Chapter 54

Dusk settled upon the western mountains; a radiant moon stood suspended in the sky. Nights upon those lonely peaks always felt strangely clamorous. While humans slept soundly and village and town drifted off, the murmuring rivers refused rest, nor did mountain winds stirring leaves, compelling the vast woods covering peak after peak to swish rhythmically. Moonlight spilled downward, only to be blocked entirely by the craggy, densely wooded slopes. Within this profound, silent darkness bordered solely by this traversing trail, the mountain range itself seemed to bellow raucously about them—a joyous roar punctuated intermittently by resonant Bird Calls or brief rustlings like wild younglings fled homeward, scrambling recklessly through thickets amidst snapping ferns and scattered groundcover—making the trek feel scarcely unsettling any longer.

Shen Jie exercised considerably greater wariness; each time they trod a narrower footpath deep within the grove, any peculiar noise brought her halting abruptly. Then, restraining a curious Chen Shu in her tracks—requering silence until the sound passed safely beyond them—would they resume their journey. Chen Shu, in sharp contrast, had been raised amidst such mountains. Every time Shen Jie halted her motion mid-stride, she had already registered the creatures darting near. Wide-eyed yet compliant though unclear precisely why Shen Jie held them stalled, she dutifully waited out that shared moment of mutual awareness before observing rabbits or startled deer realize her presence only to bound frantically away.

Thus did they push onwards endlessly past countless thriving, verdurous forestlands and winding trails, until hills resumed steepness underfoot and their muddy track hardened into clearer tread beneath them. These marked signs indicating Yingqiu drew steadily near.

Yingqiu Weir itself occupied the convergence of tributary streams feeding Yushui River. In principle, its high altitude might have diminished water flows across those mountains, since peaks below snowline primarily funneled recent night rainfall and dew runoff downstream; its proximity to large rivers or the boundless sea meant substantial rains fell year-round. Within the cleft snaking downward from Yingqiu Heights arose a rivulet flowing ceaselessly without pause across seasons, fed inexorably by rain collecting across entire slopes; gathering force as it spilled onward. This murmuring stream gradually accelerated its downward run, finally widening into a broad lake at mid-slope, there it slowed momentarily before spilling over jagged stones into Yushui River.

Before the completion of Yingqiu Weir, even modest overnight torrents could unleash raging floods upon that Yushui tributary. Since the lakeshore had formed naturally and stood untended throughout centuries, floods spilled beyond its banks inundated not the river below but instead struck squarely toward Yingqiu City downslope. Through a millennium of changing dynasties, this region around Yingqiu grew increasingly desolate—an impassable barrier amidst incessant warfare. Only the stubborn endurance belonging to resilient ancestral clans had rooted families firmly within Yingqiu City through strife: like a determined ‘Yugong Moving Mountains,’ they bided their time until finally—amidst the enduring peace and stability later established—Yingqiu Weir emerged.

However, Yingqiu City was nowhere near as fortunate as Diancang Pass. Just as the city was showing signs of improvement, the mountain paths gradually being repaired, becoming passable enough to connect to the outside world, turmoil arose once more. By rights, Yingqiu, for all its desolation, also had that desolation to thank; being so remote meant it was rarely noticed, and wars seldom reached these depths of The Jianghu’s Wild Reaches. But alas, barely a century after the new dynasty’s rise, remnants of the previous regime lingered across the land, alongside the ever-present scourge of Mountain Bandits and rogue bandits springing up in troubled times. Qi Ban, who had scuffled with Chen Shu, counted among this number. And within these numerous scattered strongholds dotting the mountains, one particular enclave, nestled with steep peaks guarding its western flank and the boundless sea stretching to its east, held an exceptionally defensible position. It was not merely a “mountain stronghold” anymore; it had almost codified its own rules, setting itself up as a fiefdom under its own self-proclaimed wild emperor.

—This was the Valley of Villains, situated merely dozens of li east of Yingqiu City.

Fangcheng, under its “rule,” thrived, but the prosperity of this one city was bought with the oppression of towns over hundreds of li in Yubei. Yingqiu City was, naturally, no exception.

