Time passed in the blink of an eye, and two and a half months had gone by.
The days seemed to be carried along by the wind.
Though busy.
There was still a sense of order to it all.
Perhaps because the flood season and the rainy period had finally passed, the water level of the great river had dropped significantly. The once-murky, violent currents—like a tamed beast—had gradually receded in their fury.
The water no longer roared and crashed against the broken embankments. Instead, it was as if a shrewish, scolding wife had suddenly transformed back into a gentle, serene maiden, flowing softly and lightly through the river channel.
Under the direction of the local authorities, ordinary people tossed sandbags into the breach in the levee day after day—bag after bag, layer upon layer, packed tightly and solidly.
That gap, which had swallowed up countless homes, was finally sealed.
Though it was only temporary.
The entire stretch of the embankment would still need a comprehensive repair—surveying, design, and a great deal of silver and materials were required, and it couldn't be done overnight.
But that water, which had poured endlessly from the breach.
Had finally been stopped!
As the flood no longer continued to wreak havoc, the submerged areas would slowly recede.
An inch today, a foot tomorrow—one day, those waterlogged fields would emerge once more into the open air, those roads caked with mud would be trampled firm again by feet, and those houses that had been washed away would be rebuilt brick by brick.
It was just that—
The scars left by disaster might mend with time, but the common folk who had perished in the floodwaters would never live to see the future of this land.
What were they thinking when the waters swept them away?
Were they worrying about the crops still unharvested at home?
Or thinking of the wives and children waiting on the rooftops for their return?
Or maybe they weren't thinking of anything at all—just struggling desperately in the murky flood, using the very last of their strength to grasp at a floating log, a beam, anything that could keep them alive.
No one knows.
And no one will ask anymore.
Those who survived must continue to survive—continue to farm, to support their families, to put down new roots in this land ravaged by flood.
The cement workshop had also been built in an orderly fashion.
Pei Cijing stood on the slope outside the workshop, arms crossed over his chest, looking down at the bustling work site below. A strange, indescribable feeling rose in his heart.
Limestone, clay, and coal were being brought in from all directions.
Donkey carts, ox carts, and wheelbarrows formed a long procession on the winding mountain paths. The cart drivers cracked their whips and shouted at their animals; wagon wheels ground over the gravel road, creaking and groaning as they turned.
At the raw material yard.
Limestone was piled into a small mountain, clay into another, and coal into a third. Three mounds stood side by side like three silent giants, day and night swallowing up mine carts and manpower.
Inside the workshop, the functional zones were clearly divided.
In the crushing area, strong laborers swung heavy hammers, breaking large chunks of limestone into smaller fragments. Sweat ran down their backs, drawing gleaming lines across their tanned skin.
In the grinding area, several stone mills turned without rest, grinding the fragments into fine powder. The creak of the millstones mixed with the rustle of stone dust, weaving together a low, rumbling hum.
In the kiln area, several earthen kilns belched thick smoke. The furnace fires burned day and night, and waves of heat hit you from a distance—you could feel the scorching temperature even from far away.
In the finished goods area, freshly fired cement was packed into hemp sacks, stacked neatly one by one, waiting to be shipped to their destinations—repairing levees, paving roads, building houses.
Craftsmen in coarse short robes moved between the different sections.
The women handled the cooking and laundry.
A few large woks were set up under a shed at the edge of the workshop. Smoke curled upward from the kitchen fires, and the smell of food mixed with the soot of the kilns, drifting over the workshop.
Some were chopping vegetables, some were rinsing rice, others were feeding firewood into the stove. Their hands moved quickly, with a coordination that seemed born of years of practice.
The children chased each other in the living quarters.
The older ones dragged the younger along, darting between tents and makeshift shelters, their laughter ringing as crisp as a string of bells.
Pei Cijing watched those children, and couldn't help the corners of his mouth curling upward.
Children's worlds.
Always recover faster than those of adults.
The adults were still grieving over lost homes, worrying about their future livelihood, weeping for the loved ones who would never return.
But children?
As long as there was food to eat, a place to sleep, and playmates to share games with, they could still laugh. They could still find their own kind of joy on this land that had been devastated by the flood.
That, perhaps, was vitality.
An unending, unbreakable vitality—like wild grass that springs forth anew with the arrival of spring breeze.
Pei Cijing shifted his gaze from the children and let it fall back across every corner of the workshop.
Every person.
Had their own role, their own place.
