard. The holds of those boats were filled entirely with grain—purchased by several grain merchants in the city, in a joint venture with the south. Over the past few days, with unrest stirring among the common folk, the grain had not been unloaded. According to the plan, it would be quietly transported into the city only after the floodwaters receded. Such a significant matter was known only to a select few confidants; consequently, the soldiers assigned to guard duty paid it little heed and were rather lax. Who would willingly stand outside in such weather, looking like a fool?

Thus, the unlucky soldiers who could not slip into a teahouse or tavern to escape the rain and perhaps enjoy a drink grumbled and cursed as they each sought their own hiding places. The damp, cold wind, mingling with windblown drizzle, ceaselessly swept in from the river toward the shore. It set the lanterns swinging wildly, sent debris tumbling across the deserted pier, and rocked the small moored boats along the bank.

Clang!

A night watchman, cloaked in a rain cape, hunched his neck and dragged his long shadow as he struck the first gong of the night. As he moved further away, from the shadows beneath the darkened boat canopies, many black figures slipped quietly into the water.

One of the clerks from the coach-and-horse company, Zhang Yun, wiped his face as he surfaced and cast a worried glance toward the levee. In his heart, he prayed: May nothing happen to the lord, may nothing happen to the levee.

…

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, at the west gate of Bingzhou City, two gate captains squatted beside the inset wicket door, whispering quietly.

“Keep your ears open. Tonight, we must not drag Lord Di down.”

“I know… Ah, but I really do admire that Lord Di. He’s risking his head for this—and he’s so young…”

“If he’s willing to risk it, we’ll follow. What’s there to discuss? My son got into trouble, and he saved him. If he’s in danger, I’d risk everything for him.”

“You make it sound like I wouldn’t! He saved your son and he saved my mother. If not for him, my mother would have died on the road—I wouldn’t even have seen her one last time… I’m just worried something might happen to him, that’s all.”

“Don’t worry. We have to trust him.”

“Mm!”

At that moment, the sound of shuffling footsteps approached from outside the gate—quite a few by the sound of it. The two men quickly stood and opened the small door. One by one, people wearing bamboo hats and carrying empty cloth sacks over their shoulders—clearly poor commoners—pressed their lips together, lowered their heads, and filed in. As they passed the two captains, each of them gave a deep bow. The gesture nearly brought tears to the soldiers’ eyes, but more than that, it filled them with a burning sense of pride. Perhaps the true purpose of being a soldier was not in how many enemies one had vanquished, nor in how many honors one had earned, but in moments such as these, when the deepest sense of achievement was found in the midst of such heartfelt gratitude.

Tonight, many were moved by the actions and sacrifices of others. The message the commoners had received in the afternoon had brought the obedient quietly to the gate. Even those who doubted still came. They could wait no longer, nor could the fields that needed planting. Many of their families had been taken—some had even wanted to rise up in open revolt. They had heard in whispers that Lord Di, famed for solving countless cases, had promised them rice and the return of their loved ones. However hesitant, they had chosen to believe, to take this risk tonight.

Now, seeing the city gate truly open, their worries eased, and they became even more cooperative. The wind had grown steadily stronger, though the rain was beginning to relent. The commoners, heads bowed, pressed close to the walls as they moved silently through the darkness, one after another.

Tonight, the city was shrouded in extraordinary darkness. The lanterns that usually hung from the street sides had been snuffed out at some unknown hour. Only the distant sound of the watchman’s gong could be heard from time to time, always far away. The hoofbeats of the patrol cavalry never came near.

The long line of people stretched from inside the city all the way out beyond the gates. Some quietly directed others where to stand, collecting the empty sacks they had brought. Soon, bag after bag of goods was passed silently along the line. It was rice—they could feel it, even catch the scent of fresh grain at the tips of their noses.

A surge of excitement ran through everyone.

There was food—real food.

Quick, pass it on!

Faster, faster, faster still!

…

At the prefect’s prison, both inside and out, the commoners being quietly led away increased their pace, following those at the front and gradually joining the chain of people passing the grain along. No one could see clearly who was who, but all understood: the rice had arrived, their lives this year were saved; their loved ones had returned, and all would be well, everything would be well.

Some tried to slip away from the line under cover of darkness, but hadn’t gone far before being knocked out and dragged away. At such a moment, anyone who disobeyed was deemed suspicious. Those who heard a disturbance and rose to light a candle and look outside were met with stern, hushed warnings from beyond the courtyard wall. They shrank back into their beds, eyes open, ears pricked, listening intently. They too were poor folk.

The route had been chosen to pass through the neighborhoods and alleys where the impoverished lived. The governor’s troops were stationed twenty li beyond the city; aside from special arrangements—such as guarding the wharf—the city’s regular defense was handled by the city garrison, a separate force.

Tonight, Chen Jun, the captain in charge of the city patrol, had received stern instructions from his father and was cooperating with all tonight’s actions.

His father had said: “You, a lowly patrol chief, see the chaos in the city day after day—doesn’t it trouble you? Think of all the people who suffer disaster every year in this city—doesn’t it nearly choke you with frustration? Yet who has ever cared about you? I only wanted justice for our family’s tenant farmers, and I was beaten and thrown in jail for it—you could only bring me food and clothing. What could I expect from you? If not for Lord Di clearing my name and restoring justice, I would have died in the prefect’s prison. Then what face would you have had to burn incense for your father’s spirit?

My son, go. Do what a man must do. Even if not for this debt of gratitude, think of the people—think of Lord Di, who stands alone at the forefront for their sake. Go. Whatever happens, our whole family will bear it with you.”

So Chen Jun had come.