On the eleventh day of the spring month, the imperial envoy’s convoy arrived at Jiangning Prefecture—a major city in Jiangnan.
The sight outside the city gates made everyone’s breath catch.
Both sides of the official road were lined with ramshackle shelters—woven mats, torn cloth, even a few tree branches propped up to make a “home.”
The victims sat or lay about, their eyes hollow, their faces gaunt and sallow.
The air was thick with the stench of rot and despair. Several ragged children chased after the convoy, stretching out their withered little hands: “Sir, please… give us something to eat…”
Lin Shuying’s hand trembled as she lifted the carriage curtain.
In her previous life, she had seen disaster coverage on television, but witnessing it in person was an impact of an entirely different magnitude.
Those children—the oldest was no more than seven or eight, the youngest still nursing at its mother’s breast.
“Stop the carriage,” she said hoarsely.
The convoy halted.
Lin Shuying jumped down from the carriage and pulled out a bag of dried flatbreads—rations she had prepared for emergencies along the way.
“A-Gua, hand these out to everyone.”
“Miss, but…” A-Gua hesitated, “we don’t have much food ourselves.”
“Hand them out first.” Lin Shuying’s tone left no room for argument. “Even if we can only save one, it’s worth it.”
The flatbreads were meager—each person could only get a piece the size of half a palm. But even that small piece rekindled a spark of light in those numbed eyes. The victims knelt and kowtowed, weeping.
“Thank you, sir… thank you, merciful official…”
Lin Shuying turned her face away.
“Let’s enter the city first,” Xiao Shengrui walked over and said quietly. “There’s an official granary in the city—we’ll open it and distribute food.”
The convoy moved on.
As they passed through the refugee camp, Lin Shuying saw an elderly woman holding an infant. The baby lay still, its face tinged purple.
Her heart clenched. She was about to get down and check when Xiao Shengrui stopped her.
“It’s too late,” his voice was dry. “Every day… there are many.”
Lin Shuying closed her eyes, her nails digging into her palms.
— —
At the Jiangning Prefecture government office, the atmosphere was strange.
The prefect, surnamed Wu, was in his forties—plump and fair-skinned, smiling like a Maitreya Buddha.
But behind those squinting eyes, a shrewd light flickered.
“Your subordinate Wu Decai, respectfully welcomes the imperial envoy!” Prefect Wu led a line of officials in kneeling at the entrance of the government office, his demeanor so obedient that no fault could be found.
Xiao Shengrui sat in the main seat, expressionless: “Prefect Wu, how severe is the disaster?”
“Your Highness,” Prefect Wu wiped his sweat, “this breach of the Yellow River has hit Jiangning Prefecture the hardest. Your subordinate has already opened the official granary for relief and set up porridge stations. However… there are too many victims and too little grain—I’m truly at a loss.”
“How much grain is left in the official granary?”
“Well…” Prefect Wu hemmed and hawed, “about… fifty thousand piculs.”
“Fifty thousand piculs?” Xiao Shengrui raised an eyebrow. “Jiangning Prefecture is the granary of Jiangnan. The regular reserve granary is supposed to hold two hundred thousand piculs. Last autumn’s harvest, the court also specially approved an additional hundred thousand piculs to replenish the stores. How did it become only fifty thousand?”
Prefect Wu broke out in a cold sweat: “Your Highness, please understand—last year’s insect infestation caused some losses, and this spring’s famine required some distribution, and then the flooding damaged the granary, causing some grain to rot…”
“Oh?” Xiao Shengrui smiled. “Insect infestation, spring famine, and flooding—you had them all at once? Prefect Wu, your official fortune has been quite unlucky indeed.”
The words were light, but Prefect Wu’s legs went weak—he nearly collapsed.
“Enough.” Xiao Shengrui waved his hand. “Take us to the granary.”
“Now?” Prefect Wu’s expression changed.
“Right now.”
The granary was west of the city.
When the convoy arrived, the granary gates were tightly shut, and a few clerks were lazily lounging in the sun at the entrance. They scrambled to their feet only when they saw the prefect.
“Open the gates,” Xiao Shengrui ordered.
The clerks looked at Prefect Wu, who gritted his teeth and nodded.
