Chapter 15: The Primary Responsible Party

The sun leapt above the horizon, casting a sea of crimson clouds across the sky. The coachman tugged on the reins, and with a shrill whinny, the horses slowed and came to a halt at the entrance of White Temple Village. Fan Jin stepped down from the carriage and gazed out. Everywhere he looked, the landscape was scorched to a withered yellow; even the air tasted of desolation.

Though it was still early, the field paths and roads were already crowded with people. The veteran farmers stood about, smoking their dry pipes in gloomy silence, sighing incessantly.

"This cursed heaven hasn't seen a drop of rain in nearly two months."

"It’s going to starve us, parch us to death!"

After a chorus of curses, someone cried out in surprise, "The Scholar Fan has arrived!"

The villagers, as if they had just caught sight of a great savior, began to tremble with excitement. Fan Jin had not intended to make a scene, but no sooner had he entered the village than he was recognized. To them, he seemed like the sun itself, their destined deliverer. With a heavy heart, Fan Jin exchanged a few words with them. Meanwhile, the fellow villager who had traveled with him in the carriage was also mobbed by people eager to hear any curious news from the county seat.

Before long, Fan Changlin, the head of White Temple Village, came trotting out to greet him. The elder was just about to call for someone to kill a chicken and prepare a proper stew with mushrooms to host his distinguished guest, but Fan Jin hurriedly waved him off. He had come to assess the situation and see if he could offer any solutions, not to sponge off the village’s meager resources. Having come from a farming background, he knew all too well what a single chicken meant to these impoverished folk. The old hen they once owned had been the greatest contributor to the Fan family's survival back in the day.

Hands clasped behind his back, Fan Jin asked directly, "What are the current grain prices?"

"The grain shops in town have set their prices," Fan Changlin replied. "Twelve coppers for a jin of rice, five for millet, and ten for white flour!"

Fan Jin’s brows furrowed. If his memory served him correctly, just over three months ago, millet had cost only two coppers per jin. In an ordinary year, with the harvest season approaching, prices should have seen a slight decline. Yet, in such a short time, they had skyrocketed. It was as if they were climbing by leaps and bounds. If the drought did not relent, he feared the prices would only continue to spiral.

"What of the village's widows and orphans?" Fan Jin asked next. "Do they still have grain?" In this feudal society, human life was as cheap as grass; in times of famine, the elderly, the weak, women, and children were always the first to perish.

Fan Changlin pondered for a moment before saying, "The Third Elder proposed that we use the yields from the ancestral lands you set aside for the clan to provide relief for the village's widows and orphans. We shall wait until we have weathered this year to decide on anything else."

Fan Jin nodded. "The Third Elder is wise; that is the right course of action." Human life was naturally more important than schooling. Besides, with disaster looming and hearts unsettled, who could focus on sending their children to begin their studies? Even in the short distance he had walked, he had already seen many families dragging their elders and carrying their children to the mountains to dig for wild herbs to stave off hunger.

As they were talking, someone came rushing over, looking utterly panicked. "Village Head! Salt prices have risen again. Twenty coppers will only buy this much!"

It was a farm woman who had gone to the market early that morning. As she spoke, she opened her basket to reveal a tiny, pitiful pouch of salt. Many in the crowd turned pale. Without salt, even the strongest man would soon lose his strength. Salt was a matter of life and death.

"Those colluding, treacherous merchants!" the villagers gnashed their teeth, wishing they could devour their flesh and drink their blood.

Fan Jin shook his head, maintaining his composure. "Every household that has even a small amount of savings should purchase daily necessities as soon as possible." The villagers understood his subtext: prices were only going to climb higher. Natural disasters were not what was truly terrifying; it was the man-made suffering that followed in their wake. A cloud of gloom descended upon them all.

Seeing this, Fan Jin frowned and asked, "I recall that in past famine years, the imperial court would distribute relief grain. Is there really no news of that yet?"

"There are too many disaster-stricken areas. We have the drought, but I hear it’s raining non-stop in the north, and the crops there have all drowned. The court simply cannot conjure up grain..." Before Fan Changlin could speak, a group of people began explaining all at once.

Fan Jin sighed. Regarding the disasters of the Great Ming Dynasty, his most vivid impression was of the Great Chongzhen Drought. This current drought probably wouldn't even earn a mention in the history books.

Just then, something fluttered and landed on Fan Jin. He reflexively brushed it off his clothes. It was a fat, bloated locust! Everyone’s faces turned stark white.

"A locust!" someone screamed, their voice trembling. It was said that where a swarm of locusts passed, not a blade of grass remained. To many, locusts were sent by the gods to punish farmers, and whenever a plague broke out, charlatans would always appear to exploit the superstition for profit.

Seeing the crowd recoil in fear, Fan Jin frowned. He strode forward, lifted his foot, and crushed the locust into the dirt repeatedly. As if to vent his frustration, green liquid burst from the insect's carcass, staining the ground with red and green.

"Scholar Fan, you!" a village woman cried out in terror, fearing he had offended the elusive Locust God.

The village head, Fan Changlin, cleared his throat and stepped forward, shooting a glare at the women. "What nonsense are you spouting? Scholar Fan is a reincarnation of the God of Literature; do you think he fears the wrath of a Locust God?"

The crowd fell silent, struck by the logic. The God of Literature and the Locust God were both deities—why should they worry about the brawls of gods? They would be better off figuring out where to find water to keep their families alive.

Fan Jin’s mouth tightened. "It appears the locusts are merely a warning. If the drought does not break, this may well escalate into a full-blown plague."

The village’s wells were nearly dry, and the riverbeds of the ponds and streams were cracked and parched. Most of the villagers were now walking several miles to the neighboring Peach Blossom Village to fetch water. But as the drought persisted, the influx of people from White Temple Village had caused the water level of the old well in Peach Blossom Village to drop rapidly, leading to growing resentment. Word was that as of yesterday, Peach Blossom Village had begun charging the villagers of White Temple for water; they would no longer share it for free. If things continued, the two villages might soon come to blows over water.

No one wanted to see that happen unless absolutely necessary. Thus, finding a source of water was the key. This was why he was determined to head into the mountains. The mountains were lush and green; they were bound to hide some unknown spring.

Fan Jin spread his hands, stood atop a mound of earth, and looked out over the crowd. He raised his voice and declared, "I am the first scholar from White Temple Village in hundreds of years! If the villagers need to eat, need water, need to survive, and need to prosper, it is only right that I take the lead!"

"Now, everyone, ready your tools! Follow me into the mountains to find water and carve out a path to survival!"