The ninth year of Jinghan, in the Wu Dynasty, the Start of Autumn, evening.
Hangzhou.
The sunset’s afterglow lay red and desolate; amid violent tremors, the once-gentle waters of West Lake churned and roiled as though boiling, and near and distant hills and waters alike were enveloped in an indescribable panic beneath this sudden, overwhelming force of heaven and earth.
“Get under the tables! Get under the tables!”
Aboard the great boat, countless sounds of chairs and tables sliding, of bowls and plates shattering as they fell, mingled with cries of panic and terror—people stumbling, running wildly, colliding with one another. In that instant, the whole space was filled with nothing but bewildered alarm. Ning Yi took hold of Su Tan’er’s and Xiao Chan’s hands and pushed them beneath the round table; nearby, Wending, Wenfang, Mr. and Mrs. Luo Tian, and the others reacted as well, ducking in alongside them.
In truth, such caution proved largely unnecessary—once everyone had crowded beneath the round table, it became apparent after a moment that the boat’s continued swaying was not, in fact, especially severe. The lake water had cushioned the earthquake, and what reached the boat was mainly a side-to-side rocking motion. This was no seagoing vessel and lacked much resistance to shocks, but its sheer bulk kept it comparatively steady; apart from that first startling surge of force, the remaining motion was bearable enough. It was only just approaching evening, and the boat had not yet lit its lamps throughout—perhaps the single most fortunate circumstance of the whole affair.
Then came another crash, as a boat on the other side swung over and collided with theirs.
Xiaoyingzhou never had many mooring spots to begin with, and with so many pleasure boats gathered together—especially given how light the wind on the lake was that day—the vessels had been moored unusually close together. Now the water was translating the tremor into a rocking motion, and nearly every boat around Xiaoyingzhou was colliding chaotically with its neighbors. Between boat and boat, between boats and dock, chaotic crashes sounded on every side; screams, panic, and shouting carried from far off, mingling with the earthquake’s own great roar, rising and falling without end.
Ning Yi froze for a moment, listening carefully to these sounds. Su Tan’er gripped his hand. “Juan’er and Xing’er—Juan’er and Xing’er…” She too had by now realized the shaking on this boat was not especially severe, and that it was simply the whole world around them that had erupted into this clamor. Ning Yi glanced at her, then patted her hand. “It’ll be fine.” In such a sudden crisis he had little real experience to draw on—the big boat itself should be safe enough; the greatest danger in an earthquake was usually being struck by falling objects or crushed beneath collapsing structures, and there were, at least, no skyscrapers here. He hesitated only a moment before adding, “I’ll go take a look on deck.”
As he crawled out from under the table, someone ahead was already shouting, “Don’t panic, don’t panic, it’s all right!” Ning Yi pushed past a man running toward him and pointed at a nearby table, shouting, “Get under the table!” Turning back, he found that Tan’er and Xiao Chan had come out after him as well, with Su Wending and Su Wenfang in tow. He wanted to shout at them, but thinking the open deck might well be safer than inside, he said nothing more and simply led the way out, staggering as he went.
The deck too was full of panicked people. Ning Yi looked around—the whole of Xiaoyingzhou was shaking violently, bridges collapsing, trees swaying, and in the distance the tiles of Baoning Temple kept falling away in the sunset light, as though the whole structure were coming apart piece by piece. On one side a pavilion’s pillars gave way, and the entire structure began to collapse; now and then a wave washed up over the lower embankment walkways.
Ning Yi looked out into the distance, but boats surrounded them on every side, and their own pleasure boat, being small, was hidden entirely from view. The gangplank connecting the great boat to the dock shuddered violently, but such fittings had originally been built for grandeur and scale—even ordinary carriage traffic found them spacious and sturdy—and even now they showed no sign of giving way.
Those on land had fared worse than those on the boats. Some soldiers stationed on lower ground had already fallen into the water and were thrashing desperately; near Baoning Temple several monks fled for their lives, uncertain where to run—one fell into the water, then clambered, splashing, back out again. Living here as they did, they were at least strong swimmers.
