On this day, Song Fengsui woke to find that the sun was already high in the sky. The room was brilliantly lit, and several shafts of sunlight had squeezed in through the window, falling across the tables, stools, and floor as though they meant to burn holes through everything.
Song Fengsui had been awakened by the heat. He had been unusually sleepy these past months, yet often suffered from insomnia at night, so he frequently slept until the sun was high as compensation.
Had the heat not been so oppressive, he would not have woken yet.
An Ge'er brought him water to wash up. Seeing that the loose hair at Song Fengsui’s brow was damp with sweat, he wrung out a cloth and wiped it for him.
Song Fengsui also felt sweaty all over, so he called for An Ge'er to fetch more water. He removed his clothes himself, intending to wipe down his body.
He lowered his head and glanced at his rounded belly. He was more than six months along now. Even though a little brother usually did not show as much as a woman, the changes to his body were clearly visible by this point.
Thinking that the child would be born in another three or four months, the anticipation in his heart eased some of the irritability brought on by the heat.
After washing himself, he felt much more refreshed. As his body grew heavier, he was being very careful and would not go out casually on his own. Duan Yan had gone out that morning, and Song Fengsui did not plan to leave either. He put on only a light, airy robe, ate breakfast, and then went to the reclining chair beneath the cool pavilion in the courtyard, where he leisurely fanned himself.
An Ge'er turned the winch beside the well and drew up a bowl of sour-plum drink. Duan Yan had prepared it early that morning, then placed it in the well to chill so that Song Fengsui could use it to relieve the heat at midday.
The sour-plum drink had been cooled in the well for more than two hours. It was icy cold, and because little sugar had been added, it was somewhat tart. Most people would have found it difficult to swallow, but Song Fengsui enjoyed it very much.
Even beneath the pavilion’s green shade, the air was stiflingly hot. Any breeze that arose seemed to have been boiled before reaching them. The cool, sweet-and-sour drink sliding down his throat truly did ease the summer heat.
For the past month, Duan Yan had often taken him into the mountains to escape the heat. It was not merely because Song Fengsui was pregnant and especially sensitive to high temperatures; this year’s weather was even more scorching than last year’s, and the drought was also far worse.
The smell of sun-scorched grass drifted everywhere through the villages and fields. Even the mountain forests, which were damp year-round, had dried out. With every step, the thick layer of fallen leaves crumbled beneath their feet like thin crisps baked in a furnace, crackling loudly.
The first few times they had built a shelter beside the waterfall, the flow had still been strong. The falling curtain of water sent droplets spraying through the air, and its roar could be heard from a great distance.
But as summer deepened and the days with rain became few enough to count on one hand, the water flow had dropped sharply. The waterfall had already shrunk to nearly half its former size.
People in the fields were suffering heatstroke one after another. Last month, several villagers had become so overheated that they convulsed and inexplicably began bleeding. They had contracted summer-heat illness. Although they had been rescued in time, they could now do nothing but remain bedridden.
The city was suffering just as badly. After enduring the snow disaster at the beginning of the year, everyone had gone into the mountains to gather firewood and make charcoal for storage. No one had expected the weather to turn so dry. Before they knew it, six or seven fires, both large and small, had broken out.
Once a fire started, it was disastrous. With the drought, water was no longer as plentiful as before, and even a small blaze required tremendous effort to extinguish.
The administrative office had therefore assigned many additional militiamen to patrol day and night.
These successive natural disasters had left everyone anxious and unsettled. Fortunately, Yanzhen had repaired its irrigation channels and waterwheels last year. Despite this year’s drought, water could be diverted from the mountains into the villages, and the waterwheels could be used to irrigate the crops. The harvest would not be as good as in a year of plenty, but at least the crops had survived.
At Chishan, they had distributed many seed potatoes in early spring. The area planted was extensive—nearly twice that of Yanzhen.
The crops had not yet reached harvest, but the potatoes were already ripe. That was why Duan Yan had called people out to gather them that morning.
