Chapter 198: Yizhou

The floodwaters had receded, and steam rose from the muddy earth under the sun. Everywhere, there was black sludge, tree branches, weeds, and driftwood. The crops, already destroyed by the flood, rotted in the muddy water. The decaying corpses of animals—chickens, dogs, pigs, and sheep, with the occasional human body—were scattered in the mud, their bellies invariably bloated, emitting a nauseating stench.

Green-headed flies were the first to arrive. Wherever the flies swarmed, there were several corpses of humans or animals.

In the villages and towns that had been ravaged by the flood, many houses that had withstood the initial onslaught now collapsed as the water receded. However, their owners no longer needed them—they were either dead or had fled.

This was the great flood of Yizhou in 1631. The floodwaters had once again swept across the land, already desolate from frequent natural and man-made disasters, devastating the people who were struggling to survive here. Since the beginning of the Tianqi era, Yizhou and the surrounding counties in southern Shandong and northern Nan-zhili had experienced a flood almost every two or three years.

Hordes of starving people trudged along the roads, leaving a trail of bodies behind them. They blindly headed towards the county seats, prefectural capitals, or any city they could find. The refugees knew that only in the cities was there a glimmer of hope for survival. Otherwise, even if they didn’t starve to death, a great plague would surely follow the great disaster. The god of pestilence would reap souls more fiercely than the flood. If the local cities could not accommodate them, they had no choice but to leave their homes and flee to counties that had not been affected by the disaster.

Driven by hunger and forced by the need to survive, a stream of refugees slowly crawled along the major roads of southern Shandong. People died every day, and new people joined the stream every day. They ate everything in their path—tree bark, grass roots, and even animal carcasses were not spared.

The wealthy households in the villages and towns along the way had all fled. They had either gone to the prefectural or provincial capitals or even further to the more stable Jiangnan region. Since the White Lotus rebellion in southern Shandong, the area had become very dangerous, and many people with assets had fled to the provincial capital or Jiangnan to “escape the chaos.”

Some villages and towns had built stockade walls and trained local militias. Hands that used to hold hoes now tightly gripped cudgels and wooden spears, vigilantly watching the refugees passing near their villages. The starving refugees, with eyes red from hunger, were all determined to “eat their fill before they die.” The small amount of grain stored in the villages was for their own families! People’s hearts had become as cold and hard as iron. The landlords who hadn’t “escaped the chaos” stood on the stockade walls with their retainers and long-term laborers, armed with bows, arrows, and swords. He supervised the militia and also made a show of “leading from the front”—after all, he was the richest man in the stockade. His body, once clad in silk, was now wrapped in hastily made cotton armor. It was summer, but not a drop of sweat was on their bodies. Their eyes saw the dark mass of refugees, and their minds replayed the news from the past few days: which village or stockade had been plundered by the refugees, whose family had been robbed, whose entire family had been killed by the refugees. The terrifying memories of the White Lotus rebellion from ten years ago seemed to resurface. The master of the house, seeing the militia cowering, stomped his foot and roared:

“All of you, keep a close watch! Tonight, there’s a reward feast, all-you-can-eat pork and vegetable pies!”

A chaotic roar of “Thank you, Master, for the reward!” followed, like a scene from an opera. Then, someone started a rhythmic chant:

“Everyone, hold your weapons tight!”

“Hold them tight!”

“Guard the stockade well!”

“Guard it well!”

…

Such scenes were repeated several times a day. White flour and pork, which the landlords were usually reluctant to eat themselves, let alone give to their laborers, were now brought out as rewards to win people’s hearts.

But while they felt heartache, fear, and worry, there was also a secret joy. The flood had washed away property boundaries and land deeds, leaving much land ownerless. Even for the land that still had owners, the owners had to sell it to survive in the year of disaster. for some, it was a good opportunity to expand their property. As for the peasants who farmed the land, they would not all die out. After the flood receded, those who hadn’t starved would return next spring.

The premise was that they were not “plundered” by the refugees and killed in the riots before then.

Whether in the county or the prefectural city, the officials who usually swaggered around were unwilling to interfere with the refugees’ movements. As long as the refugees didn’t rebel or besiege the county seat, plundering a few landlords and killing a few people was not a big deal. The wealthy households had to rely on themselves to raise forces to protect their lives and property.

In the county and prefectural cities, although the gates had not yet been closed to refugees, militias were already being trained. The able-bodied men from the suburbs and nearby villages were organized, ready to “suppress” any trouble at a moment’s notice. Several heads were hung at the city gates as a warning—always fresh and bloody. Outside the city, hastily built sheds housed pots of “congee” so thin you could see the bottom, reeking of mold. Even for such meager porridge, not every refugee gathered nearby could get a bowl. A fixed number of “tallies” were distributed each day; those who didn’t get one could only go hungry.

