Hot flashes

News of the opening of granaries and the distribution of grain spread like wildfire throughout the seven prefectures of Jiangnan. Flood victims flocked to the soup kitchens at the city gates from all directions. Some leaned on canes, some carried children, and some carried all their belongings. They lined up in an endless queue, shivering in the cold wind, waiting for a bowl of thin porridge.

In the first few days, we did receive some food, though not much, and the porridge was so thin you could see your reflection in it, but it was better than nothing.

But in less than half a month, the porridge in the porridge stall became thinner and thinner. It went from being able to reflect a person's image to just a bowl of clear water with a few grains of rice floating in it. Some people counted that there were no more than twenty grains of rice in a bowl of porridge.

After queuing for most of the day, I received a bowl of water, but my stomach was still empty after drinking it.

Some people went to argue with the porridge-distributing bailiffs. The bailiffs glared at them and said that it was good enough to have something to eat. The imperial grain had not yet arrived. This was what the imperial envoy had saved from his own teeth. Why were you being so picky?

The man was so angry at the scolding that he didn't dare to utter a sound. He took the bowl of water, stepped aside, squatted in the corner, and silently drank it all.

A few days later, the soup kitchen was simply closed down.

The constables posted a notice at the door saying that the grain had been distributed and the next batch of relief grain was on its way, asking the people to wait a few more days.

The day the notice was posted, hundreds of people, young and old, men and women, gathered at the entrance of the porridge stall. They looked at the notice, and some who could read read it aloud to those who couldn't. After they finished reading, a buzzing discussion erupted from the crowd, like a pot of water about to boil.

"Where is the grain? Where has the grain allocated by the imperial court gone?"

"Didn't they say the Imperial Envoy was going to open the granaries and distribute grain? Where is the grain in the granaries?"

"Yesterday I saw several large trucks parked in front of the grain store in the east of the city, all loaded with grain sacks, piled up like mountains."

"The grain shop in the east of the city? It's a granary opened by the imperial envoy. How did the grain end up in the grain shop?"

Someone shouted from the crowd, "Go ask at the grain shop!" This was like a spark thrown into a pile of dry firewood; the crowd scattered and surged towards the east of the city.

Hundreds of people were crammed into the narrow street, their footsteps, voices, and children's cries all mixed together, making the whole street completely blocked.

At the entrance of the grain shop in the east of Jiangning Prefecture, several large carts had not yet had time to unload their goods.

The grain sacks were piled on the truck and covered with tarpaulins. A corner of the tarpaulin was lifted to reveal the white rice inside.

Several shop assistants stood beside the cart, talking to the grain shop owner, a fat man in his forties wearing a silk robe with a round belly. He held an abacus in his hand, clicking away, with a smile on his face, as if calculating how much silver he could earn that day.

As the crowd surged forward, the shopkeeper's smile remained on his face. He looked up and saw a dense mass of people walking towards him. His smile froze, the abacus slipped from his hand, fell to the ground, and the beads scattered everywhere, rolling down the steps and being crushed into the mud by the feet that followed.

"This is grain from the imperial court! Why should it be sold to a grain shop!"

"We're starving, yet grain merchants have grain to sell? Where does this grain come from?"

"Where is the grain from the granary opened by the Imperial Envoy? Where did it go?"

The voices of the crowd surged up like a tide, wave after wave, growing louder and more urgent.

The shopkeeper's face turned deathly pale. He took a step back, his back pressed against the door, his lips trembling as he couldn't utter a word. His employees stood in front of him, but faced with hundreds of bloodthirsty disaster victims, the employees were like leaves falling into a flood, with no chance to struggle.

Someone in the crowd recognized the markings on the grain sacks. It was the seal of an official granary, dark in color, printed on the side of the linen grain sacks. Although it was somewhat blurred by the greaseproofing, the shape could still be vaguely made out.

The man shouted, "This is grain from the official granary; it has the official granary seal on it!" These words pierced everyone's ears like a needle.

Someone rushed forward and tore open the tarpaulin, revealing more grain sacks, each bearing the same clear and unmistakable seal. The crowd erupted in uproar.

Some rushed forward to grab the grain, some smashed open the door of the grain shop, and some grabbed the shopkeeper by the collar and dragged him into the street, where fists rained down on him.

The shopkeeper clutched his head and cowered on the ground, letting out a pig-like scream.

The workers tried to run away, but were blocked by more people. They were pushed and shoved, and it was unclear who started the fight or who drew blood first. By the time the soldiers who were maintaining order arrived, the grain shop had been smashed beyond recognition.

Wu Huai-ren was having dinner when he heard the news at his headquarters.

There were four dishes and a soup on the table, including fish and meat.

He picked up a piece of braised pork and put it in his mouth. After chewing it a couple of times, he heard hurried footsteps outside. Before he could swallow, the door was pushed open.

The messenger was a constable from Jiangning Prefecture. He ran out of breath, knelt on the ground, and his voice trembled: "Sir, it's terrible! The grain shop in the east of the city has been vandalized by disaster victims. Manager Liu has been beaten half to death. The granary has been looted, and most of the grain has been taken away. The soldiers arrived too late and couldn't stop them..."

Wu Huai-ren's chopsticks froze in mid-air, the braised pork in his mouth, unsure whether to swallow or spit it out.

He paused for a moment, then abruptly put down his chopsticks, stood up, and his chair tipped backward, crashing to the ground with a thud.

He stared at the constable, his eyes wide, his face trembling: "Who led the charge? Where's Manager Liu? Where are those who looted the grain?"

The constable lay prostrate on the ground, his voice growing softer and softer: "We...we didn't catch the ringleader. There were too many people, a dense, dark mass. By the time the soldiers arrived, they had all scattered...Manager Liu was beaten until his face was covered in blood. He was taken to the clinic, but we don't know if he'll make it..."

Wu Huai-ren's face turned a deep purplish-red. He paced back and forth in the room a few times, his boots thumping on the blue brick floor like the beating of drums.

He stopped abruptly, turned around, and his gaze fell on the stack of account books on the table.

Those ledgers were meticulously prepared by him, with every entry clearly recorded, every entry having a source and supporting documentation, seamless and watertight.

No matter how well the accounts were kept, it couldn't stop the disaster victims from smashing up the grain shops. When the news got out, reached the capital, and reached His Majesty's ears, what would he think?

A layer of cold sweat seeped from Wu Huai-ren's forehead. He stood there, his back soaked with cold sweat, which clung to his skin and felt chilly.