The flood season in the Yangtze River Basin typically lasts from late June to September. According to the calendar of this era, that corresponds to late May through August.

Most areas of the Chengdu Plain are currently planted with millet, which begins to ripen from August onward. Now, in mid-July, the millet has already formed ears and is filling with grain—it’s the time when a bountiful harvest can be expected.

Just last year, a flood disaster struck. People barely survived the year by foraging on wild herbs, tree leaves, and moldy grains. Now, the farmers stare eagerly at the ripening millet, praying for a smooth harvest.

There were no torrential rains in June, and none at the start of July. Just another half month, and they could harvest. So why is the sky clouding over now?

At this moment, the farmers still held on to a sliver of hope.

Although the sky had darkened, perhaps the rain would only last a few days and then clear up again. Maybe it wouldn’t even delay the harvest.

But Li Bing knew—flooding was no longer a possibility, but a certainty. There was no room for luck.

Future generations would come to understand: all water systems are interconnected. If the upper reaches experience heavy rainfall, then even if it’s sunny downstream, a flood peak will still come surging through.

The hardest part of flood control at this moment was that people couldn’t fully map the entire water network of a river. They could only apply patchwork solutions—treating symptoms like a headache or a foot pain as they occurred. Only after the unification of all under Heaven could the central imperial court dispatch people to explore and record waterways, mapping the upper and lower streams and tributaries of the rivers.

Every ancient map of waterways carried with it a price in gold, time, sweat—and even lives. All those maps were surveyed by foot, through remote mountains and desolate lands, sometimes taking years, decades, or even generations to complete.

In the Warring States period, the upstream and downstream of a single river might belong to different nations. The Spring and Autumn Annals once recorded a case where two states abandoned dam construction due to conflicting interests—resulting in catastrophic flooding that drowned them both.

During the Warring States era, each state wished nothing more than to tear down the other’s dikes and dams. Coordinated flood control was simply out of the question.

Fortunately, the agricultural lands Li Bing needed to protect—the Chengdu Plain—were not heavily affected by the main current of the Yangtze River. There was no need to rely on the will of Chu State.

The Chengdu Plain belonged to the Min-Tuo River system of the Yangtze River Basin. The most destructive floods here usually came from the Min River, Tuo River, Dadu River, and Qingyi River. By a stroke of luck, all these tributaries fell within the jurisdiction of Shu Commandery, providing Li Bing with the necessary conditions for flood control.

It was still early for any major hydraulic projects. Li Bing had only just arrived. The previous governor had already exhausted himself just trying to pacify the Shu people and teach them farming. It was unreasonable to expect him to also survey the waterways. At this point, Li Bing should logically have been as clueless as a monk groping in the dark.

Over the course of thousands of years, Sichuan’s hydrology changed dramatically. But one key conclusion remained valid: The most devastating floods in the Chengdu Plain primarily originate from the Min-Tuo River system.

Based on this, Zhu Xiang advised Li Bing to station observers at key convergence points of the major upstream tributaries to monitor rainfall.

Over ten days ago, those observation sites began to report back to Chengdu: heavy rains were continuously falling over the tributaries of several rivers. In some areas, the downpour had lasted seven to eight days, triggering flash floods in the mountains.

Even before a single drop of rain had fallen on the Chengdu Plain, the surrounding rivers were already rising steadily. If torrential rain were to hit Chengdu as well, the waters would likely breach the levees in a short time.

The most important city in Shu Commandery was Chengdu. Chengdu had long been a major city. After Qin annexed Shu and established Shu Commandery, the governor’s office was based in Chengdu.

Zhang Yi, Sima Cuo, and others expanded and remodeled the city in the style of Xianyang, turning Chengdu into a regional capital. The local aristocrats of Shu, as well as almost every notable official dispatched by Qin, resided within Chengdu’s city walls.

Li Bing’s greatest hope was to preserve the levees. At the very least, he had to protect Chengdu City.

After arriving in Shu Commandery, Li Mu, with Li Bing’s support and cooperation, quickly took control of the region’s entire military defenses. For those Qin generals who resisted following orders from this “Zhao native” Li Mu, Ying Zheng gave him a royal edict. Li Mu, without hesitation, executed them all—ignoring every plea of “I belong to so-and-so noble house.”

