The people of Xingping Village watched them leave, their hearts pounding.
Just a few short sentences—yet they couldn't quite understand.
Someone spoke, their voice scratchy as if they'd swallowed sand.
"Releasing the water? Really? Is this old man hearing that right?"
"No idea!"
"We're at this point now—surely the officials wouldn't lie to us!"
"Erwazi, don't get too close to the canal! Why are you jumping down? Get back up here, hurry!"
"Third Great-Uncle, you're losing your mind—how can you believe this? I reckon in a bit, another official will come down and say it failed, and we should all go back where we came from."
No sooner had he spoken than the sound of hooves came again.
The villagers: "..."
Well, damn. Erwazi had called it.
This prefect had really put on a show—they'd almost believed him.
Just as disappointment and dejection set in—
The imperial guard spoke.
"Water will soon be released upstream! Final warning! No unauthorized personnel are allowed near the riverbank! No one is to approach the riverbank!"
Not a failure notice...
...but a final warning.
Everyone suddenly looked up toward Ronghe Village, their hearts pounding violently as they silently counted the time.
One breath.
Two breaths.
Three breaths.
They had just reached fifty counts when a deafening roar came from ahead.
The villagers whipped their heads toward the noise—and their eyes went wide in shock.
At the bend of the river ahead, a massive reddish-brown torrent carrying yellow earth suddenly surged into view. Like a waterfall, it cascaded straight down from upstream, the falling water kicking up waves over three meters high. Then, like a thousand horses and ten thousand soldiers, it came thundering toward them—the surging currents vast and overwhelming, swallowing everything in their path.
The rumbling roar battered the riverbanks while shaking the hearts of the watching villagers. Everyone felt as if their throats were being tightly gripped; they stood frozen in shock, unable to make even the faintest sound.
Many villagers would remember this scene until their dying day.
Their Xingping Village had suffered drought for generations—nearly three hundred years—and finally… the water had arrived.
The water had arrived!!!
The water had arrived.
Their Xingping Village had water. Heaven had finally shown mercy!
The villagers wept with tears streaming down their aged faces.
…
Zhao Ger had also come, bringing Guaizai, Xiao Feng, and Uncle Tang. Li Yisheng and Master Li were there too.
They stood at the foot of the mountain with the villagers of Ronghe and Xiaping, watching the river rush endlessly down from the hills. Around them, villagers knelt on the ground, crying tears of joy—the sound of their weeping made everyone's noses sting with emotion.
Fang Zichen had not yet come down from the mountain. An old man with bloodshot eyes staggered over to Zhao Ger and collapsed to his knees with a heavy thud.
"Fang Fulang, this old man is clumsy with words and doesn't know what to say. Thank you, thank you and Lord Fang!"
Zhao Ger hurriedly helped him up: "Elder, please get up."
Many others around were about to kneel as well, when someone suddenly shouted: "Lord Fang is coming down the mountain!"
The villagers crowded around, full of enthusiasm. Fang Zichen could hardly bear it—if it had been anyone else, he would have said, "What use is empty talk? Give me something real!" But this time, he forced himself to hold back.
Fang Zichen clasped his hands behind his back and spoke with solemn righteousness: "No need for such formality. This is all part of my official duty." He suddenly paused, his gaze turning cold as he looked at Tieda: "Uncle, what's the name of your pig?"
Tieda's expression, which had been overcome with excitement, quickly turned sheepish. He replied awkwardly: "It, it… it's called Tieda."
Fang Zichen let out a snort and said no more. If he hadn't worn a red scarf for two years back in his youth, he would have already slipped laxatives into that well in Xiaping Village—he'd have made them shit their guts out, or his surname wasn't Fang.
[Red scarf: the official symbol of the Young Pioneers of China, representing a corner of the red flag and said to be dyed with the blood of revolutionary martyrs, worn by millions of Chinese schoolchildren as a mark of honor and commitment to the communist cause.]