For a moment Ning Yi’s mind went curiously blank. Then, in the next instant, Su Tan’er suddenly pointed into the distance and cried out: “Old Wu! Old Wu… husband! Look!” Her face was stricken with alarm. Amid the countless trembling trees, Ning Yi too now made out the scene—it was the bank where their own pleasure boat was moored, and their boatman, Old Wu, was clinging to a tree on the embankment, his leg apparently already bleeding. Boatmen like him had little to fear from falling into the water, but he had clearly been struck by something during the quake. Their boat should have been right there, yet no one seemed to be coming down to help him back aboard.
“I’ll go—don’t either of you come! It’s safe here!” Ning Yi shouted this flatly and made for the gangway leading down from the deck. The great boat lurched again; he steadied himself, looked it over carefully, and saw that the connection to shore had not, at least, entirely collapsed or broken. He drew a breath and ran for it at a sprint, already onto the boards, when he heard Su Tan’er call out behind him: “I’m coming too.”
“You—” Ning Yi turned and reached back, and the two of them staggered ashore together, nearly falling. The ground of the embankment beneath their feet was now shaking violently, the whole world around them a blurred, thundering roar. Then came what sounded like a broken, desperate shout: “Master, Miss…” It was Xiao Chan, already halfway across, running in a panic—just as she neared solid ground, the plank shuddered violently and she pitched toward the ground. Ning Yi lunged and caught the front of her robe; she seized his arm with both hands as he hauled her over, her small face shaking violently in his vision.
If the great boat were struck hard again just then, that broad gangplank—several meters wide—might well come sweeping toward them. Ning Yi pulled the two women along, hurrying them forward, and saw Su Wending and Su Wenfang running down as well; Su Wenfang nearly fell but was caught by his brother. The two young men, at least, came through without mishap. Ning Yi blinked. “You… you two, damn it—” Having spent so many years as a decision-maker, he was normally stern in moments of crisis, but just now he had no heart left for scolding. In truth, having Wending and Wenfang along was more useful than having Su Tan’er and Xiao Chan help—only, if the brothers came along, Su Tan’er and Xiao Chan would certainly refuse to stay behind on the big boat either way.
The five of them staggered onward. In truth, Ning Yi was not going merely to save the boatman—if the man had been left injured and unattended, it likely meant something else was wrong aboard the boat as well. What worried him and Su Tan’er most, at heart, was the safety of Juan’er and Xing’er. In a crisis like this, after all, no one could spread their concern evenly—had it been only the boatman, or even the coachman Dongzhu who’d followed them, lying dead, Ning Yi and the others likely would not have risked going ashore at all.
Just as the five of them had run past a stretch of the embankment, a section of it suddenly gave way behind them, an entire tree and half the roadway crumbling into the water. Xiaoyingzhou, after all, was built up entirely from embanked dikes, and in tremors like these, some sections were already beginning to collapse. Ning Yi only glanced back once before hurrying the others along even faster.
When they reached the pleasure boat, the small vessel was still moored at the bank, its rope even still tied fast; the boatman’s leg wound didn’t look too serious—he had simply been frightened senseless. Ning Yi grabbed him and heaved him aboard. No sooner had the man landed than Ning Yi caught sight of Xing’er, sprawled at the bow, apparently doing something toward the water, while Dongzhu held a bamboo pole. Ning Yi shouted, “What’s wrong?” Dongzhu turned; Xing’er turned too, sobbing, “Master! Master! Juan’er fell in the water…” Neither Xing’er nor Dongzhu could swim.
Su Tan’er and Xiao Chan froze utterly in shock. Ning Yi let go of them, leapt onto the pleasure boat’s deck, nearly twisting his ankle in the shaking, then ran straight for the bow, saw a shape still in the water, and dove in with a splash.
Swimming in water like this was nothing like an ordinary swim in West Lake—countless splashes, foam, undercurrents, the muffled roar of water everywhere. Fortunately Ning Yi had trained hard these past months, and it was only a moment before he found Juan’er, seized her by the back, and pulled her head above the surface.
The water’s surface churned violently all around him; the pleasure boat’s bow, ordinarily not so very high, now seemed impossibly far away. Figures above reached down, shouting something he couldn’t make out. Ning Yi normally climbed aboard from the lower side, and the thought had only just occurred to him when a nearby pleasure boat came swinging toward them like a small mountain and crashed into their own with a boom.
