Yu Tao had gone alone. He returned with four others.

“Head lady, the Seven Lodges Division members stationed in Xiangyang — apart from the one dispatched to carry the letter — are all here. They await the head lady’s orders.”

The men had already been briefed by Yu Tao. They now paid their respects in unison: “We greet the head lady.”

Hua Zhi wanted to say she had no authority to deploy Seven Lodges Division members, and even less right to have them address her as their superior — yet thinking of the present circumstances, she felt deeply unsettled. She awkwardly dipped her head toward the group, then looked over at Shao Yao.

Shao Yao smiled. “Hua Zhi, what are you being modest for? This is an internal matter — who dares raise an objection? You lot — give your names.”

From left to right, the five stepped forward in turn: “Bo Fan, Liu Yun, Xie Xu, Zheng Qiao, Xie Ru.”

Each member of the Seven Lodges Division had their own assigned number, used when operating in the field. At other times they went by their given names.

Shao Yao gave a nod. “Let me ask you — what is your assessment of the current Xiangyang magistrate?”

Bo Fan cupped his hands and replied: “Xiangyang Magistrate Chen Hongyi has held the post for two years. No notable accomplishments — nor any particularly serious failings.”

“So he treads the middle path.” Shao Yao’s smile was scornful, though after mocking him she found it rather pointless. Was that not what the majority of the court looked like? Officials who would neither block anyone’s interests nor make waves — who could climb steadily upward while doing as little as possible. Whether they actually did their jobs — well, that was of little importance. At times she felt that the combined work of the entire court amounted to less than what a single Seven Lodges Division accomplished.

She waved a hand to dismiss the group, then drew close to Hua Zhi and looked over the map alongside her. “Have you spotted anything yet?”

Hua Zhi did not look up, but her hand reached over and patted Shao Yao on the head in a calming gesture. “Not that quickly. If you have nothing to do, help me with something.”

“What?”

“Make a large sand table — the bigger the better.”

Shao Yao’s eyes lit up. “Right — since we are stuck here anyway, we might as well have some fun with that.”

“It is not for fun.” Hua Zhi’s finger traced across the map. “From this map alone one can see that the Jingzhou region has highly developed waterways. I recall reading in some miscellaneous text that in this region people’s first consideration for travel is always by boat, which speaks for itself. I want to use the sand table to work out some calculations.”

A sand table could be used this way? Shao Yao’s eyes widened. “I will take people to build one right away — you will have it before the day is out.”

Hua Zhi watched her dash off at the speed of a whirlwind and made no move to stop her. There was genuine urgency in her heart. She could only hope that the area affected by the rain was not too vast — if it was, things would truly be terrible.

She exhaled slowly and pushed the county gazetteer toward the Sixth Prince. “A place built on water cannot have escaped floods before. Find the records.”

“Yes.”

She turned back to the map, yet her mind was too scattered to settle. Setting it down, she crossed to the window and looked out at the torrential rain beyond. It was nearly midday — the brightest part of the day — yet the sky hung low and dark as though evening were approaching.

In their group: setting aside the newly arrived members and Wu Xiaoshuang whom she had rescued, Bao Xia and Xu Ying were Hua Family people, trusting her completely — even if she told them to jump into the Wei River this very moment, she suspected they would leap in without asking why. Shao Yao followed her in everything, and had only come along to protect her in the first place. Yu Tao and Wang Cheng had both been assigned to escort her. Little Six was a prince; Yanxi trusted her and had placed him in her care, then let her take him on a journey this long. And Jiang Huanran, running a continuous fever for the past few days, had come only because of her—

Counting carefully, the lives of every single one of these people rested entirely on her shoulders.

No matter what, she would bring back every person she had led out. If things truly became untenable, she must take everyone and retreat first — detour if necessary, change the route if needed. The only difficulty was that, if it came to that, she probably would not be setting a very good example as a teacher.

Having formed that resolve in her heart, she grew only more restless, almost itching to leave that very instant.

She glanced back at the young boy — head bowed, brow furrowed, reading with utter concentration. Hua Zhi felt a softening in her chest. She had grown genuinely fond of this child. At times she forgot entirely that he was a prince.

Whether he became Emperor in the future or the head of the Seven Lodges Division — at least right now he was still soft and gentle. There was little else she could do for him. She could only try, in this season of his life, to add what color she could, so that when he looked back in years to come, it would not all seem flat and dull.

“Elder Sister Hua — there is a record here.” The Sixth Prince looked up and met Hua Zhi’s warm, gentle gaze, and for a moment was a little dazed.

Hua Zhi walked toward him as she asked: “What does it say?”

The Sixth Prince collected himself and looked back down, then spoke carefully: “It is as Elder Sister Hua suspected. Xiangyang sits beside the water, and every year there are flood disasters — sometimes minor, sometimes severe. Last year’s situation was among the better ones: only some livestock were lost, with no casualties among the people. The year before was also manageable. The worst occurrence within the past twenty years was fourteen years ago — the affected area was extensive, and more than six hundred people lost their lives. An epidemic broke out in the aftermath, and close to a thousand more perished.”

“Is there anything else?”

The Sixth Prince flipped back several pages. “One thing — the families living near the river later rebuilt their homes using stone, and though such houses were not beautiful, they were sturdy. Collapses became far less common. The losses were much reduced.”

That was indeed a good approach. As long as it provided safety, beauty mattered little to the common people — what mattered was surviving the flood. Once the water receded, a bit of cleaning up and the house was still livable. Even if possessions were lost, having a place that kept out the wind and rain meant the heart did not panic as badly. The family was still intact; home was still there.

“Keep looking — see whether there is anything else of use.”

“Yes.” The Sixth Prince lowered his head to read on, but a good while passed without a page being turned. Hua Zhi could not help looking over at him more carefully.

Sure enough, it was not long before the boy could no longer hold back. He raised his head and asked: “Elder Sister Hua, why do people choose to live beside the river when they know it is dangerous? Take Xiangyang — is there truly no other place where they could settle and live?”

How to answer that? Hua Zhi turned it over carefully, choosing each word with deliberate care. “I suppose it is much like how you live in the palace because your ancestors lived there, and the Hua Family lives in Hualin Lane because our ancestors settled there. It is a matter of roots.”

Hua Zhi let out a quiet sigh. “And from another angle — the riverside has fertile fields, the water one needs to survive, the means to irrigate farmland, and the chance to catch fish and supplement one’s diet or earn a little money. It is where their ancestors lived, generation after generation. Unless things became truly impossible to endure, who would willingly leave the place where they belong and become a rootless wanderer?”

“I understand now.” The Sixth Prince also looked toward the map, his gaze coming to rest on the Wei River as it coursed through north and south. Among the common people there was no shortage of wisdom — how could they not see these things clearly? But for the people of this land, leaving their homes would likely feel no different from losing their lives. Where else would they go? The finer land would never fall to them. They had no choice but to endure and carry on — and if enduring was the lot in every place, why bother uprooting themselves at all?

The Sixth Prince sighed inwardly. Had he never left the palace, he would never have known any of this.