Chapter 135: Patrolling the Embankment
The Jiangling Prefecture is characterized by its mountainous terrain, numerous rivers, and complex geography, boasting an extremely well-developed river system. In theory, Yushu Bay, nestled at the foot of the Great Green Mountain, sits at a high elevation; even if the Liu River were to burst its banks, it should not be affected.
However, the path of the Liu River is not straight. Over ten miles from Yushu Bay, there is a sharp bend, and should the banks fail, it would inevitably be at this critical curve where the defenses would first give way. Ironically, that location sits at an even higher elevation. If that section of the levee were to collapse, the surging waters of the Liu River would follow the incline and flood the area directly, turning Yushu Bay into a marshland and dragging all the nearby villages into ruin. This was a reality that neither Zhao Hengyi nor the old village chief and the village elders had realized.
Magistrate Liu Rui, in his efforts to prepare for flood prevention, had reviewed the county’s historical records and consulted with veteran clerks. Only then did he discover that Yushu Bay, a place he held in high regard, was currently in a state of extreme peril. Beyond the sharp bend, the sections of the Liu River passing through Dangyang County are relatively gentle and wide, posing little risk of bursting in the short term. It must be said that in this day and age, any land left unclaimed or unoccupied is almost always suspicious for a reason.
Upon receiving the news, Zhao Hengyi dared not be careless. He immediately instructed Miao Xiaoyu to take her sisters and Wei Linglan—who had not yet fully settled in—to seek temporary refuge at the villa of his sworn brother, Song Ying'an, the Earl of Dangyang. Although Miao Xiaoyu was loath to leave the villagers and the workshops behind, she was a sensible woman and understood that only when she and her sisters were safe could her husband focus on his work without distraction. Wei Linglan, on the other hand, was left speechless; her carriage had barely been unpacked before she was forced to head to Dangyang County, tasked with escorting Zhao Hengyi’s wife and sisters. As a guest invited for a visit, she found this "thief" Zhao Hengyi’s sense of hospitality truly unique.
Zhao Hengyi attached immense importance to the potential flood. In this era, if a levee breached and the floodwaters poured out, the devastation would be catastrophic. To put it bluntly, if the Liu River were to burst without warning, Yushu Bay would lose everything—its industries and workshops would be obliterated, and it would be fortunate if even one in ten people survived. Refusing to take the situation lightly, Zhao Hengyi sent off Wei Linglan’s carriage convoy and then rode with a dozen guards toward the levee, where Magistrate Liu had already gathered his men.
The rain remained light, but after nearly a month of steady downpour, even the lightest shower became unbearable. Once they left Yushu Bay, the roads turned to mud, and even on horseback, their progress was sluggish. By the time they reached the levee, Zhao Hengyi and his guards were in a miserable state.
Magistrate Liu Rui, who had always maintained a good relationship with Song San and Zhao Hengyi, had not intended to slight the wealthy merchant. In truth, it was only that morning, while leading an inspection, that he realized the water level of the Liu River had reached a critically dangerous point. Fortunately, a veteran clerk accompanying him remembered that twenty years prior, the river had breached at that same sharp bend, resulting in heavy casualties and the destruction of countless fields and houses.
Magistrate Liu was accompanied by the full roster of Dangyang County officials—inspectors, instructors, tutors, station masters, tax supervisors, clerks from the six departments, and the heads of the three guard divisions—none were absent. Magistrate Liu had long since declared that in the face of natural disaster, anyone who dared to be negligent would face his wrath. At this moment, the officials of Dangyang could no longer maintain their composure; dozens of men, clad in bamboo hats and straw rain capes, their feet shod in wooden clogs, trudged through the mud on the levee, stopping and starting in the relentless rain.
In addition to the county office staff, the prominent families of Dangyang had been summoned. As they stared at the churning, turbid waters of the Liu River, their faces turned ashen—whether from the biting chill of the rain or the terrifying sight of the river, so different from its usual peaceful flow, remained unclear.
Zhao Hengyi arrived on horseback and was led to the levee, where he quietly blended into the crowd to listen to the discussions. Outside the county seat, Zhao Hengyi was a formidable financier; many villagers were grateful to him for their livelihood, while some clan elders resented him for upending long-standing customs. But in the eyes of the wealthy families in the city, Zhao Hengyi was merely a rustic country bumpkin—even if he had saved up a few coins, he was hardly worth notice. In an age of poor information, Zhao Hengyi and Yushu Bay had risen too quickly. He did not mingle with the city elite, conducted business only with Song San, and shipped most of his goods to Jiangling City. His deliberate low profile meant that when he slipped into the crowd of inspectors, no one paid him any mind, save for Magistrate Liu, who caught his eye and gave a slight nod.
Zhao Hengyi, who had never visited the levee before, felt his heart sink the moment he stepped onto it. Unlike the levees made of large, solid stone blocks he had imagined, the embankments of Dangyang County were built entirely of packed earth. He even suspected that there was no stone foundation beneath the soil at all. After nearly a month of being soaked and eroded by rain, the earthen levee had turned into a muddy mess that squelched underfoot. Every person inspecting the site was covered in mud, looking no better than Zhao Hengyi, who had ridden through the storm to get there.
The wind on the levee was fierce, and the straw rain capes offered little protection. The group stopped to rest at a pavilion built for monitoring water levels. Although the pavilion was reasonably sized, it could not hold everyone, and the differences in status became immediately apparent as the servants and attendants were left outside.
As they removed their hats and capes, everyone’s expression turned grim. Many of the wealthy landowners had originally assumed that if the Liu River were to breach, it would inevitably happen at the sharp bend, and that even if the flood were fierce, it wouldn't reach them. But after inspecting the site with the Magistrate, fear began to take hold. The weather this year had been bizarre; the nearly month-long rain had not only soaked Dangyang County, but the entire region. The water level of the Liu River had risen to a terrifying degree.
Furthermore, how many years had it been since the levee had been properly maintained? While previous magistrates had kept records of annual repairs, everyone knew the truth: Dangyang was not a flood-prone area and had not seen major flooding in over a decade. Whether the levees had actually been repaired, or how they had been repaired, remained a mystery. Everything they saw along the levee was severely waterlogged—a truly shocking sight.
Magistrate Liu had specifically summoned the heads of these powerful families to accompany him; he was no mere bookworm. He understood that to secure the full cooperation of the city’s elite, he had to let them see the danger with their own eyes. The county office lacked money and manpower, but most critically, it lacked effective methods for repairing the levee. The current of the Liu River was already menacing, and if they continued to rely on old, slow methods to reinforce the banks, they would surely run out of time.
"Gentlemen, the water situation this year is dire!" Magistrate Liu Rui, soaked to the bone, spoke with a vigor that surprised everyone, appearing quite unlike the frail scholar they had imagined. "The levee of our Dangyang County is too low, built entirely of earth, without wooden piles or defensive reinforcements. If the water level rises any further, I fear that seven or eight out of every ten parts of our county will be transformed into a watery grave!"