Ning Yi adjusted his body in the water and glanced at Juan’er in his arms—she had no strength left to struggle, but her eyes were still faintly open, still moving slightly. Good enough, he thought, and kicked hard, swimming back toward the bow again—only to see the bow suddenly loom huge in his vision.
The waves pushed the boat forward, and it struck him—the hull slammed against his head with a crack.
For an instant the world spun; his mind went hazy. Bubbles gurgled around him, a crimson, trembling sky visible beneath the waves. Juan’er slipped beneath the surface again in his grip; he grasped instinctively but missed her. A moment later he steadied himself and pulled her up once more, rising toward the surface.
Breaking through the water, he saw a hand reaching down toward him; in the chaos, hands grasped at each other several times before finding purchase—it was Su Wending, half his body hanging off the bow, the others behind him hauling him back. Ning Yi’s head still seemed to be ringing; by the time he came back to himself, he and Juan’er had already been pulled up onto the deck. He held her cradled in his arms, gripping her almost desperately.
After a few dazed seconds, Ning Yi shook his head and finally came fully to his senses. He looked down at Juan’er—the usually quiet, reserved little maid lay with her head tilted to one side, utterly still, eyes closed, glistening drops of water clinging to her lashes. Ning Yi patted her cheek—no response. He patted again, several times, then, startled, laid her flat on the deck beside him. Su Tan’er knelt beside her too, frantically checking for any sign of life.
There was no time to hesitate. Ning Yi bent down and pressed his ear to Juan’er’s chest. It was, after all, summer, and her clothing was thin, now plastered tight against her small frame, her breasts rising like soft mounds beneath the fabric. But Ning Yi had no thought to spare for any of that—hearing no heartbeat, he crossed his hands and pressed down firmly several times over her left breast, then pinched her nose and breathed into her mouth. He alternated between compressions and breaths again and again, until at last the little maid coughed up several mouthfuls of water. Ning Yi bent down again, ear to her chest, listening.
Still nothing.
Ning Yi drew a breath and kept going—press, breathe, press, breathe… None of the onlookers had ever seen this method of resuscitation before, but from Ning Yi’s manner they mostly understood what he was doing. At some point, as he lifted away from her nose and pressed down once more on her chest, he suddenly realized the little maid lying on the deck had opened her eyes, gazing up at him in bewilderment.
Ning Yi instinctively pressed down once more.
Juan’er kept staring at him in confusion, her body twitching faintly with the pressure. The two of them looked at each other for a moment; Ning Yi reached out and patted her cheek with one hand, while the other still rested on her chest—he even leaned down again toward that soft place… In truth, since that afternoon he had been through so much, expended so much effort, that he had been working almost mechanically in his urgency, without fully registering what he was doing. Su Tan’er leaned down and called out, “Juan’er.”
“Miss… Master… cough…”
Juan’er’s usually placid little face now wore an expression of pure bewilderment, as though she couldn’t quite make sense of what had happened—Ning Yi’s hand resting on her chest, his ear pressed to it, even the mouth-to-mouth breathing she’d woken to, all of it left her utterly confused. Ning Yi, for his part, let out a breath of relief, sat down beside her, and laughed—”Ha ha.” He was thoroughly exhausted.
Amid that weary, relieved laughter, his left hand still rested on her left breast. Around them, the hills and waters were still caught in violent, frenzied tremors. Blood was now seeping from the forehead wound where he’d been struck by the boat’s hull, leaving those nearby in an awkward spot, unsure whether to point out the wandering hand still resting on Juan’er’s chest or the blood on his forehead. Even Su Tan’er’s expression looked somewhat conflicted and uncertain.
Even Juan’er herself simply lay there as before, gazing up at the sky, blinking blankly—the dazed feeling of having just woken evidently hadn’t yet let her register how improper the situation was. Judging by her expression, she might only have been thinking: why does Master keep leaving his hand there?
So she just kept lying still, not moving…
Down at the stern, the boatman was already struggling to haul in the mooring rope. Not far off, another pleasure boat had caught fire—no one knew quite how—and now, having reached some flammable material, it burst apart with a roar; a good portion of the burning hull, trailing sparks, plunged into the water. Some people leapt from it, some fell into the lake, one was flung against the side of a nearby swinging boat and dropped between two vessels about to collide, crashing down with a boom. Farther off, still more panic and disaster continued to unfold.
This night’s mad symphony had only just begun to play…