The torrential rain eased slightly by noon on the second day, but new problems emerged.

In this era, there was no logistical support like in later times. Straw raincoats couldn’t stop the downpour, makeshift shelters couldn’t block the raging wind, and hot meals cooked over the fire quickly turned cold from the rain. Sometimes, there wasn’t even time to light a fire, and workers had to chew on dry rations with cold water.

The laborers curled up in their shelters, and even when huddled around flickering fires, they couldn’t fully dry their soaked clothes. Even though Li Bing arranged rotating shifts to let the workers rest in turns, by the second day, their strength was already fading. Their physical condition had declined drastically.

As the governor, Li Bing’s logistics were far better than the laborers’. His tent was large, the fire inside was strong, and he could change into clean, dry clothes after returning. He could even get a full night’s sleep. But even he was low on energy by the second day.

No one knew how many more days the flood peak would continue to press against the riverbanks. That uncertainty gnawed at his heart like ants.

Li Bing was the spiritual pillar on the dam. No matter how anxious he felt, he couldn’t show it. He had to keep reassuring the workers: “The flood peak will pass soon, just one more day…”

Yet the sky kept pouring torrential rain, as if mocking the futile struggle of the tiny humans below.

On the second day, Zhu Xiang braved the downpour to patrol the city once again and left Chengdu in the afternoon.

When heavy rain came, not only did the dam need guarding, but the people’s property ravaged by the storm had to be salvaged, and the millet in the fields washed by rain had to be protected.

Zhu Xiang had already implemented some protective measures—like covering the millet with grass to prevent the ears from being knocked off or washed away by muddy water. But he was still uneasy. Li Bing and Li Mu were guarding the dam, so Zhu Xiang patrolled the vital grain-producing areas of the Chengdu Plain, checking for oversights and filling gaps.

If Li Mu ever had to abandon the dam, Zhu Xiang could immediately lead the people to harvest the unripe millet. Even if it wasn’t mature and couldn’t be stored or used as seed grain, at least it could keep the farmers fed for a month or two—better than having nothing.

Not all Shu people knew there was someone called “Lord Changping.” They only knew that Zhu Xiang was an official from the Qin State.

Zhu Xiang never made a show of his identity. He behaved like an ordinary Qin official—tirelessly instructing farmers one moment, then sternly punishing troublemakers taking advantage of the chaos the next.

In some places, flash floods or overflowing canals had submerged the land. Farmers clung helplessly to rooftops, shouting for help. Zhu Xiang had to row a small boat to rescue them, ferrying them to higher ground.

He brought some grain with him and temporarily settled the rescued farmers. Though their lives were saved, many sat in the muddy water and cried in despair. There was no joy in surviving.

Zhu Xiang didn’t know how to comfort them.

He couldn’t promise the dam wouldn’t collapse.

He couldn’t promise the fields wouldn’t flood.

He couldn’t promise these rescued farmers wouldn’t starve to death in the coming winter.

All he could do was handle what was in front of him and avoid thinking about the future.

As he walked, Zhu Xiang eventually reached the dam where Li Mu was stationed and greeted him.

Li Mu’s face changed dramatically. He immediately erupted, “I told you to stay put in Chengdu! If something happens to you, what about Zheng’er?! What about the people of the world?! Even if the entire Chengdu Plain floods, your death would be the greater loss to all under Heaven!”

Zhu Xiang wanted to say, “No life is more important than another,” but he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

He knew that if he stayed alive, if he lived to see Zheng’er ascend the throne, it might truly benefit the common people more. But knowing that was one thing; doing nothing in Chengdu and watching from the sidelines was another. He couldn’t use “I’m important to the world” as an excuse to remain idle in the city.

“Don’t worry. I carry ginger soup with me. I’ll soak in a hot bath once I return. I won’t fall ill.” Zhu Xiang rolled up his sleeve. “I’ve rubbed garlic oil and waterproof grease all over. I wrapped myself in several layers of cloth. Even parasites can’t do anything to me.”

Li Mu took a deep breath, his voice gruff and low. “Go back immediately. We don’t need you on the dam.”

Zhu Xiang nodded repeatedly and, under Li Mu’s urging, left the dam.