Though they weren’t given to wanton slaughter and plunder, they at least oppressed men and intimidated women. The annual tribute the common folk of Yingqiu City paid to the Valley of Villains was several times greater, if not more, than what they paid to the imperial court.

As Shen Jie and Chen Shu made their way up the mountain, they might occasionally encounter wild animals, but no people anywhere, not even a glimpse. Though the distant lights from the city nestled among the peaks shimmered faintly against the gloom, within this vast expanse of mountains, Yingqiu City, with its scattered pinpoints of light, seemed eerily quiet.

Once past that steepest stretch of mountain path, the road soon grew noticeably smoother. Wooden stakes were embedded along the way, providing some barrier against a fatal misstep. The crystalline glow of the watery moon finally fell bright upon the road, cold and clear as frost or snow, illuminating the ground enough to see distinctly.

Chen Shu guided her dark mount, mischievously steering it to tread directly atop another set of hoofprints on the path, delighting in the game. Head bowed low, she saw a fork in the path and tugged the reins without a second thought, letting the dark horse follow the tracks eastward.

“Halt.” Shen Jie, lagging a little behind, called out to stop her. “Yingqiu City is the other way.”

“Oh!” Chen Shu finally looked up, realizing she’d gone the wrong way, and pulled her horse back.

But Shen Jie didn’t take the other path either. Instead, she urged her horse forward along the eastern fork after Chen Shu, reining in steadily beside the younger woman.

“No need to rush to Yingqiu City just yet. Let’s follow this path downhill first,” Shen Jie advised.

Chen Shu, true to her nature to break the pot in pursuit of the truth at the pot’s bottom, patted her dark horse’s neck while chattering incessantly: “Why? Aren’t we supposed to deliver messages to Yingqiu City and covertly investigate the case too?!”

“How can she talk so loud, speaking of ‘covertly’ investigating?” Shen Jie chided, though with humor. Seeing Chen Shu hastily cover her mouth in response, a gesture so childlike, Shen Jie shook her head with another soft laugh. She nudged her horse forward, remarking as they rode, “You’ve been playing with those tracks for so long, haven’t you sensed something amiss?”

“Ah! The hoofprints!” Chen Shu gasped, promptly clapping her hand back over her mouth.

“Indeed,” Shen Jie said. “Look at those hoofprints: they come from the west; the marks are fresh, pressed deep from a gallop. Judging by their spacing, the horse was moving significantly faster than we are now.

“Yingqiu City is impoverished, nestled deep among towering peaks. Any merchant or traveler passing through would find the river routes or the mountain paths on the city’s other side far more convenient and safer. Few choose to come this way. Add to that how frequently it rains here, and such clear, fresh hoofprints, leading resolutely away from Yingqiu City instead of towards it… the implication should be clear enough without further explanation. Unless I miss my guess, this side path doesn’t lead somewhere else—

“It leads straight to Yingqiu Weir!”

That deduction hit the mark perfectly. Less than half an hour after turning onto this minor path east, the terrain grew steep again, weeds grew thick, and patches of bare earth and stone were exposed beneath the sparse vegetation.

Not far ahead, a dark, broad expanse opened up, the glimmer of reflected moonlight catching on water. A massive embankment loomed, and a damp mist brushed their faces. What else could it be but Yingqiu Weir?

The mountain path led directly to the apex of the great weir. This structure not only moderated the flow rushing down from the mountains but also served as a straight causeway, allowing travellers to ford through the shallow layer of flowing water spilling over it even during flood season. The weir walls, constructed as integral parts of this causeway-slash-dam that intercepted half the water flow, stood taller than ordinary embankments, angling steeply down into the valley below. This design contained the water behind the huge dam, preventing it from spreading laterally. Instead, it rose steadily within the containment, deepening gradually before finally surging through the sluice gates. Beyond flood control, it also supplied the daily water needs of the entire city.

Yet now, despite this deep night, silent and still, even from afar, the scene visible in the faint moonlight confirmed it—the reservoir behind the dam held almost no water.

