PCJ – Chapter 621 Water Shortage

“Cock-a-doodle-doo!”

A spirited rooster crowed, waking the quiet mountain village from the dawn mist.

Zhang Jiaohua opened his eyes and got dressed. Although it was the height of summer, the village mornings were cool. A fresh breeze blew in through the window, bringing with it the crisp chirping of birds. The familiar environment filled Zhang Jiaohua with warmth.

He pushed open the door and stepped outside. A few doves pacing in the yard were clearly unprepared for this unexpected guest and flapped away in a panic, flying off into the distance.

Zhang Jiaohua had no food here for now—he’d arranged to eat at Gu Baishui’s place. But since Gu Baishui set the mealtimes, Zhang could only adapt. Fortunately, Zhang Jiaohua no longer had a typical human’s urgency for food. He only ate because he hadn’t yet abandoned the habit—doing so would be too shocking to others.

“This Yingpan Village really is a good place to cultivate.” A remote mountain village like this meant there wouldn’t be much scheming or backstabbing. People lived simple, poor lives. Although materially lacking, they were spared much of the vanity and worldly noise of modern society.

Zhang Jiaohua wasn’t here to waste time, though. He planned to get things done. First, he needed to settle in. He’d have to buy daily necessities on the next market day. Since distances in the village were long, he needed transportation—but he didn’t want a car. Instead, he planned to buy a motorcycle. Although Yingpan Village was poor, the roads showed motorcycle tracks, meaning wealthier families already had them. Owning one himself wouldn’t make him stand out. With a motorcycle, it’d be much easier to bring back supplies.

Not long after, village children began leading cattle out of the village. Yingpan Village still practiced very traditional farming. Oxen remained essential draft animals. There weren’t many, and often several families shared one.

“Hey, look! There’s a street thug (that’s what we call city folks) living at the village school. His skin’s so white—whiter than our fat pigs!”

These little brats! Zhang Jiaohua glanced over. The kids immediately burst into laughter.

Zhang Jiaohua wasn’t angry. If he wanted to understand the village quickly, these kids were his entry point.

“Hey, you kids—come here a sec,” Zhang Jiaohua called.

The children looked his way but hesitated, not daring to approach.

“I’ve got candy from the city. Want some? Help me with a few things, and it’s yours.” Zhang Jiaohua sounded like a sneaky wolf tricking kids.

Now the kids really couldn’t resist. Candy was a rare treat in Yingpan Village, usually only appearing during festivals or when parents returned from the city.

“You’re not gonna make us do something bad, are you?” asked the boldest of the bunch.

“Of course not. I’m an official sent by the higher-ups to your village. How could I ask you to do bad things? I’m just new here and want to ask about a few things. Help me out, and I’ll make sure you get good stuff often,” Zhang said with a smile.

Having grown up lonely, Zhang Jiaohua was very familiar with a child’s mindset and knew their weaknesses well. It didn’t take much to get them to drop their guard.

“What’s your name?” Zhang asked the boldest child.

“I’m Gu Chuangui. That’s Gu Dahua, that’s Gu Jinfang, and that’s Gu Guangping…” The boy quickly rattled off the names of the others.

“Where’s your village well? Take me there and I’ll give you candy,” Zhang said.

“Alright. I thought you were going to make us do something bad. I wouldn’t do that. The well’s up in the mountains. It’s nearly dry. You guys watch my cow while I take him to the well. When I get the candy, I’ll share. But if my cow runs off, no candy for you!” Gu Chuangui warned.

“I’ll watch the cow!” Gu Dahua said quickly.

“Me too!” Gu Jinfang chimed in.

“I said it first!” Dahua protested.

“I can watch the cow too!” added Gu Guangping.

“Stop arguing! You can all help watch the cow. Just don’t let it eat anyone else’s crops. We’ll split the candy later,” said Gu Chuangui, taking command.

Although he was the same age as the others, Gu Chuangui was clearly braver, loyal, and a natural leader.

After delegating the task, he turned to Zhang Jiaohua. “Come with me. The mountain path isn’t easy. It’s a long way. There used to be a bamboo flume bringing water down, but as the water dwindled, it stopped working. Now we have to carry water ourselves.”

“You fetch water too?” Zhang asked.

“Of course. My grandparents are old, and my parents aren’t home. I’m the man of the house. I have to take care of them. That’s what my dad told me when he left,” said Gu Chuangui, his eyes showing firm resolve.

“When did the village well dry up? Why didn’t people dig a new one nearby?” Zhang asked.

“It’s been years. My grandparents said it started drying up before I was born. The stream used to water all the rice fields. Later, villagers tried digging several new wells at the foot of the mountain, but none yielded water. So now we have to go fetch water from the spring.”

