Chapter 36: Chapter 35. Just a thought to save the people.

Chapter 35.

The group pressed on relentlessly, day and night, enduring harsh winds and sleeping under the open sky. At long last, on the fourth morning, they reached the gates of Taiyuan.

The scene was grim. The once-thriving city had been reduced to a ghostly wasteland by the raging pox that swept through the land. Every village and town they passed en route told the same story: doors shut tight, streets eerily silent.

Since the outbreak in Shanxi came to light, the tyrant Zhou Weishan had been imprisoned, but the scars of his atrocities still lingered. In a desperate attempt to cover up the epidemic, Zhou ordered the incineration of the infected—dead or alive.

Fever?

Cough?

Swollen nodes?

No questions asked—straight to the flames.

This cruel containment strategy had momentarily slowed the plague but left survivors haunted by terror. Though Zhou Weishan was now behind bars and the city gates were no longer sealed, no one dared to enter or leave. Those few who ventured outside skulked with faces covered, rushing as if pursued by death itself.

Even the soldiers at the gate seemed indifferent, barely sparing a glance as Yin Chengyu’s party rode into the desolate city. Yin Chengyu’s sharp eyes took in the empty streets, the abandoned houses, and the shops left in disarray—many looted, their owners likely claimed by the sickness.

In some tightly shut homes, faint rustlings betrayed signs of life. Occasionally, a pair of wary eyes peered through a crack in the door or a sliver in the shutters, watching their every move. Yet, for all its survivors, Taiyuan felt less like a living city and more like a lifeless tomb.

“If this is the state of the capital, I can’t imagine the devastation elsewhere,” Yin Chengyu murmured, his tone grave. The plague had only been ravaging Shanxi for a month, yet it seemed to have brought humanity to its knees. Nature’s wrath was terrifying, but man’s cruelty could be far worse.

Yin Chengyu came to an abrupt halt. “Find out where this plague began—what county, which village, whose household. I want details,” he commanded.

“We’ve already sent scouts,” Xue Shu replied, his voice steady. “They traced it back to Wangjia Village in Qingyuan County, under Taiyuan’s jurisdiction. But the reports were rushed. We don’t have a clear picture of the initial outbreak.”

Yin Chengyu gave him an approving glance, then swung up onto his horse. “Good. Let’s confirm it ourselves.”

Without delay, the group rode out of Taiyuan, galloping toward Qingyuan. By the time they reached Wangjia Village, the sun hung high in the sky.

Yin Chengyu halted at the village entrance, scanning the lifeless scene before him. The entire village reeked of death—silent and still. Not even the hum of insects or the chirp of birds broke the eerie quiet. Their arrival, loud as it was, drew no curious villagers, no watchful eyes.

“Could the plague have wiped them all out?” someone muttered.

Yin Chengyu took the cloth mask handed to him by a court physician and secured it over his mouth and nose. Without a word, he strode forward, his gaze darkening as he passed the dilapidated houses on either side.

“There might still be survivors,” Xue Shu remarked, stopping at a door. He ran his fingers over the handle and found it mostly free of dust. Knocking firmly, he called out, “Anyone home? We’re here to ask some questions.”

Silence.

He knocked again, louder this time. “We’re not here to harm you. Open up.”

Still no answer.

Yin Chengyu was about to dismiss the effort when Xue Shu’s tone turned sharp, his fist pounding harder against the door. “This is an official census! If you don’t open up now, we’ll break it down!”

The house had been eerily quiet, but now a faint shuffle stirred behind the door. Moments later, the door cracked open just enough for a middle-aged farmer, likely in his forties or fifties, to peek out. His body remained hidden behind the door, his face painted with tension and fear. "Officers, I’m the only one left in my family. I haven’t fallen ill. No fever, no coughing," he stammered, his words trembling with unease.

It was obvious he thought the soldiers had come to drag him away.

Yin Chengyu sighed inwardly, gesturing for Xue Shu to step back before addressing the man directly, his tone calm yet firm. "Uncle, we’re not here to arrest anyone. We heard that Wangjia Village was the first to encounter this strange plague, so we’ve come to understand what’s going on."

The man’s guard dropped slightly at this reassurance, though his face remained wary. With a heavy sigh, he muttered, "There’s nothing left to understand. No one’s here anymore. They’re all gone—dead. It all started with that family at the edge of the village. They offended the Mouse Immortal, and none of us could escape its wrath."

