Chapter Three: Man-Made Calamity

The sky finally brightened, though "bright" was hardly an apt word; thick clouds still blanketed the heavens, but daylight at least allowed one to see clearly within fifty paces. The fishermen were already busy—lighting fires, cooking rice—filling the area with the clamor of voices and activity. There were about fifty refugees in this group, with a dozen or so able-bodied men; the rest were mostly women and children.

It was their fortune that fishermen, sensitive to the lake’s tides, had retreated in time, so their losses were minimal. Villages nearby, which relied primarily on rice cultivation, had suffered worse—many people swept away by the flood, their fates uncertain, while property losses were yet to be tallied.

It was then that Yang Lian finally met the clan chief. The head of the Zhang family was around sixty, still robust; during the flood, several young men had rescued him, and he was unharmed. Having heard Yang Lian had awakened, the elderly man came to see him, trembling slightly as he walked.

These were turbulent times, when men of arms held power. Yet the culture of Southern Tang and Wuyue flourished, renowned among all the neighboring states. Though the fishermen lived within Wuyue’s borders, they were close to the frontier with Suzhou and Changzhou, deeply influenced by Southern Tang.

Years ago, Southern Wu and Wuyue had fought for dominance in the region around Changzhou and Suzhou; the latter city changed hands several times before finally falling under Wuyue’s control. When Southern Tang replaced Southern Wu, it too advanced on Suzhou, seeking to claim that key city of the south. But ever since Qian Yuanjiao, the military governor of Central Wu, had taken command, Suzhou was firmly in Wuyue’s grasp.

Both Southern Tang and Wuyue realized neither could destroy the other, so they lowered their banners and settled into an uneasy peace. Relations remained calm until last year, when Chen Jue of Southern Tang attacked Min, causing tensions to spike. If Min were to fall, Wuyue would be surrounded, so Wuyue dispatched its navy in aid of Min. As Suzhou and Changzhou lay on the border, they saw troop increases as well—a great war was looming. But who could have foreseen that, before armies could clash, a great flood and storm would drive the people of Suzhou and Changzhou from their homes?

Now the lake’s waters rose higher still—who could say how far they would reach? Without timely relocation, disaster would strike again. The villagers planned to flee to Suzhou; after all, they were people of Wuyue. When the chief asked his opinion, Yang Lian could see no better course and agreed to go with them, deciding to make further plans once they reached Suzhou. At the same time, he was curious—what arrangements had the mysterious old servant made for him?

A bonfire was lit, and a pot set on a wooden rack; soon the aroma of rice porridge spread. After eating, the fishermen packed their belongings—pots, clothes, grain, fishing nets—onto handcarts, making ready to move to higher ground before the storm resumed.

Yang Lian walked with the family of Zhang Qili, who numbered five. Zhang Qinian, the eldest brother, was Yang Lian’s age, with a dark complexion and a knack for fishing—though he was fond of money, he was also a man of his word, loyal and trustworthy. It was he who had rescued Yang Lian after his fall from horseback.

The Zhang family was small. Their mother had died shortly after giving birth to the youngest son, Ergou, and their father had passed away the previous year. Zhang Qinian had married, and his child was already three years old.

Yang Lian, still unsteady on his feet and unable to ride, was helped along by Ergou, who was reluctant but obeyed his elder brother’s command. Zhang Qinian pushed their heavy cart, his wife carried their child, and Zhang Qili carried sundries. Together, they followed the other fishermen eastward, first to cross a raging stream, then to turn south toward Gusu City.

It was another day of hard travel. By evening, Yang Lian’s legs felt weak. Sensing his exhaustion, Zhang Qili heated water for him to soak his feet, which eased his discomfort. After supper, the fishermen slept early. Yang Lian lay on his pallet, tossing and turning, unable to sleep.

His body was too frail—how could he survive in such chaotic times without training? As these thoughts raced through his mind, he resolved to strengthen himself. Fatigue soon overcame him, and he fell into deep sleep.

“Ha!” At dawn, Zhang Qili heard strange grunts and shouts outside the tent. She paid it no mind, thinking it must be that rascal Ergou up to mischief again—he certainly had energy to spare!

She boiled water in a wooden basin and brought it to Yang Lian for his morning wash, only to find his bedding empty. Where had he gone so early? Setting down the basin, she called out, “Brother Yang, Brother Yang!”

“I’m here!” Yang Lian’s voice called from afar.

Following the sound, Zhang Qili found Yang Lian performing odd movements—bending, arching, swaying, occasionally grunting. So he was the source of the morning noise.

“Brother Yang, what are you doing?” she asked, puzzled. She had never seen him act so strangely.

“The Five-Animal Exercise,” Yang Lian replied as he moved, nearly finished with the routine.

“Your body hasn’t recovered yet. Why aren’t you resting instead of playing around?” Zhang Qili chided him. She was familiar with the exercise, but wondered how Yang Lian had learned it.

Yang Lian finished his movements and explained with a smile, “This Five-Animal Exercise was created by Hua Tuo. It strengthens the body and grants lightness, almost as if one could ride the clouds.” He forgot that Zhang Qili, as the descendant of a healer, naturally knew of the exercise. In his former life, Yang Lian had practiced it often; though his current body was not weak, he was not yet satisfied. He harbored great ambitions, but in troubled times, one needed robust health. If he could regain the martial prowess he had before crossing over, he could accomplish much.