The path was steep and rocky, making travel difficult—especially when carrying full water buckets on the return trip.

“Is there a river nearby?” Zhang asked.

“Of course, but a hydroelectric dam blocked off the water. There used to be a canal that brought it here, but now it’s abandoned.” As he spoke, Gu Chuangui’s eyes flared with hatred. It was a chilling look—hatred rooted so deeply even a child couldn’t forget it.

They walked three or four miles before reaching the spring. Calling it a well was generous—it was more like a small pool. A mountain cave fed a tiny trickle of water that dripped steadily into the pool. The water was clear and surrounded by rocks, forming a protective basin.

“This is it. Grandpa said the stream used to be huge and flowed through the bamboo flume to the village. Now, this is all that’s left,” said Gu Chuangui sadly.

“What do people do about drinking, bathing, and laundry?” Zhang asked.

“What can we do? We bathe and change at school. At home, we avoid bathing if we can. People who can move away already have,” Gu Chuangui replied.

Zhang realized something: maybe the village population wasn’t as high as Zhu Qingdong had claimed.

“How many people live in your courtyard?” Zhang asked.

“About fifty.”

“How many courtyards like yours in the village?”

“Five or six, maybe.”

So if each had fifty people, the actual population might be under 300—far less than Zhu Qingdong’s estimate of 400+. But that wasn’t the main issue. The real problem was water.

Without a stable water source, even basic survival—let alone farming—was hard. Restoring the canal or identifying why the mountain spring dried up were possible solutions.

Wait—Zhang suddenly thought—this was a high mountain. Rain would surely produce streams that flowed downhill. Couldn’t the village build catchment ponds to collect runoff for irrigation?

“Don’t you have ponds?” Zhang asked.

“We do, but the water’s filthy—used for animals and irrigation. Not fit for people. And it dries up fast,” said Gu Chuangui.

That meant the pond was leaking. Zhang thought: What if they built a small reservoir to store rainwater from the wet season? That could solve the water shortage.

But why hadn’t this been done? If it were that easy, why had the issue persisted for so many years?

“Uncle, are you going to fetch water here too?” Gu Chuangui asked.

“Yes,” Zhang nodded.

“I can help carry it for you,” said Gu Chuangui.

Zhang glanced at him, wondering what the boy wanted.

“I just want some money,” the boy said shyly.

“What do you need money for?” Zhang asked, curious.

“I want to buy pain medicine for my grandpa. When his leg hurts, he sweats all over. It must hurt a lot.”

“Alright,” Zhang nodded.

“Is there any other spring nearby?” he asked.

“There is—over the mountain. The flow’s much bigger, but it’s at a lower elevation, so we can’t bring the water here.”

“Can you show me?”

“Sure.” Gu Chuangui led the way.

The next part of the journey was even harder. Few people ever came this way, and there was no path. Luckily, Gu Chuangui had a sickle at his waist for cutting grass. He used it to slash through the underbrush and clear a path.

“Uncle, do you hike a lot in the city?” he asked.

“No, but I grew up in the countryside too. The mountains back home are no smaller than yours,” Zhang replied.

“No wonder you can keep up with me,” said the boy.

After crossing the mountain and descending for a long while, they reached the spring. Water gushed from a small cave, flowing loudly. The opening was larger, and a person could duck inside.

“Has anyone gone in?” Zhang asked, peering in and hearing the water echo inside.

“No. We kids don’t dare. Grandpa said someone once went in and never came back. He told us never to enter caves,” said Gu Chuangui.

Zhang nodded. “Yeah, caves can go in all directions. If you get lost, you’ll never find your way out. Very dangerous. Never go in. Let’s head back.”

“Uncle, you’re not gonna go in there someday, right?” the boy asked.

“No way. I’m terrified of dying,” Zhang replied.

Gu Chuangui giggled.

Back at the village school, Gu Baishui’s grandson, Gu Chenglin, came to call Zhang for breakfast. Zhang handed out candy to the kids, giving Gu Chuangui an extra handful.

“I’ll be needing your help again,” Zhang said.

“If you need water, just call me,” said Gu Chuangui—still focused on earning money.

“Sure, sure,” Zhang replied.

“You didn’t have to give them that much candy,” Gu Chenglin grumbled. He felt Zhang’s candy should have been his alone since Zhang was their guest.

“I needed their help,” Zhang said with a smile.

“I can help too!” Gu Chenglin protested.

“But they said they’d help carry water. Can you carry that much?” Zhang asked.

“I can when I grow up!” Gu Chenglin scratched his head.

“Then grow up fast. And wipe your nose too. No—not on your shirt!”