No one was idle, no one was slacking, no one was arguing, and no one was crying. Everyone was quietly doing what they needed to do, like a finely tuned machine, every gear turning in its proper place.
They seemed to have already walked out of the disaster.
Found a new direction in life.
Pei Cijing watched it all, and a sense of achievement he couldn't quite name welled up in his chest.
This project—it had been his proposal.
That night, he had crouched over a map, drawn a circle with a charcoal stick over the mountainous area northwest of Yunyang Commandery, roughly estimated the raw material reserves and transport costs in his head, and then sketched the blueprint of the workshop in his mind.
The next day, he wrote up the proposal and presented it to Li Chengyu.
After His Highness, that sixth prince with his unconventional ways, had reviewed it, he acted decisively—surveying, approving, executing. And then the whole matter was handed right back to Pei Cijing. It truly followed the principle of "whoever proposes it, takes responsibility for it."
But to be honest, Pei Cijing hadn't been confident at the start. After all, this was the first time he had organized and managed so many people.
In his previous life, he had been a nobody—sitting in a cubicle, tapping away at a keyboard, doing whatever his boss told him only ever being managed by others, never managing anyone himself.
In this life, he had spent eighteen years lazing around in the marquis's estate, not even bothering to manage his own courtyard matters, let alone other people.
But this workshop—from site selection to planning, from raw material extraction to production processes, from staffing to logistics—every single decision, big or small, fell to him. He had to call the shots.
If it hadn't been for his wife guiding him from behind the scenes, he truly had no idea how many disasters he might have made.
Thinking of Shen Ninghuan.
The corners of Pei Cijing's mouth unconsciously curved again.
These two and a half months, he had scurried back and forth at the construction site during the day, and collapsed into a chair the moment he returned to his lodgings at night, too exhausted to move. Shen Ninghuan would bring a cup of tea and sit beside him, chatting with him in a leisurely way about the day's events.
Wherever a process had hit a snag, she could point out the crux in just a few words whichever overseer wasn't the right fit, she'd drop a casual remark, and he'd reassign someone the next day—indeed, things would go much more smoothly.
Those knotty problems he had racked his brains over.
In her hands.
Were like untangling a bundle of snarled thread—a gentle tug, and it came loose.
But seeing how effortlessly his wife managed this workshop of nearly ten thousand workers, it was probably far from her limit.
Pei Cijing secretly thought to himself that with his wife's abilities, in her previous life she would have been the kind of female CEO in charge of a multinational corporation with millions of employees and a net worth of hundreds of billions.
Decisive in her actions, sharp in her judgment, and yet still wearing that calm and unhurried expression on her face—anyone who saw her would think she was just a gentle and refined official's daughter.
If only he could return to his previous life and continue their romance with his wife.
The more Pei Cijing thought about it, the more delightful such a life seemed—the greater his wife’s abilities, the more stable his life of relying on her would be. He wouldn’t have to worry about anything; he could simply bask in the sun every day, drink tea, play games, and give his wife shoulder rubs and leg massages. Just thinking about such a life felt wonderful—
"Husband."
A clear, cool voice came from beside him, abruptly cutting off his boundless fantasies.
Pei Cijing jolted, his thoughts yanked back to reality.
He turned his head.
There stood Shen Ninghuan, who had somehow already made her way to his side. She was tilting her head slightly to look at him, a knowing smile in her eyes, as if she had taken in his entire daydreaming expression.
"We should be going now." Her tone was calm, as if she were merely stating some trivial matter.
Pei Cijing blinked, then nodded, drawing his gaze away from the distant workshop and letting out a long breath, as if trying to expel the exhaustion of these past two and a half months.
"Yes," he said softly, "we should go."
Their task here had been disaster relief.
Now the floodwaters had receded, the breach had been sealed, the victims had been largely resettled, and the workshop was up and running. The people had a means of livelihood, could support themselves, and so there was no risk of unrest.
For the follow-up, all that was needed was for the court to continue implementing the established policies—allocating funds to repair the river embankments and maintaining the workshop's normal production—and the people's lives would gradually return to normal.
Those of them who had come from the capital to provide support no longer had any reason to stay.
Everything was moving in a good direction.
And they.
It was time to go home...
"Being away from home for this long for the first time," Pei Cijing said with feeling, his tone carrying a mixture of wistfulness and anticipation, "I wonder how Father and Mother are doing. And my brother-in-law...