Later that evening, Duan Yan returned from outside together with Song Wushen and Song Xuemu. All three were covered in dust, clearly having come straight from the fields.
Their faces were filled with delight.
“You look so happy. Is the potato harvest going well?” Song Fengsui asked.
Duan Yan washed his hands, then hurried over to support Song Fengsui.
Song Xuemu was quick to tell the family, “The weather has been dry and the drought severe. The other crops are in terrible condition, but potatoes aren’t afraid of such disasters. Just today, we harvested thirty-six shi of potatoes.”
One shi equaled one hundred and twenty jin. More than thirty shi meant several thousand jin in total.
Song Fengsui’s eyes brightened. “You dug them up that quickly? How much was the yield per mu this year?”
“Roughly four to eight shi per mu. The plots that were carefully managed and protected from the frost at the beginning of the year produced nearly five or six shi each!”
Song Xuemu said with a smile, “Everyone is thrilled. You have to understand, millet and rice yield only four or five shi per year even in fertile fields during a good harvest. On poor land, they produce merely two or three shi a year. In a drought year like last year, even fertile fields yielded only two or three shi, while poor fields sometimes produced less than one.”
“Yet these potatoes were planted in sandy soil, and even in a disaster year like this, they yield at least four shi per mu. That is entirely comparable to the harvest from fertile fields in a good year!”
Duan Yan added, “Although that is already an extremely high yield, this is Chishan’s first time growing them, and we still haven’t tended them as carefully as we should. The yield is not as good as in Yanzhen.
“Over there, they have water conservancy irrigation this year. To practice crop rotation, they planted fewer potatoes and more rice and millet, but the potato yield was still at least six shi per mu. According to the messages we’ve received, some fields may even have yielded as much as ten shi!”
The highest and best yields came from the old farmers who had accompanied Duan Yan to purchase the potatoes and had been among the first people to grow them.
They were patient and experienced. Once they learned how valuable potatoes were, they tended them with exceptional care. Naturally, the results were astonishing.
“With just this potato harvest, no matter how severe this year’s famine becomes, we won’t have to worry about food—even if the rice and millet crops fail completely.”
Song Wushen had also spent most of the day in the fields digging up potatoes. Seeing the clusters of potatoes hanging from the roots had filled him with energy, and he had worked without noticing how tired he was. Only now did he belatedly realize that every muscle in his body was sore.
After drinking some tea, his body was exhausted, but his heart felt at ease. “It is now the transition between summer and autumn. Many farming families have already eaten through last year’s grain, while the new crops have not yet ripened or been harvested. This has always been the season when food is scarcest. The potato harvest has come at exactly the right time to fill the people’s shortage.”
That was the usual pattern, but the situation these past two years had been far more dangerous than normal.
Last year’s harvest had already been poor. This year, the snow disaster delayed the spring planting, and the summer drought was worse than in previous years. The farmers’ stored grain could not possibly last until the potatoes ripened. Their rice jars had already been empty for a month or two.
The administrative office had established relief granaries and transported potatoes and grain from Yanzhen for the people of Chishan to borrow.
Once the potatoes were harvested, the villagers would return what they had borrowed to the relief granaries. This gave poor farming families a chance to catch their breath during the disaster year.
Judging by the potato yield this year, however, the relief granaries likely would not need to play much of a role going forward. With surplus grain in their own homes, the villagers would no longer need to borrow.
As he spoke, Song Wushen could not stop praising the potatoes.
The best part was that they had not only saved the people this year. After harvesting this crop, they could move on to another plot and plant a winter crop. With two harvests a year and such a high yield, no matter how much the population grew, there would never be a shortage of food.
“When people have enough to eat, there are naturally fewer conflicts. When the soldiers are well trained and the horses well fed, they have more energy to hone their weapons. Only then can we truly gain a measure of confidence and stability in this world.”
In the blink of an eye, September arrived. The drought and heat had not lessened by much, but the breeze already carried the faint fragrance of osmanthus.
