Chapter Forty-Nine: The Heavy Cudgel

Chapter Forty-Nine: The Heavy Club

"Is it really necessary? I just wanted to find something for the tenant farmers to do!" Startled by Ren Quan's words, Zhang Qian scratched his head in annoyance.

"You mustn't say that, young master! This place is less than half an hour's ride from Chang'an." Ren Quan glanced outside warily, lowered his voice, and explained with great care. "A thousand acres may not look like much, but if you wanted to hide troops, you could easily conceal two or three thousand men here."

"Even if you hid two or three thousand men, you'd still need grain to feed them!" Zhang Qian retorted, curling his lip. But then, recalling the "fine traditions" of the Tang imperial family, clarity dawned in his heart.

Ever since Emperor Taizong launched the Xuanwu Gate Coup, killing his own brothers, the royal family of the Tang seemed cursed. Every ten or twenty years, some bloody disaster would erupt within the palace. So it was only right that the Tang court forbade fortifications in the capital region. Otherwise, if any royal scion grew restless, these forts would instantly become military camps!

At this thought, he couldn't help but sigh deeply. Then, turning his gaze back to Ren Quan, who was still grinning awkwardly, he humbly asked, "If we can't build walls, surely we can plant a ring of trees around the estate? Even if the trees grow tall, there will still be gaps between them..."

"There are trees already, young master! Haven't you noticed? Around your fields, trees have long since been planted—they're thick enough for two men to encircle!" Before he could finish his sentence, Ren Quan's eyes widened in disbelief, as if a fool had suddenly appeared before him. "Besides trees, there are boundary markers and stones. Otherwise, how would you distinguish your land from your neighbors'?"

"Already planted?" Zhang Qian's face flushed red, and he shook his head sheepishly. "How did I not notice? Never mind, then. I'll just repair the wall around my own courtyard, that's allowed, right?"

"The walls of Chang'an are eighteen feet high, the county seat here is fifteen feet, and your courtyard, formerly owned by an official's son who lost his inheritance and sold it to our master, has walls already at twelve feet—among the tallest in the area!" Ren Quan cast him a sympathetic glance and patiently continued, "Though the authorities haven't set a limit on courtyard wall height, raising them further would draw attention. As for cladding them in brick or stone, even the county wall is made of rammed earth..."

After all that, it could be summed up in four words: "Don't invite trouble!" Zhang Qian was so frustrated his eyes blazed, but there was nothing he could do. He flailed for a while, then sighed, "If this won't do and that won't do, am I supposed to gather everyone to dance in the square?"

The very thought made him laugh at himself. Dance in the square? That was impossible. In these times, those willing to show their faces publicly were mostly rough men. A group of them jumping about in the threshing yard would surely be mistaken for followers of some forbidden cult, performing a ritual!

As for military drills to foster discipline and organization, that was utterly out of the question. In an age where building a wall could get you accused of treason, pulling together a formation would be a sure way to seek death!

"Young master, after hearing your words just now, I think there is something we could do together with the tenant farmers." At the critical moment, it was Ziju who proved most thoughtful. Seeing Zhang Qian racking his brains to no avail, she gently offered her suggestion.

"What is it? Speak up!" Zhang Qian's spirits lifted immediately, and he urged her, fixing his eyes on her delicate nose.

"Drainage," Ziju replied, lowering her head, her voice barely above a whisper. "We could dig a few ditches to channel all the standing water from the fields into the little river in front. That way, the waterlogged land could be planted next year, and the unaffected fields would be safe from flooding."

"Ah, Ziju, you're brilliant!" Enlightenment struck Zhang Qian. He enthusiastically gave her a thumbs-up. "When you mentioned the floods, I should have thought of this! It's a great idea—digging ditches to drain the water. The earth we dig out can be used to build up the roads, so people won't have to stumble through mud as if climbing a mountain!"

"Miss Ziju is indeed clever!" Ren Quan, always quick with a compliment, smiled and praised her. Then, with some caution, he reminded, "But the little river in front of the estate connects to the Feng River, and the Feng connects with the Wei. In autumn and winter, the waters recede, and the little river shrinks. But in summer, when the rivers rise, the little river swells too. Some of the estate's land is low-lying—if we dig ditches connecting to the river, and the river overflows, all our work could be undone."

"There's such a problem? What kind of world is this, that even doing a good deed is so hard?" Zhang Qian was taken aback, slapping the table in frustration.

In his memory, in twenty-first-century Xi'an, it rarely rained in summer, and drought was the main worry—floods were unheard of. But here, in ancient Chang'an and its surroundings, eight rivers snaked through the land, and rains were plentiful—a world entirely different from his own.

"The young master's compassion is wasted on the unworthy," Ren Quan said softly, regretting that Zhang Qian's good intentions might come to nothing. "How about we have the tenants build a bridge over the little river instead? It's not wide, a wooden bridge would suffice and cost little. It would help the villagers and spread your good name."

That was a good idea—it would keep the tenants busy and help Zhang Qian earn a reputation as a local benefactor. Zhang Qian nodded, but still felt vaguely unsatisfied.