His eyes flicked over Yin Chengyu’s fine attire, and he added a piece of advice. "You should leave too. If the Mouse Immortal is angered, you won’t make it out alive either." With that, he moved to shut the door.

But Yin Chengyu quickly caught it, signaling Xue Shu to hand over a bag of dried provisions. "We mean no harm," Yin Chengyu explained, his voice steady and persuasive. "The officials above are working on finding a cure for this plague. They sent us to trace its origins, which brought us to Wangjia Village. Please, Uncle, help us with whatever you know. Perhaps your knowledge can make a difference." As he spoke, he pressed the food into the man’s hands.

In a region plagued by famine, food was more valuable than gold. The man hesitated, his grip tightening around the bag. After a moment of deliberation, he relented, though he kept the door half-closed as he began to speak.

"The plague started with Wang Dazhuang’s family at the edge of the village. Half his family died—only the widow and her teenage son survived. People say it’s because they secretly caught and ate a rat, offending the Mouse Immortal. Furious, the Immortal cursed them with this disease. Even those who helped bury their dead were struck down, one after another. Soon, the entire village was infected. Some tried seeking help in the city, but the doctors there had never seen anything like it. No one knew how to cure it. Then it spread—to other villages, even the city.

"That’s when the officials started hunting down the sick, burning them alive to appease the Mouse Immortal." The man paused, clutching the provisions tighter. His tone grew more somber. "That’s all there is to it. Anyone who knew anything is gone now."

Yin Chengyu asked a few more questions, but the farmer’s answers were sparse, his knowledge muddled with rumors and superstition. Eventually, he pointed them to Wang Dazhuang’s home before shutting the door behind them.

The group continued toward the edge of the village. According to the farmer, only four or five households remained in Wangjia Village, with barely a dozen people among them. Most had either starved to death or succumbed to the plague. The rest, showing early symptoms, were dragged away by soldiers, never to return. The survivors lived on scraps scavenged from abandoned homes.

When they reached Wang Dazhuang’s house, Xue Shu moved to knock, but the door creaked open on its own. A lanky boy, about fifteen or sixteen, stood in the doorway. His skin was darkened by the sun, his frame tall but gaunt, his cheeks hollow from hunger. His sharp gaze flicked over the group as he spoke with a mix of defiance and desperation. "I heard everything you said at Uncle Wang’s. Do you want answers? Trade me food."

Yin Chengyu studied the boy carefully. His fierce demeanor might have been intimidating if not for the subtle tremor in his body—a telltale sign of starvation.

Without hesitation, Yin Chengyu handed him a bag of provisions. The boy snatched it up but didn’t eat. Instead, he muttered, "Wait here," and disappeared inside.

Through the half-open door, Yin Chengyu caught a glimpse of the boy soaking the dry food in water until it softened. He carried the bowl into the inner room, where muffled voices and a woman’s anguished cries soon followed. Words like "Mouse Immortal" and "retribution" echoed faintly. The commotion climaxed with the sharp crash of a bowl smashing to the floor, followed by silence.

After a pause, the boy emerged, holding the cracked bowl. The water had mostly spilled, leaving a few soggy crumbs behind. Dirt clung to the remnants, suggesting they’d been picked up from the ground.

The boy didn’t seem to mind at all. With the stale biscuit in one hand and a quick gulp of water, he devoured the food ravenously, wiped his mouth with a careless swipe, and then casually strode to the door. Sitting down, he looked straight ahead and said, “So, what do you want to know? Ask away.”

Yin Chengyu, unfazed by the boy’s bluntness, spoke in a calm, steady voice. “Can you tell me about your family? How did the illness start? And what’s this talk about the ‘Rat Deity’?”

At the mention of the Rat Deity, the boy sneered coldly. “Don’t fall for the nonsense those villagers are spouting. ‘Rat Deity’ my ass—it’s nothing but scare tactics.”

His face twisted with anger, his chest heaving as if holding back a storm. After a moment’s pause, he finally relented, taking a deep breath before diving into the story of his family’s downfall.

“This spring, there was a drought. Not a drop of rain fell, and then the locusts came. The crops? Not a single grain was left.