The common folk rushed home and came back out carrying things. Now that the river diversion had succeeded, the prefect would probably not return. Hezhou was far from the village, and they might never see him again.
Everyone wanted to give something in return. The poor brought a basket of sweet potatoes; those a little better off added a few eggs.
Even Physician Li and his companions received gifts. Watching the villagers' gratitude, Zhao Ger suddenly felt a swell of accomplishment.
They had come by carriage, and this time it was loaded with sweet potatoes. Fang Zichen didn't really want them, but the people were so earnest! He simply couldn't refuse—they kept stuffing things into his arms.
As the carriage drove off, some who had gone back for sweet potatoes but arrived late hadn't managed to hand theirs over. They chased after the carriage, shouting desperately: "Lord Fang! Lord Fang!"
The cries were so sharp and mournful they sounded less like gift-giving and more like a funeral procession.
Uncle Tang watched for a while before lowering the carriage curtain.
Today, having come to the village, everyone knew he was from Fang Zichen's household, and they treated him with utmost warmth and respect.
This respect was different from what he'd received in the capital or during his travels in Hengyang. Back then, people respected him out of fear. Now, this respect came straight from the heart.
The news that the driest southern region of Anhe County now had water spread like the wind.
The townsfolk didn't believe it. How could that be possible?
Impossible. Absolutely impossible.
But the word spread fiercely—and it sounded real.
"No way. I'm going to see it myself." They went to Fangniu Village, the closest to the county town. A winding river flowed through the village—the muddy water from earlier had already turned clear. Along the banks, villagers were digging small ditches to channel water into the fields, while several women washed clothes nearby, smiles on their faces—no longer the bitterness and numbness of before.
The townsfolk refused to believe it without seeing it. But now that they'd witnessed it with their own eyes, they found it miraculous. They grabbed a local and asked how the river had been brought in.
The local grinned: "Why, the prefect brought it, of course!"
"How did the prefect do it?"
"You'd have to ask the prefect that! How would I know? If I did, I'd have brought the water here eight hundred years ago!"
Some, burning with curiosity, went to Xiaping Village. When the villagers couldn't give them answers, they went up the mountain in small groups. There, they saw a huge hole blasted through the base of the Stone Mountain—as if someone had punched clean through it.
A few villagers from Xiaping were loitering around, with nothing better to do. They came to check on the hole every few days, terrified it might get blocked.
They soon struck up a conversation with the townsfolk.
"The place we're standing now? It used to be a mountain."
The man looked around: "Then where's the mountain? Gone visiting relatives?"
"You sure have a way with words, young master. The prefect blew it up—leveled it flat in just one afternoon. And that hole? The prefect blasted that out too." He mimicked what Guaizai had said that day: "So, what do you think? Isn't the prefect just awesome?"
"How did he blast it? With what?" The man was dying to know.
"No idea! We were at the foot of the mountain that day, and we just heard thunder-like booms—bang, bang, bang! Good heavens, the noise was so deafening that a few of the more timid men in our village wet themselves right there on the spot."
The more the townsfolk heard, the more incredible it seemed.
They were curious before they came.
Now they were even more curious.
The whole affair caused a sensation in Anhe County—everyone was talking about it.
But it also made people realize: the new prefect was a man of real ability, and a good one too—willing to work for the common people.
They put away their sacks and sickles. No need to beat this good official.
Several county magistrates and wealthy gentry from around Anhe County wanted to pay a visit, but were told that the prefect was no longer in Anhe.
Zhao Ger had taken Uncle Tang, Xiao Feng, Gungun and Dandan to Anping County. Anhe had been their first major success since arriving. Many had been watching from the sidelines; now that they'd made their mark, fewer people were thinking of attacking them.
But winning over everyone's hearts would take more than one battle. Some mindsets were deeply entrenched. Zhao Ger still brought ten imperial guards with him this time.
They were all gers, women, children, and the elderly—caution was necessary.
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