Chapter Twenty-Five: The Refugees (Part One)

In the imperial capital Yang City of the Han Kingdom, carriages bustled through the streets, crowds flowed like weaving threads, and everywhere was alive with prosperity and clamor. Yet within the Golden Throne Hall of the Han Palace, an air of oppressive severity prevailed.

“Outrageous!” A memorial was flung down the jade steps by the enraged emperor. “The levees at Hengzhou have collapsed, the floodwaters stretching for a thousand li, countless dead and wounded, the land awash with misery—these are all my subjects! Tell me, all of you, explain how this has come to pass. Only the other day you assured me that although the southeast had suffered continuous torrential rains, Hengzhou remained as solid as iron, and there was no cause for concern!”

The hall fell into a heavy silence, the suffocating pressure so great that no one dared lift their head.

At last, the Deputy Censor-in-Chief stepped forward from among the officials and reported, “Your Majesty, the responsibility for the levee failure in Hengzhou lies unshirkably with Prefect Jin. I propose that he be dismissed and investigated to appease the wrath of the people, and that someone of standing from the court be dispatched to Hengzhou to oversee disaster relief.”

“Grand Secretary, what is your opinion?” the emperor asked.

“I find Lord Zhang’s proposal most appropriate. However, the appointment of the official in charge of relief should be considered with utmost care.”

Even before the Grand Secretary finished, one of the two princes standing in the front row—the younger—stepped forward and submitted, “Father, please allow me to go. It would be my honor to relieve Your Majesty’s worries, and I will not fail Your trust. Though Jin Hu Dan is kin to my maternal family, I will handle matters impartially, without favoritism or bending the law. Please be assured.”

The elder prince hesitated, then also stepped forth and said, “I too am willing to go, Father. Please grant your permission.”

The emperor, seated high upon the dais, his face dark and brooding, gazed at each prince for several seconds before withdrawing his gaze. He looked out over the sea of bowed heads filling the hall, but said nothing. None of the ministers dared speak, for none could guess His Majesty’s true intentions.

At length, the emperor broke his silence. His slow, deep voice echoed through the vast hall: “Jin Hu Dan, Prefect of Hengzhou, has deceived his superiors and neglected his duties, resulting in this calamity. He is to be stripped of office and brought back to the capital for a full investigation by the Ministry of Justice. Furthermore, I appoint Prince Liu Yi, my third son, as Inspector to oversee disaster relief in the southeast, assisted by the Ministries of Revenue and Justice.”

“Thank you, Father. I accept your decree.” Liu Yi knelt to receive the imperial command, a flash of joy in his eyes.

Meanwhile, in the city of Wu—not struck by the floods but still shrouded in gloom from days of unbroken autumn rain—unease spread. Rumors, true or false, reached the city, making its people restless.

By late September, waves of refugees began pouring into Wu City. At first, there were hundreds and thousands; by October, their numbers had swelled beyond two hundred thousand, crowding both city and outskirts. Master Liu and Liu Cheng were overwhelmed, barely able to leave the yamen as they discussed strategies, arranged shelter, maintained order, and organized the wealthy to set up porridge kitchens and distribute medicine. Every detail had to be meticulously managed; for if the sudden influx of this enormous population was mishandled and unrest broke out, the consequences would be disastrous.

The refugees brought countless tales—some claimed that Yunzhou’s levees had also burst, others that not a soul survived in Huaxing County; some swore that Hengzhou had been overrun, Jin the Flayer (as the people of Hengzhou called Jin Hu Dan) killed and his head displayed on the city walls. Each spoke as if they had witnessed these events themselves.

But people could not help believing them. Since the Han River’s waters rose, landslides and collapsed mountains cut off roads, severing connections between the Yunzhou-Hengzhou region and the south. Even the Wu City yamen received no letters or reports from the affected areas, nor could they learn the true situation. Yet all knew that this disaster exceeded even the great flood a century ago. The scale of devastation was beyond reckoning. The refugees crowding into the city were not even those from the worst-hit areas—these had lost homes and possessions, but at least had survived; the fate of those in the heart of the disaster remained unknown.

Within the Liu household, the mood was equally heavy. Even lively little Liu Qin nestled quietly in her mother’s arms, now and then wiping tears from the corners of her mother’s eyes. Madam Cai Xinlan, Jiang Li, Hai-ge, and Chao-ge all sat with the Old Madam in the main room, but none could find words to comfort her in her distress.

At last, Cai Xinlan managed to offer some solace: “Mother, don’t believe the rumors outside. No one has seen anything with their own eyes. Just recently, Master still received a letter from Second Brother, saying Yunzhou was unharmed. Besides, Heaven protects the virtuous—Second Brother and his wife will be safe.”

The Old Madam wiped her tears and sobbed, “I blame your father and eldest brother. They knew Second Brother’s place was in danger, yet neither told me nor thought to bring them home. Even if Second Brother could not leave, at least his wife and children could have returned first. If anything happens to that family, I will never forgive them.”

At this, which implicated both her father-in-law and husband, Cai Xinlan dared not reply.

After her grief had run its course, the Old Madam forcibly quelled her anxiety and roused her spirits, waving the younger ones away. “Enough, Xinlan. Go attend to your affairs. Don’t worry about me; I’ll be fine. Ali, take Qin and the boys to play. I’m tired—there’s no need to come pay respects tonight. Have dinner sent to your own rooms.”

“Yes,” Cai Xinlan and Jiang Li replied, leading the three children from the main room. Though young, the children sensed the somber mood and had little heart for play. In the end, Cai Xinlan took Hai-ge and Chao-ge with her while Jiang Li escorted Liu Qin back to Plum Court.

“Brother Ali, could you take me to the city tomorrow morning?” Liu Qin held Jiang Li’s hand, unusually subdued, her face wearing an uncharacteristic seriousness.

“To the city? Whatever for?” Jiang Li was startled. These were troubled times—refugees filled the streets, security was poor, and for children, especially those who looked like young gentry, the streets were dangerous.

Liu Qin frowned, stopped, and shook Jiang Li’s hand. “I want to see for myself, Brother Ali. Promise me? We can take Changxing and Changsheng, sneak out quietly—Mother won’t know.”

Jiang Li considered, then guessed, “You want to gather news?”

She nodded.

“Very well, but you must listen to me. No wandering off.”

“I promise.”

The next morning, Liu Qin went to pay her respects to the Old Madam, who lay listless and haggard, as if aged ten years overnight. Liu Qin knew her mother must have stayed awake all night, praying for her second brother’s family. Seeing her so worn filled Liu Qin with pain. How she wished she could grow up quickly and share her mother’s burdens, become her steadfast support. But for now, there was nothing she could do except nestle in her mother’s arms, holding her tightly, hoping the warmth of her little body might bring her mother some small comfort.

After leaving the main room, Liu Qin, accompanied by Cuiyu, went straight to Ink Fragrance Court—they had plotted with Cuiyu the night before, who, being reckless, agreed at once. Jiang Li had Changxing request leave from the family school and was waiting in the court. As planned, they all changed into servant boys’ garb that Changsheng had procured, removed any identifying ornaments, made some simple adjustments to their appearance, and slipped out the side gate.

Liu Qin’s purpose in going to the city was not only to seek news of Yunzhou, but also to better understand the plight of the refugees. However, nothing could have prepared her for what she saw: long lines of ragged people waiting before the porridge kitchens, old men and women collapsed by the roadside, crying out in hunger and pain, children with vacant eyes, orphaned and lost. Liu Qin felt her heart clench in an instant, as if gripped by a giant hand, leaving her unable to breathe.