Chapter 39: Torrential Rains Wash Over Bygone Days, Rising Suns Harmonize New Verses

The sky was heavy and overcast, the sun having hidden itself for two or three consecutive days.

The pines on the distant mountains, uncharred, vaguely approached the hue of pine-soot ink. A lingering unease stirred in Guan Yin's heart—she thought of the common folk drowned by torrential rain within that dramatic framework Cheng Heng termed a "Northern and Southern suite."

It seemed that the passing of the neighbor couple's child was also tied to the rain.

After all, everything connected with water seemed inextricably linked to Chinese history; at times it represented wisdom, at times bravery, and at times the sobering lesson that "it is never too late to mend the fold even after some sheep have been lost..."

In this unfamiliar environment, Guan Yin dreaded a sudden storm that might strike at any moment, especially lacking any trusted source of strength for protection.

"My lord, it is merely a heavy rain; this house can surely withstand it."

Liu Jiao'an did not know that what Guan Yin feared was not the rain itself, but the flash floods and mudslides that might follow in its wake. What if the story within the musical suite had not yet occurred, and it was merely the original body realizing the truth of corruption, hoping—through the wide dissemination of the tune—that those with the sight and authority to care might actually intervene?

"Hmm." Yet these thoughts were difficult for Guan Yin to voice to Liu Jiao'an. Matters that could neither be fully digested nor swallowed back down were like a piece of green vegetable stuck in one's throat—neither going up nor down—causing a thoroughly uncomfortable sensation.

"My lord, when I went to the market yesterday, everyone said this rain wouldn't be very heavy."

The more unprepared people were for such natural disasters, the greater the toll they usually took. Guan Yin instinctively thought of a geography question she had seen on a colleague's grading sheet back in the office, and instinctively raised her head to look at the nearby mountains.

In later generations, trees had been cut down and mountains hollowed out for resources, making the terrain extremely prone to collapse. It was only after people recognized the problem and began planting trees to anchor the soil that things slowly improved.

Now, though the mountains were clothed in lush green, felling still occurred. Pine-soot ink, printing ink, and every variety of ink required firewood; trees were always in demand. Thus, everything was relative, and human endeavors inevitably fell short on one hand while gaining on the other—yet felling axes entering the mountain forests according to the proper seasons should, after all, have their limits.

"Indeed, my lord, if we simply stay indoors, nothing amiss will happen."

Sanheng felt her master was borrowing trouble and worrying over nothing.

No, worrying excessively over nothing.

At last, the rain came down in pattering sheets. The small kitchen, which had just been repaired, proved sturdy enough; the first wave of the downpour, not yet at its fiercest, failed to shake it in the least.

However, in the room where they lived, the rain drove in through the windows, making the already warped table look even more wretched. Yet as the rain continued relentlessly, venturing outside would inevitably invite a chill, and no one dared take that risk; neither would Liu Jiao'an allow anyone to take it.

"Sanheng, go heat some hot water for my lady and my lord."

A bowl of hot water floating a few tea leaves and slender strips of ginger, brought over by Sanheng during a brief lull in the rain, was nothing short of a lifesaver for everyone.

Lighting a fire in the cramped room was out of the question, and the warmth brought by such a cup of ginger tea was beyond imagination.

No wonder Sanheng felt her master was borrowing trouble. Rather than spending time worrying whether random occurrences might cost them their lives, it was far better to emulate Sanheng—preparing ginger tea well in advance, stacking dry firewood in a relatively dry spot, and heating the water promptly.

"My lady, if this rain grows any heavier, could it wash away the dams?" After finishing her ginger tea, Guan Yin regained the energy to ponder extraneous concerns, and the fear of breached dikes that had lingered in her mind finally slipped past her lips.

"This rain is nothing like the one from years past. Besides, the dikes have been reinforced since then, and the imperial court dispatched special commissioners to oversee them... It won't happen. It will never happen again."

That single word "again" spoke volumes. Guan Yin realized there was perhaps no need to delve into whether that past "deliverance of souls" had truly taken place. At the very least, the deceased commoners were real, and human malice had undoubtedly played its part.

"My lady, whether it be floods or droughts, what is truly terrifying is never natural disaster, but man-made calamity."

When faced solely with natural disasters, in times of scarce solutions, fewer lives were sacrificed to save the many; in times of economic stability, material loss was traded for human life. No matter the circumstance, one could always achieve the feat of leveraging the small to conquer the large, the weak to triumph over the strong—this was the triumph of humanity over nature.

Spanning thousands of years, this unvoiced consensus remained unchanged...

Pity that sometimes, a single person's selfish desires could bring utter ruin to everything in an instant.

"Indeed, it is always man-made calamity."

Hearing her lady and master delve once more into such heavy topics, Sanheng had no desire to join in. She turned her head slightly, gazing through the gap in the door panels out into the courtyard.

The renewed rain had battered and shredded large numbers of the trumpet creeper's leaves. Sanheng remembered that both her lady and master were fond of this vine, and she suddenly felt a twinge of worry: if the trumpet creeper grew less vigorously next year than it did this one, would her lady and master be disappointed?

As Sanheng pondered this, she suddenly felt an icy sensation on the side of her face, followed by an itch, as if some tiny insect were crawling there.

"Always?"

"During the mountain flood back then, how many people died, and how many were implicated... Of course, that is what I heard from my father."

"Over these years..."

"Fortunately, we have not seen such things in all these years."

Finally drawn back by the dialogue between her lady and master, Sanheng half-understood their words. Another cold and itchy sensation brushed her face; distracted, Sanheng let it be.

Guan Yin sensed a profound depth in the glance Liu Jiao'an had just cast her—as if seeing through her probe, yet willingly recounting stories she had heard.

The conversation between the two fell silent. As the frequency of the "disturbances" grew, Sanheng finally could not help but raise a hand to wipe her face, her fingers touching something icy.

It was water. All three of them noticed almost simultaneously the stream of water leaking from the roof—though slow to drip, it clearly indicated that cracks had formed in the roof of the room.

Constant dripping wears away stone; in time, this house would no longer be habitable.

Having lived in high-rise apartments for too long, the last time Guan Yin had seen a leaking ceiling was in a Beijing subway station during the rainy season, marked by a "Caution: Slippery Floor" sign and a gaudy bucket adding an obstruction to an already crowded pathway.

Fortunately, just as everyone except Guan Yin had predicted, the rain did not last long before stopping entirely.

Before the sun had even broken through, bursts of birdsong signaled that the rain had genuinely ceased.

"My lord, the rain has stopped."

"My lady, my lord, the rain has stopped."

The rain had indeed stopped, but they were compelled to rise and clear away the water both inside and outside the house.

Fortunately, "they" merely referred to the three inhabitants of this modest courtyard, while the rest of the rooms had weathered the routine wind and rain unscathed.

A rainbow spanned the middle of the mountains, both ends swallowed by the deep ranges, leaving only the brilliant center shining brightly. Guan Yin paused for a long moment, instinctively reaching for her pocket to retrieve her phone for a photo.

"My lord, Sanheng and I are enough here. Go check on the desk and those manuscripts to see how they fared."

Compared to her lord, Liu Jiao'an was clearly the backbone of this household. Coming to her senses belatedly, Guan Yin nodded and headed straight inside.