“Is it really so miraculous?” Zhang Qili was dubious—strengthening the body, she could believe, but riding the clouds? This fool was boasting again.

“I’ll teach you someday,” Yang Lian said, smiling as he took the handkerchief she offered and wiped his sweat. “Thank you.”

Zhang Qili took back the cloth, tiptoed away, her mind filled with confusion—he seemed different lately, but she could not quite pinpoint how.

After completing the set, Yang Lian felt warmth suffuse his body. Suddenly, he sensed a gentle heat rising from his lower abdomen to his chest. The cold dampness in his heart seemed to evaporate, leaving him comfortable and at ease—a sensation he had never known before. He wondered: had his body changed? Had he gained some extraordinary ability?

By now, the fishermen were awake and bustling about. After breakfast, they would continue south. Zhang Qili brought porridge; Yang Lian, standing in the drizzle, sprinkled a little coarse salt atop and emptied his bowl. Zhang Qili gathered their things, and the group was about to set out.

Suddenly, the ground trembled—at first a gentle vibration, soon strong enough to make clay pots rattle. The tremors grew more intense. Startled, the fishermen wondered, What was happening?

Someone soon came running in a panic, shouting, “Bad news! The Lake Tai pirates are coming!”

The Lake Tai bandits were entrenched on Turtle Mountain, numbering over a hundred. They regularly robbed and plundered, committing countless crimes. The authorities had tried to suppress them many times, but the pirates, familiar with the terrain, eluded capture in the reeds, inflicting heavy losses on the government forces. In whispers, the people said these pirates were really Southern Tang soldiers in disguise, though no one knew for sure.

Now, the pirates had suddenly appeared, and the fishermen were terrified. Yet, hardened by years of hardship, the men were not cowed. A dozen men shouted defiantly, grabbing fishing spears and hoes, ready to fight to the death.

Yang Lian found the timing suspicious—why had the pirates come now? Was someone orchestrating these events?

Dozens of sturdy fishermen rushed to meet the threat, while the old, the women, and children abandoned their belongings and fled into the dense forest. Zhang Qili grabbed Yang Lian’s hand. “Brother Yang, quick, hide!” she urged.

Still recovering, Yang Lian knew he would be of no help in the fight, so he joined Zhang Qili, Ergou, and other villagers in fleeing into the woods. As they ran, a thunderclap split the sky, the roar so loud it seemed to shatter heaven and earth. Yang Lian’s ears rang, his head felt as if struck by a hammer. Then the rain poured down in torrents, drenching everything as the group screamed and dashed into the forest.

Outside, the Lake Tai pirates charged forward, preceded by several warhorses with tremendous force. In a flash of blades, two fishermen fell, their blood mingling with rain, staining the ground red.

“Kill!” the pirates shouted—their voices not loud in the rain, but thick with murderous intent.

The fishermen, wielding hoes and spears, fought back valiantly, but they were no match for the well-armed pirates. Several more were slain. The battle was brief, lasting less than half an hour, but the fifty-odd pirates cut through the fishermen like demons, slaughtering them mercilessly.

Seeing the danger, Yang Lian seized Zhang Qili’s hand and ran deeper into the forest. The villagers scattered in all directions; though the pirates were numerous, this chaos gave Yang Lian the chance to escape.

He had no idea how long they ran before stopping by a crooked tree, both of them breathless. Yang Lian still gripped Zhang Qili’s hand so tightly her fingers were red.

In their desperate flight, they had become separated from the others. How many had survived the massacre? Was this truly what it meant to live in troubled times? Yang Lian clenched his fists—if he wanted to live, if he wished to control his fate, he must grow stronger.

Zhang Qili, still a young girl, broke down in tears. Yang Lian comforted her, letting her weep on his shoulder, venting her grief.

“Qili, don’t worry. Your brother and the others will be all right,” he assured her.

After a long bout of crying, Zhang Qili felt better and nodded, trusting Yang Lian.

He took her hand. “Let’s go!”

They had abandoned nearly everything in their escape. Yang Lian still had a handful of copper coins; Zhang Qili had nothing. Their sole task now was survival. After walking some distance, Yang Lian’s ears pricked up—he pulled Zhang Qili behind some trees, crouching in the tall grass, motionless.

His hearing had grown unusually keen; he caught the sound of hooves behind them and was instantly wary, suspecting the pirates were near.

Soon, a dozen warhorses approached at a walk. As Yang Lian watched, Zhang Qili began to tremble beside him. He turned to see her mouth agape, eyes brimming with fury and tears.

Realizing what was happening, Yang Lian clamped a hand over her mouth, holding her tightly—she, being a young woman, could not resist. Looking back, he saw several familiar heads dangling from a horse’s tail, still dripping blood, eyes wide open, faces frozen in death.

Zhang Qili struggled to break free, but Yang Lian held her down until the riders disappeared from view. Only then did he dare relax, waiting a while longer before finally releasing her, both of them nearly collapsing to the ground.

PS: This is a new author’s debut novel—please add it to your favorites and vote for recommendations!