Chapter Eleven: Joy and Sorrow Do Not Intertwine

After Ouyang Rong stepped outside, he turned back to glance once more at the plaque of Sanhui Courtyard.

Having shaken off the lady in the silk skirt, he strode away with his back turned to her... This carefree ease made him exhale deeply, releasing the heavy tension in his chest. In that instant, the world outside seemed to expand, and a refreshing sense of liberation washed over him.

In recent days, Ouyang Rong had been confined to his sickbed by the Zhen family, shut indoors with nothing to do. His mind was overwhelmed with too much hearing and thinking.

He always felt something was missing.

Finally, that morning, Master Shandao pointed out the truth: instead of sitting and discussing the Way, it is better to rise and act.

The so-called “Three Wisdoms” are not merely to “hear” and “think,” but also to “cultivate and practice.”

Ouyang Rong felt that if, in the underground palace that night, he could risk climbing out of the “dangerous wellhead” for the faintest glimmer of hope, then now he could also, for the possibility that the blessings of “Returning Home” might be the path to his true home, bury his head and descend the mountain to earn ten thousand merits.

“My aunt may have good intentions at heart, wanting to protect me, but whether in a past life or this one, I am no longer a child. Womanly kindness is not in my nature.”

Ouyang Rong’s expression remained calm as he murmured to himself, “Do not hesitate; be bold enough to take risks. Sentient beings often waver; a true man can accomplish all things because he knows and acts accordingly.”

“Ten thousand merits are but a trifle, a mere one percent short,” he chuckled lightly.

Yan Wuxu hurried to Donglin Temple and saw Ouyang Rong waiting, hands clasped behind his back, right at the gate.

“Mingtang!”

“Speak while we walk.”

“Yes, Mingtang.”

On the mountain path, mixed with fallen leaves and damp earth, the newly appointed young magistrate of Longcheng County walked ahead, while a young constable in dark blue followed a step behind.

“Mingtang, the floodwaters at the foot of the mountain have receded considerably. Much of the water from Yunmeng Marsh to the south has flowed into the Yangtze River to the north. Many houses in the county town have collapsed, but the worst damage is in the rural towns and villages under Longcheng’s jurisdiction, where most houses have been destroyed.”

“Fields too—most of the peasants’ good farmland is submerged. Even the low-lying areas remain flooded, turning into lakes. Only the few high-ground superior fields escaped, but these mostly belong to the city’s wealthy gentry.”

“Businesses and craftsmen are faring better. Peng Langdu has made repairs, and boats traveling between Yunmeng Marsh and the Yangtze River continue docking as usual, so the impact is limited. The Liu family’s Gu Yue Sword Workshop across Butterfly Creek hasn’t stopped working for a moment; their forge is ever-burning.”

Yan Wuxu sighed, pointing to the refugees carrying their families up the mountain to seek shelter in the temple.

“The greatest losses are among the farmers. Most of the refugees inside and outside Longcheng are farmers—no homes, no fields, washed away entirely. In some places, entire villages have fled to the county seat, and security is becoming strained.”

“The deputy county magistrate Diao is currently opening granaries and distributing grain, and has joined forces with some charitable gentry to set up soup kitchens.”

“A ‘great benefactor,’ huh,” Ouyang Rong interrupted with a smile, “So Longcheng has those too.”

Yan Wuxu was taken aback, curious: “Mingtang, what’s so funny?”

“Nothing, just caught a familiar scent. Go on, Lang.”

Yan Wuxu was about to continue describing the flood situation but then heard the young magistrate suddenly turn his head and say, “Enough about the floods. Lang, introduce me to the gentlemen at the county office. I’ve been unconscious so long, I’ve forgotten them.”

Yan Wuxu frowned slightly. “Mingtang is the true gentleman here, the highest official in Longcheng. The deputy magistrate, the chief clerk, and the county captain are all his aides. To call them gentlemen above him is presumptuous.”

Ouyang Rong smiled without explaining. Power flows from the bottom up, yet often appears to descend from above.

Yan Wuxu wasted no time and detailed everything he knew about the deputy magistrate, chief clerk, and county captain.

Though these posts were minor, together with the magistrate they formed the highest decision-making body of a Longzhou county, and to the local people, they were towering figures.

After listening, Ouyang Rong pondered for a moment and prepared to descend the mountain to have a look. But Yan Wuxu seemed to recall something and called after him.

