Xi Hongxuan trembled, retching, his face ghostly pale. Seeing the situation, Han Jin quickly waded through the water to intercept him. Xiao Chiye released his grip, watching as Xi Hongxuan was carried onto a sedan chair. Rain continued to pour. Officials and attendants cried out, following Li Jianheng’s chair, swarming toward the palace gates.
Pan Xiangjie had lost his shoes; the old man clutched his robe, gasping for breath, still shouting, “Your Majesty!” Everyone around was much the same, except Hai Liangyi, composed as ever, running alongside the sedan all the way to the palace.
The imperial physicians, long on standby, hurriedly came forward, running chaotically toward the inner palace. Mu Rusu, dressed plainly, rushed to meet Li Jianheng; seeing him covered in blood, tears streamed down her face.
The Empress Dowager, supported by Hua Xiangyi, stepped out. Her tone sharp toward Han Cheng: “You acted too hastily. Why bring a group of elderly people along? They’re already aged, drenched in rain—if something happened to them, it would only worsen matters!”
The embroidered guard prostrated themselves; Han Cheng said, “Your servant deserves death ten thousand times over.”
“Quickly prepare hot broth and fresh clothes,” the Empress Dowager said to the ministers. “I am touched by your sincere loyalty. Now that the emperor has returned, haste cannot endanger reason. The weather is bitterly cold; everyone should retreat to side halls, drink hot broth, and avoid illness at this crucial moment.”
The ministers kowtowed in thanks.
The Empress Dowager continued: “Let the prime ministers, cabinet, and departmental officials enter and report.”
Cen Yu was absent; he remained on East Long Street, working with Xiao Chiye to clear the official waterways. Even Yu Xiaozai, though junior, followed along, carrying Cen Yu’s straw raincoat.
Xiao Chiye, drenched and shivering from the biting wind, showed no signs of discomfort. Earlier, he had lifted nearly a hundred pounds alone. Now, with cloth wrapped around his hands, his face betrayed fatigue.
“The low-lying areas are all poor households,” Cen Yu said, barefoot in the water, lifting his soaked official robe to tuck it at his waist. “Tearing down a rickety wooden house isn’t easy—most won’t agree. Today only East Long Street is flooded, but the street runs along the Kailing River. If the rain continues, other streets will flood tomorrow.”
“If the court were willing to compensate each poor household five taels of silver, they would comply,” Dantai Hu, half-submerged in mud, said. “Everyone just wants a place to live. But these large estates—illegally expanded, fighting for inches of land—are another matter. Asking them to demolish their homes for five taels? Impossible. Knocking on their doors is pointless.”
“Compensation likely won’t suffice,” Cen Yu said, seasoned in officialdom. “If the Ministry of Revenue disburses money, it’s only because of Hai Yuanfu’s influence. The amount must be accounted for. No family will willingly accept five taels for a well-built home.”
“Sir, forgive my crude words, but at this moment, who still thinks of silver?” Dantai Hu panted. “When the water rises further, people may die, disease may spread! Then silver won’t matter!”
“Brother Hu, don’t worry,” Yu Xiaozai raised his hand, calming everyone. “You don’t understand the accounting. The Ministry of Revenue has its difficulties—not truly stingy. They aim to do things properly, maintain appearances, and secure peace of mind. Yet they hesitate because funds are tight. Giving money now is urgent; soon, it’s spring planting time. Last year’s disasters left regions with no harvest. Local governments will report, and the Ministry must allocate funds for seed purchases. These are tens of thousands of people’s sustenance. Treasury funds cannot be moved lightly. Moreover, illegally expanded homes encroached on official channels. Pursuing punishment is legal, yet the court hasn’t penalized them yet. If mishandled, our Board of Censors would impeach the Ministry. Hence the difficulty.”
Yu Xiaozai’s calm reasoning, with his slight accent, could make even the most chaotic situation manageable. He spoke the truth—no bias, just the reality of the problem.
Spring planting directly affected the empire’s stability; frontier military provisions relied on harvests along the Juexi Thirteen Cities and Hezhou. No one could afford mistakes—it was of utmost importance.
What to do?
Forced demolition would anger the populace. Half the Imperial Guards were from Qudu households; some lived on East Long Street. Hai Liangyi had delegated the task to the Guards—effectively to Xiao Chiye. If left to the Eight Battalions, compromise was impossible. Han Jin would simply level the houses, but the hidden risks couldn’t be ignored.
This required Xiao Chiye’s strategy.
Tightly wrapping his hands, Xiao Chiye was about to speak when someone approached through the rain.
Shen Zechuan greeted them with a bow. “I presume you are here. How’s progress on the official waterways?”
“Difficult,” Cen Yu sighed. “Not easy to demolish.”
“The Ministry’s difficulty stems from uncertainty over spring planting costs,” Shen Zechuan said calmly, though his cheeks reddened. “This can be estimated. I’ve reviewed the embroidered guards’ records and have some insight. Governor, if you don’t mind, may I speak?”
Xiao Chiye nodded. “Proceed, please.”
Shen Zechuan considered. “Last year, the new emperor ascended, granting pardons. The west thus avoided thirty percent of taxes. Last year was a good harvest, except Huaizhou and Zhongbodun reported disasters. Governor, Dunzhou faces grain shortages; the local government will buy from the abundant Cizhou. Early in the year, heavy snow collapsed roofs in Zhongbo. The Crown Prince allocated forty thousand taels to Cizhou for relief. This can now be returned. If you write to Zhou Gui at Cizhou to sell Dunzhou grain at the adjusted forty thousand taels, the Ministry can save money, used for demolition compensation.”