He turned his head to look at Shen Ninghuan, a trace of regret rising in his eyes: "He should have already tied the knot by now, right? Counting the days, the wedding was last month. It's a pity we couldn't make it back in time."
Shen Ninghuan remained composed when she heard this, though the corner of her mouth curved slightly, as if to comfort him: "It's alright. My brother once missed our wedding too, because he was investigating a case."
"Investigating a case?" Pei Cijing repeated instinctively, then seemed to remember something and his expression turned somewhat awkward: "Er... well then, we really do have quite the connection with Chen Qiming's case."
Both missed occasions were because of the Chen Qiming case.
Still.
Some things just need to be done by someone.
He mumbled this vaguely, but Shen Ninghuan heard it anyway. She playfully shot him a glare and didn't respond, though the slight curve at the corner of her eye betrayed her smile.
Pei Cijing wisely shut his mouth.
Their luggage had long been packed, and the attendant servants were holding the reins of the horses and carriage, waiting on the main road not far away.
Pei Cijing took one last look back at the bustling workshop. A strange emptiness settled in his chest. After all, it was a project he had built up with his own hands; letting it go so easily was bound to bring some reluctance.
But more than that.
He was eager to return home.
The disaster relief convoy gradually came together in formation. After all, they had come in good order, and they would return in good order—that was the rule, and also a matter of dignity.
Besides the couple, there were accompanying officials, guards, generals, soldiers, and craftsmen and clerks dispatched from various parts of the capital.
The procession was grand in scale.
Forming a long line along the side of the main road.
Pei Cijing spotted the Eighth Prince Li Chengyan among the group. He was standing beside an ornately decorated carriage, surrounded by several officials who were speaking to him with beaming smiles.
Li Chengyan stood with his hands clasped behind his back.
His expression relaxed.
His brows carried an unconcealed air of smug satisfaction. Clearly, the portion of disaster relief he had been responsible for had been handled quite well, and he was in a fine mood.
Then again, that made sense.
The region around the North River had always been Sun Youde's home turf, and Sun Youde was the Eighth Prince's maternal grandfather. So this place was roughly Li Chengyan's home ground as well.
Whether it was in disbursing grain and funds, coordinating with officials, or allocating manpower, he had far greater convenience than anyone else in everything he did.
With that kind of connection, if his disaster relief results weren't impressive.
Then Li Chengyan really would be a complete waste!
Pei Cijing only glanced at him from a distance, then looked away and stopped observing him further.
From the relaxed and carefree way Li Chengyan carried himself, their plan had clearly succeeded. They hadn't alerted their target at all.
He clearly had no idea.
That the truth about the embezzlement of river embankment funds had already come to light, and the evidence had long been sent to the capital. All that was left was to hold back and not act, for the sake of the bigger picture.
So he had felt no need to cover his tracks. Xuan Qingzi had continued to play the role of an enlightened master, quietly leveraging his network of connections to assist with the relief efforts.
But what awaited him upon returning to the capital?
Li Chengyan obviously had no idea. He was probably still dreaming of his hopes for the succession.
That was for the best.
Pei Cijing pushed the thought aside, walked over to his horse, and swung himself up into the saddle.
Shen Ninghuan also boarded the carriage. The curtain lifted at one corner, revealing half of her profile. Sunlight fell upon her brows and eyes, calm and composed.
"Let's go." Pei Cijing waved at the driver.
The convoy slowly began to move, wheels grinding over the dry dirt road with a deep, heavy rumble.
Along both sides of the road, a few passing villagers noticed the procession and stopped in their tracks, bowing in greeting. They might not have known who was riding in the carriage, but the news that the disaster relief officials from the capital were heading back had spread a few days ago.
Pei Cijing rode on horseback, his gaze sweeping past the villagers bowing by the roadside, over the vast stretches of farmland revealed after the floodwaters had receded, over the great river that had finally become tame, until it settled on the horizon in the distance.
The sky was azure blue, not a single cloud in sight.
Behind him, the workshop grew farther and farther away, the smoke from its kilns gradually turning into a thin gray line on the horizon, until it finally merged into the distance and was no longer visible. Two and a half months of busyness and fatigue, anxiety and perseverance, all seemed to dissipate into the wind along with that trail of smoke.
The road ahead was long, but at least it led home.
Pei Cijing lightly spurred his horse and caught up with the convoy.
The wind rustled through the wild grass by the roadside with a soft whisper. The sunlight fell warm upon his shoulders, and he suddenly felt infinitely lighter all over.
It was time to go home...