“Mingtang, do you remember the brave man I mentioned the other day who truly saved your life?”

Ouyang Rong was slightly stunned, turning back. “I remember. What about him?”

Yan Wuxu first clasped his fists in apology and shamefully said:

“His name is Liu Ashan. He is also recovering at Donglin Temple. On the day he saved you, his waist was cut by sharp debris in the rushing water. His injury worsened over time. Then the flood came, destroying his home and property. He was left homeless. It was his younger sister who came knocking at night that I learned of their plight. I took it upon myself to arrange a guest room for them in Donglin Temple on your behalf. I hope you will forgive me.”

Before Yan Wuxu finished speaking, he froze—because the young magistrate’s figure had vanished ahead, and Ouyang Rong’s voice came from behind.

“Why wait then? Take me to visit the hero at once.”

...

The Great Zhou Dynasty still practiced slavery; it also divided its people into the free and the low-born. Among the low-born were artisans, musicians, and performers.

Slaves were the lowest among the low-born, regarded as property by law, with their lives and deaths controlled by their owners.

Slaves were further classified into official slaves and private slaves.

The new Silla maid, Ban Xi, who served the aunt, was a private slave—her treatment depended on her master.

The family Ouyang Rong saw now were official slaves.

...

The atmosphere inside the room was somewhat awkward.

Yan Wuxu stood at the door without entering.

Only Ouyang Rong, dressed in a clean, white silk robe carefully tended by the Zhen family, stood uncertainly by the sickbed.

Because he was alone in the room.

The Liu family—three members—were there. An elderly woman and a child knelt prostrate, kowtowing respectfully. The third, a tattooed man, lay on the bed, barely alive, yet struggling to rise and salute.

“You... you... don’t be so formal... brave sir, you are in such a state, please don’t bow. Rest well and recover.”

Ouyang Rong’s words were awkward, unsure how to begin. He clumsily pressed down the sick man who tried to get up, then hastened to help the old woman and child to their feet.

...

Ouyang Rong knew this was the norm for the era, but even if his conscience could bear it, he feared the modest merit of one hundred points would not agree.

He exchanged a few warm words and learned some details.

The frail, tattooed man on the sickbed was Liu Ashan, the one who had saved him that day.

There was also a young girl with inked characters on her forehead and tattoos on her face, delicate in appearance, especially remarkable for her large, bright eyes. Ouyang Rong couldn’t help but look at her longer—he hadn’t seen such spirited eyes in a long time.

But at this moment, the girl’s eyes were reddened, sorrowful. She buried her head deeply, avoiding his gaze. Ouyang Rong heard Ashan call her “A Qing” just now.

Also present was a trembling elderly woman—this was their mother, Lady Liu.

Ouyang Rong, tall and slender, with a refined scholarly air, stood in the room like a luminous pearl thrown into dust—immediately drawing attention.

Though he himself was unaware, this was how Yan Wuxu described the scene, frequently glancing inside.

“Young master, please rest well. I will have Constable Yan visit regularly. If you need anything—medicine or supplements—please say so.”

“Madam, please also take care of your health. Eat and drink well. I will have the temple master send some servants to help with anything you need.”

“And young miss... study hard, whether embroidery or other skills. Don’t trouble your mother and brother. If you have difficulties, you can talk to Lang.”

Ouyang Rong racked his brains for words to comfort the Liu family, but curiously, their reactions were not warm or grateful, nor overly flattered. Instead, their expressions varied.

Lady Wu and A Qing seemed somewhat fearful, answering timidly.

Lying on the bed, Liu Ashan, after being pressed down to stop his salute, stared blankly at the gray cloth canopy above, showing no joy or gratitude.

They answered like puppets, responding only when prompted and rarely speaking on their own. Their smiles were stiff, making the scene slightly uncomfortable.

Ouyang Rong was not offended; he thought it was his fault for arriving too late and neglecting his lifesaver.

He resolved to visit more often when he had time—the young magistrate thought.

“I won’t disturb you any longer, Brother Ashan. I will come again another day!”

“Safe travels, honorable sir.”

Ouyang Rong took his leave and finally breathed a sigh of relief. Yan Wuxu leaned close and whispered:

“Mingtang, I just checked. Liu Ashan’s injury looks like a Jinchuang ulceration. It seems hopeless...”

Ouyang Rong paused in silence.