Yu Xiaozai considered: “But encroachment on official channels—shouldn’t the Ministry punish them?”
“According to law, yes. Yet in special circumstances, exceptions apply,” Shen Zechuan paused. “The court cannot ignore the people. Compensation shows imperial favor. Cen Yu, you negotiate this; the Ministry isn’t heartless. If the accounts are clear and funds sufficient, they will act immediately.”
The upcoming inspection involved promotions; everyone wanted a good report. If reasonable, they would comply.
“Regarding Cizhou,” Shen Zechuan continued to Xiao Chiye, “Zhongbo will rebuild the old city. Though the official in charge is unknown, labor will cost money. As you helped Cizhou, future labor costs can be assigned to the demolished households. They’ll provide workers under Imperial Guard escort; a month suffices. Compensation of five taels is precise, both giver and receiver at ease.”
This also turned Cizhou’s indebtedness to Libei into a reciprocal relationship—Zhou Gui would recognize the political advantage.
Shen Zechuan finished. Yu Xiaozai gave Cen Yu the straw coat.
Cen Yu, preparing to act, patted Shen Zechuan on the shoulder. “Governor, time is tight. After this, I’ll host a modest drink at my home.”
Donning his straw hat, he left with Yu Xiaozai.
“Palace affairs are fine?” Xiao Chiye gripped Shen Zechuan’s wrist.
Dantai Hu hesitated, said nothing.
Shen Zechuan took his badge, observing for a moment. “The Empress Dowager summons officials to settle accounts—you’re not involved, which is fortunate. Waterways must be cleared quickly. Earlier, formalities were said, but if delays continue, responsibility falls to you.”
The two men stood there. Xiao Chiye did not intervene further, but seeing Shen Zechuan pale and drenched, he said: “Governor, return to your office, drink hot tea, and watch the gate.”
“That’s Han Cheng’s task,” Shen Zechuan replied. “The master is at the Temple of Confession. I must follow the Ministry to handle disaster relief.”
Xiao Chiye wanted to speak, but Han Jin called him. He let go and retreated, running with Dantai Hu and Chen Yang.
Shen Zechuan, now clearer despite the rain, led Ge Qingqing and others to the low-lying area.
Clearing the official channels was grueling and filthy. Ministry workers needed to change shoes and robes; those with positions stayed under shelters, avoiding water. Hai Liangyi had assigned this to the Ministry of Works and the Imperial Guards—they were helpers.
Shen Zechuan noticed fewer than ten people present—veteran Ministry hands were notoriously lazy; without incentives, they wouldn’t move.
Ge Qingqing asked, “It’s already dark. Why so few?”
The obsequious official attending Shen Zechuan replied, “They can’t be moved. The guards haven’t finished digging yet; once done, more workers can be summoned in the morning. Please, sit—oh, drenched! Drink hot tea to warm yourself!”
Shen Zechuan did not move, surveying the shelter with a smile. “You built this shelter yourself? Well done.”
The official beamed. “Yes! Busy as we are, no one would care—so we did it ourselves…”
His voice trailed off; the embroidered guards stood rigid behind Shen Zechuan, no one smiling.
Shen Zechuan took a sip of tea.
The official flattered, “This is fine tea from Hezhou, prepared for you—”
Shen Zechuan flipped it into his face. Shocked, the official stumbled back, spilling tea. Shen Zechuan tapped the bottom of the cup, draining the leaves, all while smiling in the pouring rain.
“Tea,” he said softly, “I honor you—why not drink it?”
The official scrambled to wipe tea, stammering: “T-too urgent—”
“The King of Hell calls, urgency is mandatory.” Shen Zechuan threw the cup, continuing, “The prime minister orders the embroidered guards to supervise relief. The execution order hangs at your neck. I poured the tea on the ground—must you drink it? Standing or kneeling, drink it now.”
The official, terrified, fell into the water, cupping it to his mouth, crying, “I’ll drink! I’ll drink!”
All onlookers, previously casual or mocking, quietly aligned along the edge.
Shen Zechuan scanned them. “Can this task be completed immediately?”
In unison: “All depends on Governor’s command.”
“I, as overseer, know nothing of procedure,” Shen Zechuan said, wiping his hands with a blue cloth, smiling. “We, the embroidered guards, follow you. Shall we go?”
Who dared refuse?
The trembling official tried to follow; Shen Zechuan glanced, and he stepped back, stammering.
“On this street,” Shen Zechuan reassured, “drink it all before coming up.”
Darkness fully fell, rain relentless. Even the formidable guards would be soaked in foul water. Shen Zechuan steadied himself on the boards, unnoticed amidst the busy workers.
Ge Qingqing whispered: “No rush. Resting a bit is fine.”
Shen Zechuan forced a smile, suppressing nausea, gripping the board, retrieving a water bag from beneath a collapsed room.
Suddenly, weight pressed on his back; someone covered his head. Squatting, he saw the obstruction lifted. Xiao Chiye, gasping, slipped a warm food box into his hands, then darted away, ready to leave.
Shen Zechuan lifted the covering; the figure returned, stepping over debris, crouched, and kissed his face heavily, then rubbed his cheeks.
Rain poured; Xiao Chiye panted fiercely, glanced briefly at Shen Zechuan in the dim light, said nothing, and ran off. Agile, he leaped from the rubble, donning his dirty wet robe, racing toward the Imperial Guards.
If not pressed for time…
Xiao Chiye cursed under his breath.