Shu Commandery was isolated. As long as Li Mu and Li Bing maintained mutual trust and cooperation—uniting military and civil power—they could rule the region with absolute authority.

Throughout history, large-scale corvée labor projects not only conscripted civilians but also relied heavily on the military to shoulder the burden. Except for the troops stationed to guard against Chu, Li Mu had mobilized nearly all the soldiers he could spare to set up camp and defend the dikes that needed protection.

They had already begun reinforcing and elevating the embankments. Rolling logs and sandbags used to fortify the dikes were prepared in advance.

Zhu Xiang had deliberately placed the conscripted soldiers from Shu Commandery at the most critical positions and tirelessly reminded them that guarding the dikes now was equivalent to protecting their homes. If the dikes were breached and the area flooded, Shu Commandery would once again suffer a widespread crop failure, and their families would starve to death.

While evacuating the elderly, weak, sick, and young along the river, Zhu Xiang also spread propaganda among the people along the route, urging them to help in strengthening the dikes.

Some officials were confused. “Lord Changping, wouldn’t it be enough to just conscript labor?”

Zhu Xiang’s voice carried a hidden sharpness. “If you only speak of conscription, they won’t be willing to die for a dike.”

Even though some people knew of Ying Zheng’s identity, the boy was still very young. Zhu Xiang was the highest-ranking person in Shu Commandery who could speak with authority. Although he held no formal post, both the top military and civil commanders—Li Mu and Li Bing—were willing to follow his guidance, so the other officials naturally cooperated as well.

After a period of sustained persuasion, Zhu Xiang began recruiting corvée laborers in the name of “volunteering.” Breaking from tradition, he abandoned the practice of requiring workers to bring their own food and instead requisitioned large quantities of grain from wealthy merchants to feed them.

Zhu Xiang didn’t appear in person. He sent eloquent students from the Xianyang Academy to persuade influential merchants and local aristocrats. If the dikes failed, farmers would lose their homes and lives—but would the rich not lose their fields and property, too? Giving up some grain now was a small price. If they went bankrupt later, that suffering might be worse than death.

Besides, the reason the Qin King had sent Lord Changping to Shu Commandery to teach farming was because he intended to turn Shu into a grain depot for attacking Chu. Even if Shu Commandery suffered a complete crop failure, when the time came to attack Chu, the Qin King would still order a campaign—and Shu would still have to provide grain and weapons. If the commoners all starved or died from disease in consecutive years of flooding and Shu couldn’t provide enough taxes, then who would the Qin King turn on?

Could the powerful families in Shu expect the Qin King to show them mercy and pass up the chance to conquer Chu, just to avoid cracking down on them?

In truth, the Qin King had no plans to provoke the gentry. But his brutal reputation was so deeply entrenched that once the Xianyang Academy students invoked his name, the wealthy residents of Chengdu, who thought flood control had nothing to do with them, were immediately frightened into generously opening their purses.

Even though Li Bing cooperated with Zhu Xiang, he was so frightened by Zhu Xiang’s tactics that his legs trembled. “You even dare to make up stories about the ruler!”

Zhu Xiang replied, “As long as things get done, His Majesty won’t care about such minor details.”

If things weren’t done well, then they’d settle the score after the fact—with a beheading. Zhu Xiang added that silently to himself.

Li Mu trusted Zhu Xiang implicitly and didn’t take his fabrication of royal decrees or manipulation of national affairs too seriously.

Besides, he himself believed that the Qin King wouldn’t be able to resist launching one last war against Chu before his death, to die feeling victorious.

When Ying Zheng learned about this, he rolled around on his bamboo bed, clutching his head.

He was seriously considering whether, at less than ten years old, he should stage a coup and force his way onto the throne. Though he knew it was impossible.

Uncle, please don’t get yourself killed before Zheng’er becomes the Qin King!

Some powerful local families also volunteered to help, and Zhu Xiang took note of each one, planning to cooperate with them in the future.