The gates swung open, and a musty odor hit them.
The vast granary was nearly empty—where grain should have been piled high, only a few scattered sacks lay about.
Xiao Shengrui walked over and casually slit open a sack. Inside was aged rice mixed with sand and dirt, along with plenty of chaff.
“This is what you call fifty thousand piculs?” He looked at Prefect Wu.
Prefect Wu dropped to his knees with a thud: “Your Highness, forgive me! Your subordinate was left with no choice! Jiangning’s grain was ‘borrowed’ long ago by several grain merchants! They have connections in the capital—I dared not offend them!”
Lao Honghua sneered: “Borrowed? When will they return it?”
“They said they’d repay it when the new harvest comes in…”
“New harvest?” Lin Shuying couldn’t help but speak up. “The fields are flooded—where is this new harvest coming from?”
Prefect Wu shrank his neck and dared not respond.
Xiao Shengrui ignored him and said to Lao Honghua: “Investigate. Find out who’s behind these grain merchants. Look into Jiangning’s grain reserve accounts over the years.”
“Yes.”
Leaving the granary, Lin Shuying felt heavy-hearted.
Empty official granaries, hoarding grain merchants, starving victims—a classic case of officials and merchants colluding to profit from national disaster.
“Your Highness,” she said quietly, “we can’t rely on official granaries alone. We need to find a way to force those merchants to release their grain.”
“How?”
Lin Shuying thought for a moment: “Two approaches. First, turn their own methods against them—if they can ‘borrow’ grain, we can ‘borrow’ it too. Second, undercut their profits—drive down grain prices so the hoarders are left holding useless stock.”
Xiao Shengrui looked at her: “Specifically, how?”
“First, we’ll need Miss Zhao.” Lin Shuying turned to Zhao Di’er. “Does the Zhao Family Escort Agency have a branch in Jiangnan?”
Zhao Di’er nodded: “Yes—there’s one right here in Jiangning Prefecture.”
“Have your people find out where those grain merchants’ storehouses are, how many guards they have, and when they transport their grain.”
“Understood.” A sharp glint flashed in Zhao Di’er’s eyes. “The jianghu has its own rules. Those who profit from national disasters deserve what’s coming to them.”
“Second,” Lin Shuying turned to Xiao Shengrui, “we’ll need to rely on Your Highness’s reputation. Spread word that the court has already dispatched a million piculs of grain south and that it will arrive shortly. Also, have my eldest brother’s trade guild spread rumors in prefectures across Jiangnan that grain prices in the capital have plummeted, and that hoarders should sell off their stock quickly.”
“Bluffing?”
“All’s fair in war.” Lin Shuying said. “Those grain merchants are no fools. When they hear the wind, they’ll panic. Panic leads to selling. We’ll buy up grain at low prices—stabilizing the market and replenishing the official granaries at the same time.”
Xiao Shengrui pondered for a moment, then nodded: “Good. Lao Honghua, you handle the first task. Miss Zhao, the second one is yours.”
“Yes!”
“What about me?” Wei Fuyu was itching to act.
“You have an even more important task.” Lin Shuying said. “Organize the victims—food-for-work.”
The next day, notices were posted on the walls of Jiangning Prefecture: “By order of the Imperial Envoy: Conscripting laborers for levee repair and dredging. Adult men: three catties of rice per day; women and the elderly: two catties per day; children: one catty per day. Those willing, report to the west of the city for registration.”
As soon as the notice went up, victims flocked in.
Wei Fuyu set up a simple tent on the open ground west of the city, with a dozen yamen runners maintaining order. Dressed in red, long staff in hand, she stood there with an imposing presence.
“Line up! Everyone line up! No line, no rice!”
The victims obediently formed a long queue. Registration, number tags, tool distribution. The tools were cobbled together—hoes, shovels, baskets, and whatever couldn’t be found was carved from wood.
Lin Shuying stood on a raised platform, looking down at the dense crowd, a slight relief settling in her heart. As long as people had work to do and food to eat, unrest wouldn’t break out.
She walked down from the platform and went to the registration area. An elderly woman was trembling as she received her number tag, holding the hand of a little girl about four or five years old.