He stopped at a nearby village, took a hot bath, drank soup filled with scallions, ginger, and garlic, and sweated profusely. The next day, he again rubbed garlic oil and grease on himself, bound his limbs with cloth, and resumed his patrol of the Chengdu Plain.

This time, he passed by the dike guarded by Li Bing and saw Li Bing leaning on a cane, his voice hoarse.

Li Bing also scolded Zhu Xiang, who cautiously apologized and admitted his fault. Then, he built some shanties and helped cook hot ginger soup for the laborers to dispel the cold.

Another day passed, and the rain finally stopped. However, the flood peak still had not receded.

But without the torrential downpour, the laborers were able to move much more freely. Though physically exhausted, they were buoyed by sheer willpower and the hope of clear skies, which gave them the strength to carry on a bit longer.

Zhu Xiang got busy.

While the floodwaters of the major rivers remained high due to continued inflow from upstream, the water in small ditches and tributaries quickly receded after the weather cleared, allowing farmers to return home.

Seizing the window of clear weather, the farmers didn’t have time to repair the houses damaged by the flood. Instead, they threw themselves wholeheartedly into salvaging their farmland.

They dug drainage ditches to remove excess water, propped up fallen millet stalks, and cleared away rotting weeds. The farmers worked tirelessly in the fields, and many couldn’t eat even a single meal the entire day.

Seeing the nail snails (Oncomelania) emerging from the mud, Zhu Xiang felt a pang in his chest, but he swallowed the words of warning that rose to his lips.

Sure enough, the heavy rain led to the spread of contaminated water again. Great disasters are always followed by great epidemics.

But even though he had seen the signs of a looming epidemic, there was nothing he could do.

He couldn’t stop the farmers from working in the mud to save their millet, the hope of survival for their families. Nor could he prepare them to prevent schistosomiasis (caused by the nail snails), because he couldn’t provide enough garlic, enough grease, or enough cloth. It was also impossible to have the farmers change their clothes regularly.

Clothing was scarce for the farmers. To prevent their clothes from being soaked and ruined by the rain, most of them wrapped themselves in mud and entered the fields nearly naked. If they were women, they might tie a bit of grass around their bodies for modesty.

Some women didn’t care about this at all. They worked in the fields the same way the men did. No one commented on their bodies.

This scene didn’t reflect a more enlightened or woman-friendly era. Rather, it showed how harsh life was — so harsh that men and women laboring in the fields were no longer seen as people.

Even during the rigid Confucian era at the end of feudal times, women who worked in the fields faced the same reality.

After observing the farmers’ labor, Zhu Xiang came up with a compromise.

He taught the farmers to cover their bodies with drier, biologically inactive mud from the surface, which could at least provide some protection against parasites.

But their feet and legs, which had to step into the mud, were left to fate.

Zhu Xiang could only have herbs and medicines prepared in full force, to begin disease control once the floodwaters receded and the grain was harvested.

Even though he knew that by then, treatment would be more of a placebo — offering psychological comfort rather than real help.

Another day passed. The old, weak, women, and children on higher ground had mostly returned to the fields, and the water levels in the rivers were slowly falling.

This year, it seemed that Heaven hadn’t pushed the common people to a dead end. Li Bing, with the help of Li Mu, had finally withstood the pressure and defended two crucial dikes, protecting not only the city of Chengdu but also the main grain-producing area of the Chengdu Plain.

But aside from the wealthy in Chengdu, none of the ordinary people wore smiles.

Because while they had saved two dikes — they had only saved two dikes.

Beyond the Chengdu Plain, the Sichuan Basin also held many hills and mountainous areas, all of which had been abandoned.

The city of Fucheng, where they had temporarily taken shelter, and the area near Chengdu later known as Jintang, had all become a vast expanse of water.

Zhu Xiang thought that perhaps their ability to hold the dikes was not so much due to their own efforts or Heaven’s favor, but because the floodwaters had been diverted by the overflowing of other rivers.

Because they could only defend those two crucial dikes.

The main grain-producing area of the Chengdu Plain did not suffer a total crop failure. They could harvest about 80 to 90 percent of the grain.

