“Talk about those times when we planned to achieve something big, but then…”
“Hmph, your idea is both extremely difficult and exceedingly simple,” Meng Qi replied without any change in expression, his eyes not even lifting. “Just take care of your followers, claim a mountain as your kingdom, guard the natural barriers, farm your own land, and spend a lifetime in poverty. At least people won’t die. For the homeless and beggars, such a livelihood is already a blessing.”
Cheng Jingchuan gave a faint, bitter smile and remained silent.
Such a way of life might sound simple, but in reality, it is fraught with hidden dangers.
—Once people find a way to survive and eat their fill, they will inevitably want more.
If you retreat to the mountains, leading a group to open up land and farm, after three or five years, some will grow restless and want to explore the outside world. Especially once they have offspring, children who have never experienced harsh taxes or oppressive laws will naturally yearn for a life beyond the mountains.
Moreover, the relatively flat regions to the south already have villages and towns. Deep forests and jungles are sparsely populated, but they are also plagued by deadly diseases—going there is almost like seeking death.
So, becoming a mountain king is not feasible. Whether water bandits or mountain bandits, they all have to live by plundering.
“…Judging by your expression, it seems you understand the logic behind this,” Meng Qi stood with his hands behind his back.
“To be honest, I’ve even tried it before,” Cheng Jingchuan admitted.
This response surprised Meng Qi, and Mo Li also glanced at Cheng Jingchuan in astonishment.
Cheng Jingchuan sighed deeply and briefly summarized his failed attempt to lead refugees to Guang’an County for land reclamation.
Mo Li, who had read local chronicles stored in the Imperial Palace of Taijing, knew that Guang’an County was once established as a prefecture during the previous dynasty. However, due to its remote location and troubles with native tribes, it was eventually abandoned.
There, rice could be harvested three times a year. Without harsh winters, far from the central plains’ conflicts, and free from the influence of aristocratic clans, Cheng Jingchuan likely chose Guang’an County for these reasons.
As for the local tribes, Cheng Jingchuan, skilled in military tactics, brought along a hundred soldiers and some martial artists from Fengxing Pavilion, believing they could handle the situation.
But things are never that simple.
As a physician, Mo Li first thought of acclimatization issues. Even with adequate medical supplies, some people might react severely to the environment. Especially when the refugees lacked access to boiled water, many could succumb to illness. If corpses were not burned promptly, epidemics would spread rapidly.
Meng Qi considered the native tribes. These indigenous people were hard to assimilate. They lived by hunting and fishing, and were unaccustomed and unwilling to farm. Reclaiming land required clearing forests and digging canals, inevitably encroaching on their interests. Even if nothing directly affected them, they harbored deep hostility toward outsiders.
These were remnants of problems left by the Chen dynasty—corrupt officials, exploitation of frontier residents, and excessive taxation. They had never done any good.
The natives didn’t distinguish between people from Chen or Chu dynasties. Outsiders were outsiders; their hatred had long been ingrained.
When Cheng Jingchuan led his people to suppress the natives, they vanished into the dense forests like rabbits. Moreover, these natives were adept at martial arts and poison use. The martial artists accompanying them gained no advantage and lacked patience. Except for a few loyal to Master Qiu, most left secretly after a few defeats.
On one side were the elusive natives; on the other, the settlers had fixed farmlands and homes, making them easy targets.
Cheng Jingchuan endured for over two years, becoming noticeably thinner and darker, before finally managing to establish a settlement of over a hundred people in Guang’an County. This success was only possible because their doctor had saved the native tribal leader from illness.
“But I still failed. The refugees who settled down united with the natives to oppress the second wave of settlers.”
Even though land was abundant and the people had only recently begun to have enough to eat, they were filled with hostility toward newcomers, scheming to drive them away.
Without new settlers, they turned on each other. Among just over a hundred people, they formed six or seven factions based on kinship and locality.
Cheng Jingchuan realized that if he forcibly relocated people or imposed strong control, then ten years later, while Guang’an County’s lands might be developed, new local aristocrats would emerge—victors of the disputes among the settlers—collaborating with Cheng Jingchuan’s soldiers, officials, and even native tribes.
—Ordinary people would lose their land and become tenant farmers, toiling endlessly just to barely survive. In the face of natural disasters, they would have to sell their daughters and sons.
How would that differ from their previous lives?
Cheng Jingchuan wondered, had he poured his heart into this for ten years just to “create” a few new local aristocrats?
Meng Qi couldn’t help but laugh as he listened.
It wasn’t a mocking laugh; it was more like the knowing expression of someone who had stumbled in the dark only to see others behind them fall even harder.
Mo Li also seemed deep in thought, mainly because the idea of “claiming a mountain as a kingdom” reminded him of the Stone Mill Village.
If Cheng Jingchuan’s attempt to relocate refugees was the difficult choice, the head of Stone Mill Village had the benefit of simplicity.
During three years of severe drought in Yongzhou, the land was barren, and survival outside the mountains was nearly impossible. The people in the village were either physically unattractive or born with congenital disabilities. In times of peace, such individuals would be ostracized and struggle to survive, but now, gathered together, they shared a common hatred for the outside world and supported one another to live.
This convergence of time, place, and people created Stone Mill Village. Cheng Jingchuan, however, had no such luck.
Or perhaps this was his luck after all.
Mo Li glanced at Cheng Jingchuan and thought, if he had been fortunate, he might have saved thousands, even tens of thousands, of lives, creating an idyllic haven akin to the “Peach Blossom Spring,” like Xue Lingjun of Zhushan County, beloved by the people. But that would have been the limit.
Cheng Jingchuan’s failure, on the other hand, opened up other possibilities.
“It seems all you lack is a wise ruler and a unified dynasty,” Meng Qi remarked lightly.