It had to be understood that while Yingqiu Weir wasn’t inherently deep, its location in the mountains, built within a basin naturally carved by flowing water, stretched far. The eye took in not just the enormous main dam facing the downstream Yushui River; the long embankment extending up the valley seemed to disappear into the distant mountain shadows without end.

No wonder the waters, once surging forth, gathering the flows of tributaries, could swell enough to submerge Diancang Pass!

Looking down, under the moon’s light, they saw only a layer of spring-fed water newly gathered in the natural lake formed at the top. Beyond that, the lower basin of the weir lay entirely exposed. Uneven terrain littered with ugly, stagnant puddles stretched downwards. The closer they got, the wider the expanse of dried lakebed they saw, its desolation stark in the moonlight.

“Was all this water… transported away?” The two dismounted and stood on the bare edge of the weir. Chen Shu leaned forward, peering down. “Using sorcery? Talismans? Such an enormous lake… now dry.”

“It wasn’t carted off,” Shen Jie said. She pointed at the low wall ahead, normally sufficient to hold back the spillover of moderate water flows before it could cascade down the primary dam face. “It’s the base of the dam itself. Someone’s bored huge holes clear through it. Hard to spot looking down on it from here, but look at the water flowing beneath Yingqiu Weir.” She pointed downwards at the river channel exiting just beyond the immense dam’s base. “It hasn’t ceased. And the water coming down from the mountains isn’t pooling within the weir; it’s obviously leaking away.”

Listening intently, Chen Shu promptly lay flat on her stomach and craned her neck over the edge to peer below. “Ah, you’re right! It’s not a dam anymore—it’s more like a hollowed-out bridge! The holes are so big moonlight is shining straight through onto the dried lakebed below!”

“Just as I thought,” Shen Jie remarked, one hand keeping hold of her own horse’s reins at the edge, the other gripping the back of Chen Shu’s collar, preventing the over-eager girl from tumbling down. “Had the holes been smaller, merely allowing excess water to drain, it likely wouldn’t have caused such a catastrophic deluge. Judging by the overwhelming force that hit Diancang Pass, I suspect the dam was ruptured quite suddenly. With sheer cliffs downstream, a massive pent-up surge would form… wait—”

Mid-sentence, Shen Jie stiffened. She swiftly freed her horse’s reins and hauled Chen Shu bodily away from the perilous edge with a single strong arm. In a voice barely above a breath, she hissed: “—Silence! Someone approaches!”

Indeed, back up the main mountain path they had climbed, several figures emerged from the gloom.

“Huh?” Chen Shu murmured, crouching instinctively and matching Shen Jie’s hushed tone. “What do we do? Charge them?”

“Stop the foolish talk! We’re here to investigate the case, to ‘deliver messages’!” Shen Jie paused, then bent closer, her words scarcely audible as she breathed into Chen Shu’s ear. “The horses are too obvious. If they spot the horses first, hiding ourselves won’t matter. Here’s what we do: you hide – find somewhere to slip away. I’ll stay here and confront them if needed. You sneak down the slope to the dried basin. Look for any clues, any traces of what really happened. We’ll regroup later and—”

“The horses can run away,” Chen Shu said. “I’ll just tell them to sneak off.”

With that, Shen Jie appeared both helpless and somewhat irritated. Like anyone else, she took Chen Shu’s words as a joke. Taking a deep breath, she was about to explain when she saw Chen Shu tiptoe over her shoulder and shout loudly to the two horses, “Run quickly and find a place to hide for a couple of days—oh, be quiet about it!”

Shen Jie turned her head in response and saw the two horses bow their heads, seemingly understanding, as they turned and walked into the woods. Their steps were slow and careful, avoiding the fallen leaves and broken branches that would make noise. Shortly, they vanished into the dark forest, no longer visible.

For a moment, Shen Jie was also left speechless, shocked. When she regained her senses and was about to ask Chen Shu something, another voice rang out across the empty dam.

It was strange and phlegmy, clearly a male voice with a Yingqiu City accent.

“Who? Who’s there! I heard you speaking just now! Come out!”

The two exchanged silent glances. Shen Jie sighed, and Chen Shu stuck out her tongue, looking guilty as she gave Shen Jie an apologetic smile.