But in the wider region, there were only six words to describe the situation: “Autumn deluge, no seedling survives.”

These six words appeared frequently in the Spring and Autumn Annals, and now, they had come to the Shu Commandery.

“I must go to Ba Commandery to borrow grain,” said Li Bing. “Zhu Xiang, you will temporarily take charge as acting governor.”

Zhu Xiang replied, “Ba Commandery might also have suffered from the flood.”

Li Bing gave a bitter smile: “The main towns of Ba Commandery are in the mountains, so they fared much better. Moreover, the commandery is dominated by powerful clans, with barely any place for commoners. That means their grain stores are large — very large.”

Zhu Xiang paused and understood what Li Bing meant.

Ba Commandery, located mostly in mountainous terrain, had grown wealthy through mining and was even more isolated than Shu Commandery. Although it had also transitioned from a kingdom to a prefecture under the empire, in practice, it still resembled an independent kingdom more than a proper imperial prefecture.

In such semi-independent regions, even during a flood, Li Bing could still borrow grain, because the commoners there were equivalent to slaves — they didn’t count as people and weren’t expected to eat grain.

Li Bing’s actions were solely focused on the civilians of Shu Commandery, disregarding the potentially worse-off civilians of Ba Commandery.

Zhu Xiang didn’t agree in his heart, but he couldn’t find the words to object.

Being able to take care of those right in front of you was already a blessing. Even though they were all citizens of Qin, Li Bing was an official of Shu Commandery — he had to prioritize preventing the Shu people from starving.

Moreover, Li Bing wasn’t leading troops to rebel or plunder grain from Ba Commandery.

He was merely going to borrow grain, asking the governor of Ba Commandery to help introduce him to the local powerful clans and lend him some face. Whether or not they gave grain, and how much, was up to them.

But Zhu Xiang knew — Li Bing would definitely manage to borrow some.

Even without the Dujiangyan Irrigation System yet, the Chengdu Plain was already the wealthiest region in the southwest. Shu brocade and goods from the north-south trade routes were luxury items coveted by the elite of Ba.

If they flattered Li Bing, he’d offer them favorable access to trade routes.

The governor’s office had officials from Ba Commandery, and they introduced Li Bing to the main powerful families of the region.

These powerful families carried the surname Ba and had once been honored by the King of Qin as the leaders of the Ba people. After the establishment of the commandery-county system, though the title was gone, they were still treated like royalty within Ba.

After discovering cinnabar mines, their wealth surged even further. In the county where the Ba clan resided, two-thirds of the population were their clansmen, and the rest depended on them to survive. They had their own armed forces and had built towering fortresses — the entire county had basically become their fiefdom.

So if you wanted to borrow grain, borrowing from the Ba clan was the most logical choice.

When Zhu Xiang heard the official mention the Ba clan, he had a sense of familiarity.

It wasn’t until Li Bing was about to leave that he remembered why it felt familiar.

That Ba clan — it might very well be the same family that the famous Widow Qing of Ba Commandery came from. Widow Qing’s family had rapidly become wealthy after monopolizing the cinnabar mines, formed their own military, and turned their county into a personal “fief.”

This was also why the First Emperor of Qin had commended Widow Qing.

Qin Shi Huang had honored two merchants — one was Widow Qing, the other was a livestock trader surnamed Wu. The common trait between them was that they both possessed independent armed forces and ruled areas that were like small kingdoms.

Using commendation as a pretext, Qin Shi Huang summoned them to Xianyang to receive rewards, and then relocated their clans to the capital.

Once the two were in Xianyang, the major hurdle in relocating regional elites was removed.

Afterward, no records remained of the families or businesses of Widow Qing and the Wu merchant. Clearly, their enterprises had likely been “generously purchased” by Qin Shi Huang.

Part of the mercury found in the Emperor’s mausoleum was extracted from the cinnabar mines owned by Widow Qing’s family.

Zhu Xiang lowered his head and glanced at Zheng’er, who sat frowning, looking deeply troubled.

Ying Zheng said discontentedly, “Uncle, what are you staring at?”

Zhu Xiang sighed with emotion, “I was just thinking — Zheng’er, you really are impressive.”