“Auntie,” Lin Shuying crouched down, “do you have any able-bodied family members at home?”
The old woman wiped her tears: “No more… my son drowned, my daughter-in-law died of illness. It’s just the two of us, grandmother and granddaughter…”
“What kind of work can you do?”
“I can sew and mend, cook…” the old woman said timidly. “Niu-niu can gather firewood too…”
Lin Shuying thought for a moment, then said to Wei Fuyu: “Let’s set up a ‘Women and Children’s Team.’ The elderly and women will handle cooking, mending, and childcare. The children can help gather firewood and run errands. They’ll also receive rations, calculated per person.”
“Good!”
Word spread, and within half a day, over three thousand people had gathered. Lin Shuying divided them into three teams: one for levee repair, led by officials from the Ministry of Works; one for dredging, overseen by Lao Honghua; and one for women and children, tasked with cooking and chores at the camp.
She herself took the fast-growing seeds and selected a patch of elevated land on the edge of the city where the waters had receded, preparing for a trial planting. The plot was about ten acres—the soil was still damp, but just barely workable.
“Uncle Chen,” she said to Forester Chen, who had come along, “take our people and teach everyone how to prepare the soil and sow the seeds. These seeds are precious—use them sparingly.”
“Don’t worry, Second Miss.” Forester Chen acknowledged and led the laborers into the field to demonstrate.
The victims gathered at the field’s edge, watching with a mix of doubt and hope. “What kind of seeds are these? Can they really be harvested in thirty days?” “Can we trust what the officials say?”
Lin Shuying didn’t explain. She rolled up her pant legs, took off her shoes and socks, and stepped barefoot into the field. The mud rose past her ankles—cold and sticky. She picked up a hoe and began turning the soil.
Sweat quickly soaked her temples.
“Miss, you should rest—let us do it!” A-Gua tried to persuade her.
“No need.” Lin Shuying wiped the sweat from her brow. “I need to lead by example.”
She bent down, grabbed a handful of soil, and brought it to her nose—it wasn’t too badly contaminated. She also activated her Wood Spirit Root to sense the soil: the vitality was weak, but still salvageable. She focused, channeling warmth slowly into the earth.
An hour later, the ten acres were fully turned. Lin Shuying straightened up, her vision swimming, and swayed on her feet.
“Miss!” A-Gua rushed to steady her.
“I’m fine—just tired. Let’s sow the seeds.”
The seeds were carefully scattered. Fast-growing cabbage, radishes, and greens—three acres each—with the remaining acre planted with early rice.
After sowing, they covered the seeds with a thin layer of soil and watered them once. Lin Shuying stood at the field’s edge, looking at the freshly turned earth, silently praying.
Over the next few days, Lin Shuying practically lived in the fields.
By day, she taught the victims how to farm; by night, she studied the Green Wood Guidance Art. She buried several specially made wooden markers around the test plot, arranging them according to the positions described in the book to set up a simple “spirit-gathering formation.”
On the third morning, tiny green sprouts emerged from the field. By the fifth day, they had grown two true leaves. By the tenth day, the cabbage seedlings were as tall as a palm.
The victims were astonished.
“These really are divine seeds!”
“The Jiahe Country Lady is a living Bodhisattva!”
Word spread, and more victims came forward, eager to learn farming.
Lin Shuying turned no one away, distributing seeds and selecting over a dozen more plots to expand the planting area.
But her body was reaching its limit. The round-the-clock labor had taken its toll—she had grown thinner, her face pale.
Xiao Shengrui saw it and grew increasingly anxious.
“Shuying, you need to rest.” One evening, he stopped her as she was about to head back to the fields.
“Just one more plot left…” Lin Shuying’s voice was weak.
“Tomorrow,” Xiao Shengrui said firmly, taking her by the arm and leading her back.
Back at their temporary quarters, Lin Shuying collapsed into a chair as soon as she entered. Xiao Shengrui poured her a cup of hot water, his brow furrowed: “You look terrible.”
“I’m fine—just tired.” Lin Shuying managed a weak smile. “The fields are growing well. In another month, we’ll harvest the first batch of greens. By then—”
Before she could finish, her vision went black and she pitched forward.
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