It should have been the season for a bustling autumn harvest. In Chishan and Yan Town, things did indeed proceed in orderly fashion. But outside the town pass, there was no sign of a harvest at all.
Beneath the scorching sky, groups of sturdy men charged into fields of withered crops, sickles in hand and hoes slung over their shoulders. Their eyes were bloodshot, and they tore into the rice as though they were a band of bandits, cutting and gathering without the slightest restraint.
No matter how the farmers pleaded or tried to stop them, it was useless. In the end, old men and women were forced to rush home and return with kitchen knives to fight. Blood sprayed through the fields in great splashes, spattering the yellowed, shriveled stalks. The parched earth, its soil hardened into clods, greedily drank it all in.
Before the time it took to burn a single incense stick, the blazing sun had licked away the last trace of moisture. The bright red blood had darkened into mottled stains across the ground, yet the stench of it refused to disperse.
Flies and insects buzzed and wheeled above the corpses lying at the edges of the fields. Passing villagers, their faces gaunt and sallow and their eyes dull, simply walked on.
There were many groups like this. For the mouthfuls of grain left behind by the disaster, countless people had fallen dead in the fields. Everyone had grown so accustomed to it that no one had the strength to sigh over another’s death.
And what good did it do even to be lucky enough to seize some grain? On the way back, many a group turned on its own members over an uneven division of the spoils—or because someone had harbored murderous intentions from the start. Before long, several more bodies, covered in saber wounds, would be added to the wilderness paths.
A fast horse raced from the pass straight to the yamen.
“The gate is crowded with refugees—some sitting, some lying down. It’s nearly blocked completely. When we went to disperse them this morning, we found that two people had actually starved to death. By the time they were discovered, their bodies were already stiff.”
The sentry reported this at the yamen. The soldiers stationed before the pass witnessed the refugees’ misery day after day, and their hearts were tormented by it.
A month earlier, several reckless bands of rioters had set their sights on Chishan, apparently intending to launch a night attack. But before they could even approach the pass, the sentries spotted them. Once the archers took up position, their arrows flew swift and true, scattering the attackers like startled birds.
The rioters came back several more times despite their repeated failures. After experiencing the strength of the guards and realizing they could gain nothing here, they finally vanished and no longer dared to return.
The refugees, however, took this as a sign that the area was safe. They began gathering around the pass in groups to beg for food.
The yamen had ordered that, so long as they posed no threat, the refugees’ lives were not to be taken recklessly. Since they were merely seeking shelter near the pass and had not committed any acts of violence, the sentries could only keep watch. But their numbers increased with every passing day, and the guards were nearly unable to keep up. In the end, they had no choice but to ask the yamen to deal with the matter.
“Has the county truly done nothing at all? Do they not care in the slightest whether the common people live or die?”
“If they cared, they probably wouldn’t have let us remain this free for so long. They haven’t come once since last year.”
After the snow disaster, they had constantly guarded against the county sending troops against them. Yet no word had come to this day. Perhaps the county had been hit hard by the blizzard and had not yet recovered. Then the drought arrived in turn, leaving them scrambling in every direction without the means to manage either crisis.
“Lord Song, how do you think we should deal with these refugees?”
After discussing the matter for a while, the people in the yamen all looked to Song Wushen for his decision.
“We have more grain than people. We can take in the refugees.”
Their stores were plentiful, so they did not fear that accepting refugees would reduce the rations of the existing residents. More hands could be put to use, whether for farming, enlisting in the army, or building waterworks. There was only one matter that caused concern.
“But salt will become even more difficult to obtain.”
Duan Yan had known this would be the sticking point. Brother Bai had carefully managed their salt supplies, and based on the current reserves and population of the two towns, their salt could last at most another year and a half.
If they accepted refugees, that period would be shortened considerably.
During these past months, Brother Bai had continually tried to contact his old connections, but it had been like searching for a needle in a haystack. He had received almost no response.