After pondering a moment, he said, "We can build the bridge, but drainage comes first. Let's turn the lowest-lying land into a large pond, for lotus and fish. We'll connect all the ditches to it, so water drains there before being channeled into the river by a main canal. I'll draw you a plan!"

With that, he unrolled his "heavenly book" again, tore off a blank sheet, and quickly sketched with a charcoal stick. "We'll build a stone dam between the main canal and the river to separate the pond from the river. Then, we'll mount a windmill on the dam to lift water from the pond into the river around the clock."

"Brilliant, young master! Brilliant!" Ren Quan's eyes shone with excitement, and with each stroke Zhang Qian made, he offered loud praise. After a dozen compliments, he asked, "If we use a noria, we'd need draft animals, but we may not have enough."

"A noria? What noria? I mean a windmill, powered by the wind to lift water into the river," Zhang Qian replied, though he was growing accustomed to these conversational twists.

"A windmill? Forgive me, young master! I've only heard of such things, never seen one made. Do you know how to construct it?" Ren Quan frowned, looking troubled.

"Not for certain," Zhang Qian admitted, though he thought of the information on his phone and hedged, "I'll study it tonight. I saw someone build one once, but I don't know the exact design. There's no rush. Tomorrow, gather the men to dig the pond and ditches. We'll drain as much water as we can before winter. The windmill can't be built until the dam is up, and even if we can't manage it, I have other ways to prevent backflow from the river!"

The last part was no mere stalling. Back in middle school, he'd read an ancient time-travel novel that described a simple wooden one-way valve for city drainage near the sea. When the city's water was higher than the tide, the valve opened; when the sea rose, it pressed shut—ingenious in its simplicity. Even a humanities student like him could grasp it.

He had hundreds of similar novels saved on his phone. One old writer named "The Drunkard" had described windmill construction many times, and claimed the Dutch had solved their flooding woes with windmills. Tonight, he'd look up those passages for reference.

"With your assurance, young master, I'm at ease!" Having witnessed Zhang Qian's ingenuity before, Ren Quan believed him implicitly. "Then tomorrow, I'll gather the men to start digging. The rain outside has stopped. Please rest, young master. I'll take my leave now!"

He took the sketch Zhang Qian had just made and prepared to go. But Zhang Qian grabbed his sleeve. "Don't go just yet! Ren Quan, was your contract with the Ren family a life one? I keep making you work..."

"It is an honor to serve at your direction, young master!" Ren Quan didn't dare pull away, bowing deeply. "But my father and I both entered the Ren household in the previous generation. Though Master Ren returned our indentures, and we are no longer slaves, we are deeply indebted to the old master..."

"So it's not a life contract, that's good!" Zhang Qian, long since adapted to Tang society, was no longer as clueless as before. "When Young Master Ren returns, I'll speak to him about having you help me. He has plenty of men, but I have only Ziju!"

"Tea, young master!" Ziju blushed and hurried to pour him tea.

"Put it down," Zhang Qian smiled at her, then turned back to Ren Quan. "Well? Ren Quan, give me a straight answer for once—none of this polite hesitation! I promise Young Master Ren won't suffer a loss."

"If you, young master, do not find me dull, I am willing to help for now. When you have enough people, I'll return to serve Old Master and Young Master Ren," Ren Quan said, slowly withdrawing his sleeve and bowing.

That was agreement, even if shyly given. Zhang Qian was delighted. He went to Ren Quan, grasped his elbows, and said, "I'm glad. From today, you're head steward of the Zhang estate. All matters, large and small, are in your hands!"

"Master, Steward Cui only acts for the estate's sake!" Ren Quan quickly protested.

"I'm not punishing him for caring about the estate, but for being obtuse. He could have handled things differently, without causing offense." Zhang Qian shook his head. "I won't dismiss or dock his pay, let alone have him whipped. In the future, responsibilities will be divided: you are chief steward, at double Cui's salary. He'll be second steward, overseeing the house. Everything outside, including organizing the tenants, is yours. If we open other workshops, you'll oversee those too."

"Then I accept your command with gratitude!" Hearing that Steward Cui wouldn't be dismissed, Ren Quan's worries were replaced by joy. He stepped back and bowed again.

Everyone aspires to rise. Though Ren Quan, as a family retainer with Ren Cong, outranked ordinary staff, he was far from the position of steward. Besides, Ren Cong's stepmother disliked him, and he had three ambitious younger brothers.

But with Zhang Qian, he had an independent master with no parents or siblings, and on the verge of rapid ascent. Comparing the two, the choice was obvious.

So, though he dared not show his happiness, Ren Quan was inwardly overjoyed. Dizzy with delight, he pledged loyalty, bowed, and, carrying the two strings of medicine money Ziju had fetched for him, took his leave.

But he'd barely stepped out the main hall when a sudden gust sounded overhead—"whoosh—"

"Ah!" Though skilled in martial arts, Ren Quan was caught off guard. He managed to flick his coin weapon half a foot into the air to his upper left, but the bandaged spot on his forehead took a direct hit. His vision went black, his steps faltered, and he toppled face-first into the muddy yard.