Rain came before dawn and found every repair Hejingshui had postponed for three years.
The eastern grain roof failed first. Water ran down the inner wall in four thin streams, directly toward sacks that had survived the rupture only because half the roof had fallen outward instead of in. By sunrise the lower irrigation gate had jammed with pine roots, two terrace walls were shedding mud, and Old Meng had accused the weather of taking sides. Xiulan spent the morning carrying grain.
The work had always been miserable. Now every missing pair of hands had a name.
Lin Xue normally kept the storehouse inventory. Jia Nuo owned the mule that moved the heaviest sacks. Bao Ren knew where the east wall had been patched with bad stone because he had been the one complaining about it for six years. The first three people Xiulan almost called for were written on the board. After that she stopped calling names before she checked herself. Wu An climbed onto the leaking roof with reed matting and a hammer.
"It was holding yesterday."
Fu Lan stood below with both hands on her walking stick. "Yesterday was drier."
"That feels unfair."
"The sky has never respected your expectations."
He leaned over the roof edge. "You could say something encouraging."
"Do not fall."
"That is a threat disguised as concern."
"Then it worked."
Across the yard, Shen Qing's people hauled grain under canvas. Hu Gan worked without complaint. Ren Yu discovered that half the village had been storing cracked jars because nobody wanted to admit they needed replacing. Min Yue sat under an awning with three ledgers, trying to determine whether the contractor crew still legally owned equipment that had nearly destroyed the village. Pei Chao was nowhere near the ledgers.
He had taken the lower irrigation gate with Old Meng and two villagers who still refused to speak to him. Tianhui tried to carry a grain sack. He got it off the ground. That was the last good part.
His legs failed on the third step. Shen Qing caught the sack before it crushed Tianhui's foot, and Xiulan caught Tianhui by the shoulder. For a moment he looked more offended than hurt.
"You can stop pretending that body belongs to someone else," Luo Pei said from the doorway.
Tianhui sat down on the nearest dry stone. "I was not pretending."
"You tried to lift forty jin after being told yesterday that walking to the shrine was enough exertion."
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"I assessed the risk incorrectly."
Fu Lan snorted. "A long way to say you were foolish." Tianhui considered this. "Your version is shorter."
"Use it next time."
Xiulan expected him to answer. Instead he looked at the sack Shen Qing had carried away. The embarrassment was quiet. That made it worse.
Three thousand years ago, Tianhui had been able to cross battlefields before ordinary people heard the first weapon strike. Today a wet sack of millet defeated him in front of a potter and a carpenter's apprentice. Xiulan sat beside him.
"My brother once broke his wrist trying to lift a millstone because someone told him he could not."
"Did he lift it?"
"He bruised both feet and learned nothing."
"Then I fail to understand the comfort."
"There isn't any."
He looked at her. She smiled despite herself. "You are not the first idiot to be embarrassed in this village." That, apparently, helped.
Later, Lan Jue took him to the old pottery shed and wrapped three thin measuring rings around his arm. The roof dripped into a bucket Qiao Rui had painted with a face. Every drop struck the painted forehead.
"Pulse to the first ring," Lan Jue said.
Tianhui obeyed. Warmth moved from palm to wrist. The first ring lit.
Lan Jue raised two fingers. "Stop there." He released the current.
"Now again, from the beginning."
The work was humiliatingly small. One breath of qi. Rest. Two breaths. Rest. A third attempt in which the channel spasmed and sent pain into his shoulder. Tianhui enjoyed it so obviously that Lan Jue grew suspicious.
"You understand that this is rehabilitation."
"I understand. I am still pleased."
"You are smiling."
"I have not been bad at cultivation in a very long time."
Lan Jue stared at him, then turned to Xiulan. "Is he always like this?"
"You have known him longer than I have while he was conscious."
"That is not reassuring."
Tianhui tried again. One breath. Two. Stop.
Outside, rain struck the roof and people shouted over grain sacks. Inside, the first living channel in Tianhui's body carried qi for three breaths without tearing. He closed his eyes and held the feeling carefully. A pulse. A path. Small enough that another cultivator would have been ashamed to call it progress. He had once measured progress by whether a finger moved after nineteen years. Three breaths were extravagant.
By afternoon the rain had weakened. A district messenger arrived with two mules of grain, one box of bandages, and a relief form long enough to outlive several governments. His name was Luo Dain. He was twenty, soaked, and visibly regretted public service. Qiao Ming read the form twice.
"The relief is a loan."
Luo Dain nodded miserably.
"Interest begins in thirty days."
Luo Dain nodded reluctantly. "Yes. I know what happened here."
"We lost houses."
"I know."
"Forty-one people are missing."
"I know that too."
"And the district sent debt."
"I did not write the policy."
"No. You only carried it uphill."
The clerk's face reddened. He glanced toward the muleteers and lowered his voice.
"The third mule is listed as damaged in transit."
Qiao Ming followed his glance. The third mule carried more grain than the form authorized. Nobody thanked him while the muleteers were listening. That evening Xiulan found Luo Dain behind the shrine, eating cold rice from paper.
"Why did they send you?"
"Because I am junior."
"That sounds like the district's answer."
"It is the district's answer to many things."
She sat on the low wall.
"Did they ask what happened here?"
"They asked how many structures were lost, how many registered cultivators were involved, and whether the road remained open."
The clerk stopped chewing. Xiulan did not move.
"The road?"
Rainwater fell from the shrine roof between them. Luo Dain looked as though he wanted the last sentence back. Someone outside Hejingshui already knew.