With the area outside the town pass in such chaos, and with warfare and two consecutive years of natural disasters, everything had been brought to the brink of collapse. Other places were probably no better. Communications had broken down, and transporting or purchasing supplies was extraordinarily difficult.
“Open the pass and take in the refugees.”
Duan Yan’s voice suddenly broke the silence. Everyone else turned to look at him.
“Lord Duan, if we accept the refugees, our salt reserves…”
“Even if we refuse them, our salt reserves are already a problem. The most important thing now isn’t to reduce consumption, but to focus on how we can obtain more salt.”
Duan Yan continued, “Train more men and find a way to leave the pass and travel to Shu.”
Song Wushen was silent for a moment before agreeing.
If they were going to send people beyond the pass, they indeed needed to increase their manpower. Otherwise, should another faction take advantage of their absence, they would be in trouble.
Once the matter was settled, refugee shelters were hastily built in the outskirts of town, near the pass. The refugees who came seeking refuge were accepted, while militias were assigned to distribute grain and maintain order each day.
Afterward, the refugees were left to fell trees and build their own dwellings, and later to clear land for cultivation.
“Are you planning to lead the group out personally in search of salt?”
When Song Fengsui heard that the town had recently begun accepting refugees and learned of the arrangements made at the yamen, he felt somewhat uneasy. It was not that he objected to allowing the refugees into town. Rather, he had heard that Duan Yan intended to select a group to search for salt.
This was a major undertaking. Duan Yan had considerable experience traveling out to purchase supplies in the past, and Song Fengsui was afraid the responsibility would fall on him.
Under ordinary circumstances, it would have been fine. The capable did more work, and they could shoulder such an important task.
But now, Song Fengsui was carrying a child. It was impossible for him to endure the jostling of travel and accompany Duan Yan as he had before the wars. If Duan Yan went alone, he might be gone for one or two months—or even three to five. Song Fengsui lowered his gaze to his rounded belly, his heart filled with unease.
“Under normal circumstances, there would be nothing wrong with me leading a group out. But look at the situation now—how could I leave? Even if I weren’t the one going, and someone tried to force me to, I still wouldn’t agree.”
Duan Yan took Song Fengsui’s hand. “These are extraordinary times. The town needs me here. How could we manage without me if a battle breaks out? More importantly, the baby is visibly growing by the day. I can’t bear to be away from you even for a single day. How could I leave for several months? By the time I returned, the child might already have been born.”
Song Fengsui let out a quiet breath of relief. He lifted Duan Yan’s hand and placed it against his own belly. Together, they felt the baby move.
“If you weren’t here, I wouldn’t feel at ease.”
“But if you aren’t leading the group, who will go?”
Duan Yan said, “With things this chaotic, we’ll need plenty of well-trained fighters. Tie Da and Lin Er, who have gone out before, will be joining them as well. Brother Bai knows the salt routes best, and out of loyalty, he volunteered to leave the pass.”
Song Fengsui leaned against Duan Yan. “I only hope everything goes smoothly.”
They were all familiar faces. If any one of them died, it would weigh heavily on everyone’s hearts.
After some days had passed, Duan Yan finished assembling the twelve-man salt-searching party. He prepared dry provisions for them and arranged for them to set out at first light.
Autumn had already settled in, and winter would arrive before long. In Qianzhou, whether or not the winter brought snow disasters, the roads were difficult to travel. Crossing out of the province would be no easier, given the treacherous terrain of Shu.
“Salt is certainly important, but your lives matter more. Above all, take care to protect yourselves.”
Before their departure, Duan Yan gave the group one last solemn reminder.
All the officials in charge at the yamen had come to see them off. After having kept the pass closed for so long, this was the first time they had opened it to let people travel so far beyond its borders.
Though they had never ventured deep beyond the pass themselves, the refugees who had come seeking shelter had given them enough accounts to glimpse what the outside world was like—a veritable hell on earth.
As they watched the party ride away, everyone felt a mixture of anticipation and heaviness in their hearts.