Near the congee sheds was a feeding ground for another kind of fly. Human traffickers from Jinan Prefecture, and even as far as Shuntian and Jiangnan, hid in their sedan chairs and mule carts, carefully calculating how much “prey” they could get and how much they needed to bribe their local counterparts. Some prowled through the crowds, looking for potential targets to buy. Young boys and girls were their primary targets, followed by young women. People with straw markers stuck in their hair were continuously loaded onto mule carts and transported, cart by cart, to Linqing and Xuzhou, where they were transferred to boats and sold off to various places.

Zhang Yingchen, dressed in a Taoist robe of his own design, walked through the crowd, occasionally nodding to the people around him. He had been practicing medicine and helping people here and had already earned the reputation of a “living immortal.” Not only the refugees but also many of the yamen runners and militiamen maintaining order around the congee yard had received his medical treatment and revered him as a deity.

“Immortal Fu, my child took the medicine you gave, and the diarrhea has indeed stopped. You are truly a living immortal—” a raggedly dressed woman blocked his path. “Please take another look at him…”

“Oh? Since the diarrhea has stopped, his life is no longer in danger,” Zhang Yingchen said with a smile. “I must go see a patient now. I will come back to check on your child later. Give him this packet of medicine first.”

He walked away amidst the woman’s profuse thanks. He encountered such things almost constantly along the way. Even the assistant county magistrate and the local deputy militia commander who occasionally came to the congee yard would be polite to him.

He knew that the local officials and gentry were originally very wary of him. Monks and Taoists who appeared after a major disaster, especially with the aim of practicing medicine and preaching, were almost certainly suspected of having “seditious intentions.” The ruling class had accumulated enough experience over a thousand years of rule.

Along with Zhang Yingchen, several other so-called “Taoists” or “monks,” as well as “shamans and witches” without any religious attire, had appeared at the congee yard. They quickly attracted the attention of the local authorities. These people had no “ordination certificates,” and their medicine was not as effective as Zhang Yingchen’s. They soon disappeared completely under the crackdown by the local government and gentry.

Zhang Yingchen was able to win the competition, first, because his medical skills were superb and his medicines even more so; second, he had an official Taoist ordination certificate and a letter of introduction from a gentry family in Hangzhou. These two things played a major role in protecting his safety. After all, the government of this era had no concept of human rights. It was common practice to arrest and torture suspicious individuals first and ask questions later. Moreover, these were extraordinary times: many people were beheaded or tortured to death in the yamen just for suspicious words or actions. Others died in prison or in the standing cages at the yamen entrance.

He was very careful when practicing medicine. He only spoke of ordinary things like doing good deeds and accumulating merit, without excessively promoting his doctrines. Although he sometimes spoke to the refugees, it was all content from the official Taoist canon, which was perfectly legitimate anywhere.

“I wonder how Old Zhao is doing in Shandong?” he often thought while busy with these matters. With his current influence, it would be easy to encourage the refugees to go to Dengzhou and seek refuge with Zhao Yingong.

He and Zhao Yingong had left Hangzhou at the same time. However, after arriving in Yizhou, he had stayed and started his activities there.

In ancient Chinese society, whenever a natural disaster occurred, it was often a great opportunity for heretical cults to spread their propaganda. A major purpose of Zhang Yingchen’s deep dive into Yizhou was to investigate the activities and incitement capabilities of local organizations like the White Lotus, Luo, and Wenxiang sects.

It seemed that these organizations were indeed active, but the government was very vigilant. After all, the White Lotus rebellion was less than ten years ago, and the local authorities were still on high alert. It was not so easy to incite the masses using religious means.

After returning from his inspection, he found that a boy he had cured a few days ago had been bought by a human trafficker from Jiangnan. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret. This boy was smart and handsome, a promising candidate for a “Taoist student” that he had his eye on, but someone had beaten him to it.

Such things had happened several times, and each time it pained him deeply. To watch good prospects slip away and be unable to do anything was too heart-wrenching.

But he had already taken in two children as Taoist students, and he also had Ming Qing, whom he had brought from Hangzhou. Taking in more boys would be too conspicuous.

“I need to write to Old Zhao as soon as possible, otherwise all the good resources will be taken away by these traffickers,” he thought to himself, returning to a dilapidated Taoist temple in the suburbs.

It was called a temple, but in reality, there were no resident Taoists, only a lay practitioner who lived there, barely making a living. Zhao Yingong had rented a room for a few small coins to use as his base of operations in Yizhou.