He had countless ideas to help them profit—such as the upcoming tribute-quality bamboo paper.

Everyone under heaven knew that Lord Changping, Zhu Xiang, cared deeply for the common people and was unmatched in agricultural expertise. But no one knew that if he ever went into business, he could become unimaginably wealthy in no time.

To rapidly spread new agricultural techniques, support from local elites in Shu was essential. Zhu Xiang firmly believed in the principle of “give a slap, then offer a sweet date”—a method that worked in any era.

Once all preparations were in place, all that remained was to wait on Heaven’s will.

The rain finally began to fall. The raindrops merged into lines, which wove into curtains, and eventually thickened into a heavy veil that enveloped all of heaven and earth.

The calm river gradually turned muddy. Under the force of fierce winds, the floodwaters became blades, slicing again and again into the dikes on both sides.

Judging by the rising water level, it was clear the upstream tributaries were also experiencing heavy rain.

With simultaneous downpours upstream and downstream, the worst-case scenario Zhu Xiang and the others had feared came to pass.

Li Bing, clad in a rain cloak, personally came to inspect the dike. He looked down at the torrent at his feet, his expression uneasy and fearful.

Could he truly protect this most critical section of the dike?

And this wasn’t the only dike that needed defending. This one protected Chengdu itself. The one Li Mu went to guard was further upstream, behind which lay tens of thousands of acres of nearly ripe farmland.

But if this section of the embankment couldn’t be saved, Li Bing would have to send orders to the embankment where Li Mu was stationed, to break open the dike and divert the floodwaters to protect Chengdu.

If it came to that, the farmers of Shu Commandery would have to gnaw on wild herbs and tree bark for another year.

Zhu Xiang returned to Chengdu city. Li Bing and Li Mu had both forbidden him from going to the dike, fearing for his safety—especially since Ying Zheng had only him as a relative by his side.

Zhu Xiang held Ying Zheng in his arms and looked up at the curtain of torrential rain beyond the doorway.

“Uncle, can the embankment hold?” Before the rain began, Ying Zheng had visited the dike.

The scale markings on the dike showed that the river rose higher each day. Though the water surface wasn’t exactly violent, Ying Zheng felt a strong and pressing sense of impending danger.

It was a feeling of looming natural disaster that he had never experienced in any of his dreams.

“I don’t know,” Zhu Xiang replied.

Ying Zheng released Zhu Xiang’s neck. “Uncle, if you want to go to the dike, then go. Aunt will take care of me.”

The “Aunt” Ying Zheng referred to was Li Bing’s wife. Li Bing had brought his entire family to Shu Commandery.

Zhu Xiang said, “Even if I go, I won’t be of any help.”

Ying Zheng hugged his uncle’s neck again, then let go once more and said, “Even if you can’t help, you still want to go, right? Go ahead, Uncle. I’ll stay here with Aunt and help maintain order in the city so that panic doesn’t break out.”

Zhu Xiang looked down at the child in his arms.

Ying Zheng stared up at him with wide, round eyes, meeting his gaze.

Zhu Xiang let out a deep sigh, patted the boy’s head, and said, “I know you have some extraordinary abilities, but guarding the city gates is too big a responsibility. You’re still young.”

Ying Zheng said, “Even though I’m small, I dare to kill. Do you, Uncle?”

Zhu Xiang gave a bitter smile. “I don’t dare to kill someone with my own hands, but I dare to order others to do it. Don’t underestimate your uncle.”

Ying Zheng didn’t believe him—at least not then. But within half a day, he did.

Just as Zhu Xiang had predicted, unrest soon broke out in Chengdu city.

Some people suggested immediately destroying the embankment that Li Mu was defending, claiming that would protect Chengdu. They incited the city residents to rush the governor’s office.

Zhu Xiang and the officials left in charge of Chengdu appeared at the scene right away. Without listening to any explanations, they executed all rioters on the spot, regardless of age or gender. Blood mixed with the rainwater, flowing like a winding river of red.

As the officials read aloud the Qin Code in the sound of pouring rain, Qin soldiers clad in raincoats stood behind them in rows, black and oppressive like thunderclouds in the sky.

