Chapter 16: Ancient Water Village

Chapter 16: Ancient Water Village

As dusk approached, the group finally reached their destination.

Nestled between low hills, the village stretched toward endless wheat fields, its layout shaped by a winding tributary of the Wei River—a place of unmistakable feng shui. Golden waves of grain shimmered under the setting sun, painting a serene rural scene.

“This is Ancient Water Village,” said Sha Lifei, leading the horses forward. “The village earns its name from an ancient spring atop the mountain. The largest landowner here is Lord Lu.”

“He’s quite the figure,” he continued. “Once a wealthy merchant in the capital, he retired here to invest in farmland. See all these fields? They all belong to him.”

“What’s more, he’s generous. Scores of laborers would’ve fought to work here—only my connections spared you from competing with Lingyou’s Wheat Reapers.”

The Wheat Reapers trade thrived in Guanzhong, but Lingyou’s workers were legendary. Hardworking, undemanding, and relentless, they were the undisputed champions of harvest labor.

“Sandaxia’s the real deal!” someone chimed in. “Told you following Master Sha wouldn’t let us down!”

The praise swelled Sha Lifei’s pride as they approached Lord Lu’s estate at the village’s eastern edge. True to Sha Lifei’s words, the mansion was a fortress of wealth. Its brick-and-wood complex sprawled across three courtyards, enclosed by high walls adorned with intricate carvings. Gatehouses, ornate archways, and stone horse-tethering posts stood proudly, their ancient grandeur bathed in twilight.

Even Li Huairen’s estate—the largest landowner in Li Village—paled in comparison, boasting merely two courtyards. The Wheat Reapers, mostly rough farmers, gawked at the opulence.

“Blimey, this guy’s loaded…”
“Never seen anything like it…”

Outside the main gate, a vast, flattened courtyard—larger than a threshing floor—was shaded by willows. Several crews already gathered there, their sickles and bedrolls marking them as fellow harvesters. Some squatted, chatting or puffing on long-stemmed pipes, their faces lit by drifting smoke.

Sha Lifei ordered his group to stay put before approaching a gaunt old man in a black robe and round spectacles. The steward’s attendants loomed behind him, broad-shouldered and sharp-eyed—clearly seasoned guards.

“Steward Lu,” Sha Lifei greeted with a bow, “these are my men.”

“Why the delay?”
“Road trouble.”
“Fine. Wait for the master’s speech before assignments.”

As the two spoke, Li Yan observed the crowd. His trained eye caught details: the Lingyou crew’s distinct dialect, their leader—a wool-vested swordsman with sinewy arms and calloused hands, unmistakably versed in Eagle Claw Technique. The guards behind Steward Lu, though slouching casually, radiated menace. These were no mere servants but lifelong retainers, experts in both martial prowess and underworld etiquette.

“Lord Lu arrives!” a servant bellowed.

From the mansion emerged a portly man, his round face softened by a flowing white beard and a chestnut silk robe. Flanking him were two women: one in white, delicate and refined; the other in crimson, her fair skin and beauty mark hinting at a sultry charm. Though likely his daughters, their presence at the forecourt raised eyebrows.

Sha Lifei stiffened. “Eyes down! One misstep, and I’ll skin you alive!” The Wheat Reapers bowed their heads, though a rival crew nearby openly ogled the women, their leader drooling unashamedly.

Lord Lu raised a hand, his voice booming. “Countrymen! I’ve returned to my roots, but wealth means nothing without generosity. This harvest, work hard, and you’ll feast—white flour buns, lamb offal stew, all you can eat! Two sheng of wheat per mu, no skimming!”

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Normally, a mu earned a single sheng—barely two pounds. And here, meaty stews promised real nourishment, not the gristle and grime of common fare.

“Lord Lu’s benevolence!” the workers cheered.

“Gratitude, gratitude!” Sha Lifei echoed, bowing profusely.

Steward Lu stepped forward, his tone stern. “The master’s kindness has limits. Buns to eat, not hoard. No trespassing the inner courtyards—cross that gate, and you’ll regret it. Slackers or thieves face the law. Work begins at dawn. Rest when the grain’s stored.”

The rules were strict, but the rewards unmatched. The Wheat Reapers nodded eagerly.

Guided to temporary shelters at the village edge, the workers found steaming cauldrons of lamb bone soup, its broth thick with offal and marrow. Towering bamboo steamers released clouds of wheat-scented mist. After days of cold rations, the scent drove them to line up, bowls in hand.

“Eat hearty—but not so much you’re sick tomorrow!” a steward joked.

A grizzled reaper chuckled. “Worry not! We know the difference between a full belly and a bloated one!”

Laughter mingled with the clatter of chopsticks. Even Li Yan, whose martial training demanded constant calories, devoured five buns and four bowls before approaching Sha Lifei.

The swordsman was mid-boast, introducing Li Yan with flair. “This is Li Yan—son of Guanzhong’s Ailing Tiger, the legendary Hu Yelang!”

Li Yan stiffened. He’d left home to carve his own path, not ride his father’s fame. Yet he bowed politely, enduring the predictable flattery.

“Ailing Tiger’s son—what a name!” rasped the Lingyou Old Blade Master. “Hope you’ve inherited his honor…”

A scoff cut through the air. A young man spat, “Li Hu’s cub? Out here already? Hope you don’t break your back chasing legends…”

The jab hung, but Li Yan merely smiled. The feast continued, the night thick with the scent of meat and ambition.

(End of Chapter)

Chapter end