If Cheng Jingchuan had seized on this comment, using it as a segue to extol the prospects of Master Qiu’s faction, Meng Qi would have lost all interest in him.
Ambition, ideas, and competence, but… nothing more.
Without the right path, it was all empty talk.
Cheng Jingchuan remained silent for a long time.
In the distance, flames roared, and thick smoke billowed.
Mo Li quietly left to check on the situation there.
In King Ning’s palace were many unfortunate souls trapped by circumstance. They neither knew Master Qiu nor understood the truth behind the fire. If fear of blame led them to foolishly fetch water to fight the fire, they might inadvertently stumble into the inferno, sealing their doom.
The closer Mo Li got to the blaze, the more certain he became that the source was the wine cellar.
Amid the choking smoke lingered a faint aroma of aged wine, though it was barely perceptible.
The wine cellar and the Imperial Medical Bureau were separated by a long covered bridge. One side was lined with dense bamboo, now consumed by flames; the other side was bare, with only cold, hard buildings and sparse vegetation. Medical officials clutching stacks of books and medical records, and eunuchs carrying bundles of herbs, fled in terror.
Meanwhile, the imperial guards who had been diverted earlier were shouting at others attempting to fight the fire to start digging instead.
Yes, not extinguishing the fire, but digging ditches—wider and wider.
“Throw the sand from the sieves onto the flames!”
A young man in mourning clothes, sleeves billowing, shouted loudly.
As Mo Li approached, he realized the young man wasn’t wearing white clothes but a mourning robe layered over his regular attire.
The fire was too intense; the sand was useless and nearly got someone burned by the flames. They immediately backed off in fear.
“Stop throwing it! Keep digging!” the young man roared hoarsely.
The roughness of his voice wasn’t from the smoke but rather the natural rasp of a voice in the process of changing. From a distance, it sounded almost like a duck quacking.
Mo Li paused. King Ning’s children had all been captured. A boy of this age giving orders in the palace… could he be—?
“Young Lord, the wind is blowing south. The Imperial Medical Bureau can’t be saved. We must retreat.”
“Nonsense! Keep digging!” the boy glared, his voice sharp and quacking, and it seemed all he needed was not a wing but a firm slap to send the retreating guards scurrying aside.
Mo Li silently observed the freshly dug ditch. All the vegetation had been cleared, and the width was just shy of effective. Three more feet of digging would likely stop the fire from spreading.
Yet the people were panicked. Even the eunuchs saving medicinal herbs abandoned their loads and ran.
The boy, furious, tore off his jade pendant and hurled it at the back of a fleeing eunuch’s head.
*Thunk!*
A perfect hit. The eunuch collapsed on the spot.
The young boy swiftly drew a guard’s saber and roared, “Anyone caught fleeing will be executed without mercy!”
Then, picking up a discarded shovel himself, he began digging with all his strength.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Qiu Si suddenly spoke, and the people around him surged forward, quickly taking control of the situation.
Only then did Mo Li notice Qiu Si. He had been blending into the crowd, hidden in the shadows by the wall. From a distance, he seemed just like any other frightened individual, easily overlooked.
After giving the command, Qiu Si left with the remaining people, visibly pleased. Mo Li was momentarily torn—should he stay or follow them?
After some deliberation, Mo Li decisively chose to follow.
Moving with the speed of a striking wind, he sealed everyone’s acupoints and began searching them one by one.
No pills or bottles were found.
Good, as long as there’s no opium.
Mo Li unsealed their acupoints from a distance and turned to leave.
The sudden turn of events left some bewildered even after regaining consciousness, but Qiu Si’s expression turned cold and sinister, his gaze as sharp as daggers.
“What are you standing around for? Move!”
Qiu Si’s face twisted for a brief moment before he burst into laughter and called out toward the distance, “I wonder what the Grand Master and the Doctor were hoping to find? Such a pity if I disappointed you. I, Qiu Si, carry nothing of value. Perhaps the only thing of worth near me is Qing De. If either of you doesn’t mind, feel free to take him.”
Qing De? It sounded like a person’s name.
Mo Li pondered silently. Could it be Cheng Jingchuan’s courtesy name?
The term “clear and distinct” refers to the phenomenon observed at the confluence of the Jing River and Wei River, where the two waters—one clear, one muddy—flow together but remain distinctly separate for a long stretch. The Jing River, being the clearer of the two, inspired the name Qing De. It was indeed a fine name.
What puzzled Mo Li, however, was why Qiu Si would be so eager to push Cheng Jingchuan toward them. Could there be some hidden scheme?
Or was it a ploy to make Mo Li and Meng Qi suspect a hidden agenda, keeping them wary and distant from Cheng Jingchuan, thereby allowing Qiu Si to “secure” this heir?
The possibilities made Mo Li’s head ache. The endless schemes of strategists, where truth is veiled as falsehood and falsehood as truth, were tiresome.
He decided to stop overthinking.
The doctor also had no desire to keep tailing Qiu Si.
—If Meng Qi returned and found him missing, he’d be as frantic as a desert rat.
Qiu Si was like a hedgehog: prickly to touch and potentially more dangerous dead. For now, there was no need.
Returning to the fire scene, Mo Li found that the flames had indeed been stopped by the ditch, sparing the Imperial Medical Bureau.
The young boy, covered in mud, sat on the ground, still overseeing the digging.
“Where’s the physician? The young lord has strained his back!”
“Shut up, don’t touch me!”
The boy clutched his lower back, squawking like a duck.
Mo Li: “…”
That’s what happens when someone unused to manual labor suddenly starts digging.
Without knowing the proper technique, they just apply force with their hands. It’d be a miracle if they didn’t hurt their back.