“Shu has been part of Qin’s Shu Commandery for many years now. Do you still not realize you’re Qin people?” Zhu Xiang said coldly. “Deciding which embankment to protect is the governor’s responsibility. The governor has given his order. Disobey it, and you die.”

Zhu Xiang ordered the confiscation of all property belonging to those executed, and their families were expelled from Chengdu to fend for themselves. Grain and cloth were sent to the dike, while the remaining assets were recorded and stored for future rewards.

He showed no concern over whether such harsh punishment of powerful clans would provoke revenge. His swift and forceful actions made the local elites rethink everything they thought they knew about this renowned, benevolent gentleman.

Chengdu quieted for a time. Every household closed its doors and dared not step outside.

Ying Zheng sat on the doorstep waiting for Zhu Xiang to return. When Zhu Xiang came home, he first washed off the smell of blood before coming to see the boy.

Ying Zheng asked, “Uncle, aren’t you the one who hates to see people die? You always say that life is the most precious thing. Aren’t you afraid or upset when you see people die?”

Zhu Xiang patted his head and said, “Back in Handan, I saw many farmers starve or work themselves to death. When I went to Changping, people from Zhao died daily from wounds and illness. On the way to Qin, and again entering Shu, I often saw bones lying by the roadside.”

Ying Zheng shook his head vigorously, refusing to be swayed. “But those weren’t people you ordered killed! You could have left it to me or just had the officials do it. Why did you have to go in person?!”

Zhu Xiang stroked his head again and remained silent for a long while.

Finally, under Ying Zheng’s persistent questioning, he said, “Whether I was present or not, the orders to kill and confiscate property were mine. As the highest-ranking person in Chengdu, showing up in person made them more obedient. I won’t hide behind others just for the sake of a clean conscience.”

At the embankment, both Li Mu and Li Bing received the supplies Zhu Xiang had sent. They also learned that Zhu Xiang had deliberately relaxed security in the city to allow unrest to break out—and then quelled it with a brutal display to set an example.

“Lord Changping is a royal in-law of Qin and deeply beloved by the Qin King. His favor is unmatched. Chengdu’s political web is complex—there are powerful families and even some backed by nobles from Xianyang. Only if Lord Changping gives the kill and confiscation orders himself in public can he truly intimidate them. Because they know, in front of Lord Changping, they’re nothing.”

“Unless they want Qin’s army to invade Shu again, they have no choice but to obey him.”

The Qin officials stationed at the dike all understood this clearly.

As long as Chengdu stayed calm, they could focus fully on holding the embankment without fear of trouble from behind.

The torrential rain still poured down. It was as if the sky had torn open—a waterfall from the Milky Way itself was crashing to earth.

Li Bing wiped his face and was about to speak some words of encouragement when he heard crying from behind.

He turned and saw a laborer kneeling in the mud, sobbing on the ground and cursing the heavens for giving people no way to survive.

Li Bing couldn’t fully understand the Shu dialect, so someone beside him translated.

The laborer’s elderly mother, to save food for the family, had quietly left home one night and never returned.

His elderly father had been eating wild herbs, working as a carpenter by moonlight to supplement their income, and had died one morning from overwork.

Before the laborer left home, his wife and child had still been hoping that this year would bring a good harvest, so they could finally eat real grain—but now this rain and the rising floodwaters were about to destroy everything.

He had just seen another section of the dike burst open and couldn’t take it anymore. His mind broke.

One person broke down, and soon others followed, crying and cursing the sky atop the dike.

Li Bing clenched his fists and said to the guard beside him, “Come help me carry dirt.”

He did not scold the laborers. Instead, he and the guards picked up the grass baskets filled with soil that the man had dropped and headed for the breach in the embankment.

Everyone on the dike knew Li Bing was the governor.

When he acted, though the crying didn’t stop, the laborers began to move. Even the one who had first collapsed picked up a log and rushed toward the gap.

Some laborers and soldiers with good swimming skills, tied with ropes, jumped into the breach, forming a human chain to slow the water so that wooden stakes could be driven into the mud.

At last, the breach was sealed, and the embankment survived the first day.