Ever since arriving in Rong County, Yun Shuyue had felt a constant, subtle unease. Though under Jiang Chengyuan’s supervision, the relief grain and funds were being distributed in an orderly fashion, disaster relief itself was inherently dangerous.
If the incident at Great Pine Mountain was merely an accident, what truly worried her was the risks that might arise during the relief process. Why was it that others failed, yet Jiang Chengyuan alone could succeed?
If this relief effort proved effective, it would mean he had disrupted many people’s already‑claimed share of the “cake.”
Recently, fierce winds had swept Rong County. Dry sand and dust filled the air, as if mocking, determined to make this barren land even harsher.
That night, Jiang Chengyuan did not return. Yun Shuyue lay awake, restless. The howling wind outside only heightened her anxiety. At last she rose, took one of Jiang Chengyuan’s books from the chest, and read until after midnight, when she finally drifted into a fitful sleep.
The next morning, noise stirred outside. Jiang Chengyuan returned to the room, and Yun Shuyue rose at once: “My lord, you were gone all night. Did something happen?”
She caught the faint scent of blood. His dark robe was blotched with damp stains. Alarmed, she cried: “You’re hurt?”
Blood dripped from his arm. Her heart sank as her gaze traveled upward—his shoulder was soaked with crimson, his face pale.
Confronted with his injuries, Yun Shuyue was flustered: “What should we do? You’re badly wounded. I’ll fetch a doctor.”
But Jiang Chengyuan caught her hand: “Don’t panic. It’s only a small wound. The army physicians will come once they’re free. For now, I must trouble Madam to help me change clothes.”
Busy? That meant he wasn’t the only one injured.
Indeed, more than ten men had been wounded. Jiang Chengyuan had ordered the physicians to tend to the others first.
Yun Shuyue nodded, carefully unfastening his buttons. This time she was neither hurried nor flustered. Thanks to her recent practice, though still slow, she managed to undo them smoothly.
Removing his outer robe revealed the inner garment, far more shocking—stained everywhere with dripping blood. Yun Shuyue’s breath caught when she saw the arrow shaft protruding from his shoulder. Her hands trembled. Hadn’t he dodged those arrows at Great Pine Mountain? How was he struck again here in Rong County?
She helped him out of the inner garment, then poured hot water from the kettle into a basin and guided him to sit at the bed’s edge.
Perhaps because of his height, he usually looked lean. But now, with his chest and abdomen bare, she saw the firm, powerful muscles beneath. Yun Shuyue was not bound by the strict modesty of other women, yet somehow, watching him like this, she felt her cheeks flush. She gripped the towel tightly, though when it touched his skin, her hand was gentle.
Fortunately, there was only one wound. “What happened, my lord, to leave you so injured?”
Jiang Chengyuan’s gaze was colder than ever. He shouldn’t have told her—she was only a woman, and knowing too much would only add to her worries. Yet, against his own judgment, he spoke: “The affairs of Rong County are deeply entangled. There are many who do not wish me to return to the capital alive.”
The river‑works reconstruction was supposed to be the Ministry of Works’ responsibility. Jiang Chengyuan had gone to inspect them that day deliberately, to lure out hidden enemies. He hadn’t expected, however, that the blow would come from his own side.
By the time the physician arrived, daylight had already broken. Yun Shuyue had remained at Jiang Chengyuan’s side, watching as the doctor forcefully pulled the arrow from his shoulder. Blood gushed forth, and she quickly pressed a cloth against the wound, panicked: “Doctor, hurry with the medicine! He’s bleeding so much—how can this be safe?”
Her eyes reddened with fear. As the white cloth in her hands turned crimson, she truly worried that Jiang Chengyuan might die from blood loss.
The physician, calm and deliberate, prepared his herbs while soothing her: “Madam, don’t worry. The wound is not in a vital spot. It will bleed, yes, but it won’t be fatal…”
Catching Jiang Chengyuan’s cold gaze, he cut himself short, coughed, and added: “Still, though life is not in danger, infection and fever must be prevented. He will need careful nursing in the days ahead. Madam must not be careless.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Yun Shuyue said softly.
After sending him off, she carefully helped Jiang Chengyuan lie down on the bed. “My lord, knowing the danger, why didn’t you bring more men? Even having Chen Ping by your side would have helped.”
Chen Ping’s skills were not equal to Jiang Chengyuan’s, but compared to ordinary men, they were formidable.
Jiang Chengyuan shook his head: “He has his own duties.”
He had deliberately left Chen Ping with Yun Shuyue, fearing enemies might target her instead. What he hadn’t foreseen was that while Yun Shuyue remained safe, Zhao Qingyun had been abducted.
Closing his eyes, Jiang Chengyuan rested. Yun Shuyue went to the kitchen to prepare porridge. Only then did she learn that Zhao Qingyun had been taken by rioters.
Yun Shuyue knew that Zhao Qingyun had left the yamen yesterday, but hadn’t noticed whether she had returned. Assuming she was with Jiang Chengyuan, she hadn’t worried.
Just as the porridge finished cooking, chaos erupted at the yamen gates—shouts, cries, wailing. Concerned it might disturb Jiang Chengyuan’s rest, Yun Shuyue carried the soup inside, then went to see what was happening.
The sight froze her heart: ten corpses lay across the entrance, each surrounded by grieving relatives.
“The officials have killed! The officials have killed!”
“They said they came to give us grain and silver, but they treat us as less than human!”
“My son… why did you have to die? How will his mother live now?”
Yun Shuyue looked at the corpses, their upper bodies covered only with white cloth. The very thing she had feared most had come to pass. From the gate guards, she learned that some of the dead had been stabbed by soldiers that morning while trying to seize grain, while others had been dragged back from the riverbed.
In an instant, the emotions of the disaster victims surged. Some began to cry out for justice for the dead, while others, frightened, withdrew to the side. Shuyue worried the situation would spiral further out of control. She ordered the soldiers to divide the crowd into two groups: one of the elderly, women, and children, the other of able‑bodied men.
Once separated, the wailing lessened.
Yun Shuyue braced herself, stepped forward, and swept her gaze across the crowd: “People of Rong County, the Prime Minister has already distributed grain and silver three times since arriving here. The disaster has lasted two years, and the court has sent relief twice. But tell me—was there ever a time before this when the aid truly reached your hands?”
In the original story, Yun Shuyue was portrayed as a weak woman with a soft, gentle voice. Now she was nearly shouting, straining her throat.
Yet her words struck home. Many victims realized it was true—this was the first time in two years they had actually received grain and money.
She pressed on: “And these so‑called victims—look at their legs, their strong muscles. I ask you, what man who has starved for two years could still have such a physique?”
This time, silence fell over the crowd.
Yun Shuyue sighed: “Yesterday, the Prime Minister inspected the river works and was gravely wounded. Tell me, if something were to happen to him, who else would come to Rong County to bring you grain and silver?”