“Famine hit everywhere in Shanxi, and our village wasn’t spared. My family—nine of us in total—had it worse than most. My parents, my grandparents, and five kids all depended on the scraps we could find. Every day was a fight to keep from starving.

“I’m Wang Zhou, by the way. I’ve got a strong body, so I figured I’d go deep into the mountains to try my luck. Maybe I’d find some wild vegetables or animals to bring back.

“Two days. I trekked for two days and nights. But the mountains had been picked clean long before me. I only managed to scrape together a handful of wild greens. Exhausted and starving, I finally made it home. And you know what I found? My little siblings weren’t whining about being hungry anymore.

“When I asked, they told me. My parents had found a bunch of rat holes outside the village. They’d gone digging, hoping to find some grain stored by the rats. But instead, they stumbled upon nests full of blind, hairless rat pups.

“They were desperate. Desperation makes you do things you wouldn’t dream of otherwise. Someone once told them that rat pups are a delicacy somewhere, so they brought the nests back, cooked them up with the wild greens, and served them to the family.

“But rat pups don’t last long. Once they were gone, my parents figured the grown rats might work just as well. Big rats, meaty ones—they’d make a whole pot of soup. So they went back and started catching full-grown rats.

“It worked for a while. There were plenty of rats, even in the middle of the famine. By the time I got home, the family had already been eating rat meat for two days. In the kitchen corner, there was even a sack full of live ones, waiting to be cooked.

“And then, the very next day, it all went to hell."

“My grandparents were the first to fall. They couldn’t get out of bed, their necks swollen with these massive lumps. After that, my little siblings started burning up with fever. One by one, they collapsed. They had the same lumps, too."

“We called the village doctor. He gave them medicine, but it didn’t do a damn thing. By the second night, my grandparents were gone."

“We didn’t even have time to bury them. The next day, my siblings started coughing up blood. All of them died before the day was out."

“My dad was the last to go. My mother brought the rat back home at the time. She couldn't bear the shock and went crazy."

“Now the villagers are saying we angered the Rat Deity because we ate rats. They think that’s why my family died, and they’re blaming us for bringing the plague to the village."

“But let me tell you something.” Wang Zhou’s fists clenched tightly, his eyes burning with suppressed rage. “We weren’t the only ones eating rats. I saw it with my own eyes—families tossing bags of rats into the hills after people started getting sick.

“Who the hell wants to eat rats? We did it because we had no choice. If this so-called Rat Deity exists and kills people for trying to survive, then what kind of deity is that?”

His voice cracked, and he covered his face with trembling hands. A muffled sob escaped, raw and full of despair, before he broke down completely, his cries shaking the room.

Yin Chengyu watched silently, his chest heavy with a sorrow too deep for words. After a long while, Wang Zhou’s sobs subsided. He wiped his tear-streaked face with his sleeve and spoke hoarsely. “That’s all there is to it. I’ve got nothing more to say.”

Yin Chengyu handed him two more bags of rations. He hesitated, wanting to offer words of comfort, but found himself at a loss. Anything he said would feel hollow. In the end, all he managed was a stiff, almost pained promise.

“Hold on a little longer. We’ll figure something out. It won’t stay like this forever.”

Wang Zhou accepted the food without a word, nodded briefly, and disappeared back into the house.

The air was thick with silence, suffocatingly still as if the entire Wangjia Village held its breath. No one dared to speak, and the oppressive quiet quickly reclaimed its reign.

After what felt like an eternity, Yin Chengyu broke the standstill, turning on his heel and walking away.

At the village outskirts, he paused, throwing a sharp glance at the imperial physician trailing behind. "Ghosts and gods, what nonsense. The so-called 'rat deity'—pure drivel. But here's the real question: every villager who first fell ill had eaten rats. Is there a chance this plague is tied to them?"

The imperial physician, clearly lost in his musings, hesitated before replying. "Rats themselves are not inherently poisonous. People have eaten them before without incident. However, with the famine in Shanxi, these rats might have scavenged corpses, which breed miasma. If rats consume such filth, they may carry the plague, passing it to humans who consume them. This, of course, is only conjecture. We’ll need evidence."

Yin Chengyu's gaze darkened as he mulled over the possibility. He glanced at the murky sky, his voice steady but decisive. "We'll return to the provincial capital. This needs further deliberation."

The group spurred their horses, galloping back to the city without delay.