Ying Zheng pouted, “Even if you praise me, I won’t forgive you.”

Zhu Xiang gave a wry smile. “Uncle was wrong, please forgive me, or I’ll start crying right here.”

Ying Zheng stiffened slightly, then turned his body away in disdain.

The conflict between Ying Zheng and Zhu Xiang stemmed from Zhu Xiang wrapping himself in leather while going out, yet still developing redness and swelling on his hands. According to Zhu Xiang, he likely contracted schistosomiasis while helping with labor — the parasite infiltrated through the skin.

That same night, Zhu Xiang applied concentrated garlic oil to the swollen area and continued drinking herbal infusions of artemisia annua (sweet wormwood). He later made allicin ointment to apply and even drank some, though it was hard to swallow.

A few days later, the swelling subsided. Even if some parasite eggs remained in his body, it probably wouldn’t cause illness.

In this era, it was extremely difficult to avoid parasitic infections. All Zhu Xiang could do was try to keep his body as healthy as possible. His immune system would help him live a long life.

But Ying Zheng didn’t feel the least bit comforted by these words.

It was the first time Zhu Xiang saw his usually composed and “mature” nephew sitting on the bed, kicking his legs and bawling his eyes out, leaving him completely flustered.

It took quite a while to calm Ying Zheng down. But after that, the boy entered a cold war with him. Only after Zhu Xiang promised never to go to infected zones again did Zheng’er finally forgive him.

But infected zones were the same as grain-producing zones. Zhu Xiang couldn’t honestly make that promise.

Li Mu was at a loss. “Couldn’t you have just lied to him? Zheng’er knows you can’t stay away from the fields — he just wants peace of mind.”

Zhu Xiang smiled bitterly. “I don’t want to deceive Zheng’er. He’s young but extremely smart. I worry that any lie, even a small one, might leave a lasting impact.”

Li Mu didn’t know what to say.

He just shook his head, sighed, and relayed Zhu Xiang’s words to Ying Zheng.

Ying Zheng, sulky and awkward, eventually took the initiative to make up with Zhu Xiang — but made him promise to at least avoid going into the water.

He had seen what people looked like after contracting dracunculiasis. Even though Zhu Xiang told him those were late-stage patients and most people appeared healthy while living with the parasites, Ying Zheng still vomited once and resolutely refused to “coexist” with schistosomes.

Li Mu sipped his mug of artemisia tea and sighed repeatedly.

He and Li Bing also had some redness and swelling, but after it subsided, Zheng’er no longer looked worried. Clearly, his feelings toward his uncle and teacher were not the same.

Li Bing went to Ba Commandery to borrow grain for disaster relief. Li Mu maintained post-flood order. Zhu Xiang borrowed troops from Li Mu and led them around helping farmers harvest and replant.

The benefits of millet became apparent at this time. It was resistant to lodging, had a thick husk, and could survive floods relatively well.

Even though their homes were destroyed and some families got sick after the floods, smiles returned to the faces of farmers in the Chengdu Plain.

But farmers in the hilly areas fared much worse. Their fields were almost entirely destroyed. They could only scrape through the mud, salvaging unrotted grain, drying it in the hope that it might feed them for another month or two.

Although Zhu Xiang had brought some potatoes, it was far from enough to provide seed crops for all the disaster victims across Shu Commandery.

Thankfully, Li Bing’s favorability level soared to three hearts after the flood. At two hearts, he gave Zhu Xiang rice. At three hearts, he gave him pumpkins. Pumpkins, like potatoes, were famine relief crops — they could temporarily alleviate the food crisis.

Pumpkins could be harvested within six months and planted twice a year. Autumn was the perfect season to grow them. Once harvested in winter, they could help farmers make it through the cold months.

However, convincing farmers to plant an unfamiliar crop was no easy task. Thankfully, Qin troops had large areas of garrison farmland. Under Li Mu’s authority, they planted potatoes in the drier mountain areas and built trellises for pumpkins, with legumes growing underneath.

Zhu Xiang finally breathed a sigh of relief.

Perhaps now the disaster victims would only need to eat moldy grain, grass leaves and roots, and tree bark for half a year.