Without revealing his identity, Yin Chengyu bypassed the government office and opted for a deserted inn to rest. The inn was a shadow of its former self—tables overturned, chairs askew, and dust blanketing everything like a shroud.

Xue Shu, ever the practical one, ordered the rooms to be tidied and inspected the backyard well. The water was clean enough, so he hauled two buckets to the woodshed to heat them.

Yin Chengyu had chosen to travel light, leaving servants behind to save time. This meant Xue Shu shouldered the responsibility for his care.

While Xue Shu furrowed his brows, smoothing out the bedding with meticulous care, he noticed the prince quietly observing him. Moments later, Xue Shu reappeared, carrying a basin of steaming water. Behind him, a subordinate followed with a pot of freshly brewed tea.

"Apologies, Your Highness, the inn’s accommodations are far from luxurious," Xue Shu remarked, stepping forward to take the bedding from Yin Chengyu’s hands and skillfully finishing the task.

"I’m not as fragile as you think," Yin Chengyu replied casually, shrugging off his outer robe and wringing out a damp towel to wipe his face.

Xue Shu hung the robe neatly and laid out fresh garments on the side. When the prince returned from washing up behind the screen, Xue Shu had already arranged a simple meal—meager bread soaked in hot broth. Though crude, it was comforting enough to warm the stomach.

As Yin Chengyu set the empty bowl aside, he exhaled softly, the fatigue in his body easing slightly. Yet the haunting image of Wangjia Village’s devastation weighed heavily on his mind.

He pushed open the window, letting in the cold night air. Gazing out at the desolate, lifeless street, he gestured toward the chairs by the window and turned to Xue Shu. "Sit with me."

They sat across from each other in silence, the stillness thick and profound. After two cups of tea, Yin Chengyu finally spoke, his voice low but resolute.

"Zhou Weishan’s methods were effective. Brutal, yes, and certainly not his intention, but they stopped the plague’s spread."

He paused, his eyes shadowed by a storm of memories. "If it came down to trading one province to save half of Great Yan, what choice would I have? Tell me, Xue Shu—what should I do?"

For the first time, doubt crept into his voice. The scenes of death and despair at Wangjia Village had shaken the conviction he once held so firmly. Could human effort truly combat such a ferocious plague?

If Shanxi fell beyond control, would he stand idly by, allowing the plague to ravage half the empire as it had in his past life?

Or would he follow Zhou Weishan’s precedent, sacrificing one province to save the rest?

This crossroads planted a seed of hesitation in Yin Chengyu’s heart—a rare, unfamiliar feeling of helplessness.

Xue Shu observed the flicker of uncertainty in the prince’s eyes. After a long pause, he finally answered. "The right choice depends on your perspective at the time. As a ruler, you must prioritize the greater good. Sacrificing a part to save the whole may be cruel, but it is the burden of leadership."

Yin Chengyu’s voice dropped, almost a whisper. "But this would be unbearably harsh for Shanxi’s people. They still have a chance to live."

He turned to Xue Shu, his gaze piercing. "If it were you, what would you do?"

Xue Shu hesitated before answering, his tone thoughtful yet unyielding. "From my perspective, I would resent it, naturally. No one wants to die. Few are willing to give their lives for the sake of others."

He paused, his eyes locking onto Yin Chengyu’s. "But you, Your Highness, are not Zhou Weishan. You act from compassion, not indifference. You would never abandon Shanxi’s people unless every other option was exhausted. If the time came, your decision would not stem from cruelty but necessity—to save as many lives as possible."

Yin Chengyu studied him intently, his expression unreadable. Then, after a long silence, he leaned forward, catching Xue Shu by the chin and pulling their faces close.

"Even I don’t trust myself sometimes. But you, you trust me so completely?" he murmured, his sharp eyes narrowing as they searched Xue Shu’s unwavering gaze.

Without flinching, Xue Shu met his stare, his voice steady. "I trust you because I’ve seen it. You’re no god, no saint, but you’ve pulled people from hell with nothing but your strength and will. Even gods aren’t merciful. How can anyone expect perfection from you?"

A faint, bitter smile tugged at Yin Chengyu’s lips, his fingers releasing their hold as he leaned back. He said nothing more, but in the quiet, his thoughts churned with conflicting emotions, the weight of his choices pressing heavier than ever.

———TN:

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