Chapter 112: Seeking Answers from Spirits Rather than Heaven

“Drip, drip, drip!”
“Dong, dong, dong!”
“Clang, clang, clang!”
………………

The distant sounds of drums and gongs echoed, drawing the attention of Morton and Fang Xuanling. A long procession was slowly making its way along the official road.

“What is this?”

Fang Jun looked on curiously at the approaching procession. The lively scene resembled a wedding, yet it was nearly noon, and no bridegroom’s party would come for a wedding at such an hour.

The procession neared, the clamor of drums and gongs growing louder, attracting many onlookers who had come to buy water carts. Colorful banners fluttered in the breeze. At the front marched a band of musicians, their suona horns and drums blaring ear-piercingly, playing with great fervor.

Behind the musicians walked seven little girls, barefoot with unbound hair, carrying a triangular yellow dragon flag. Following them were eight burly men bearing a massive clay sculpture of the Dragon King. A large crowd of villagers trailed behind.

“Praying to Heaven for rain,” Morton said solemnly.

The seven girls symbolized the Seven Maidens’ Rain-Invoking Rite, while the Dragon King statue represented the Dragon King Rain Prayer.

Fang Xuanling looked at the rain-seeking procession with a troubled expression. He had not expected the drought to be so severe that many people had resorted to praying to Heaven for rain.

None of this drought information had reached the county magistrate. Were it not for Morton, they might not even know how grave the situation had become.

Whenever the Dragon King sculpture stopped, all the villagers knelt in unison, lighting handfuls of costly sandalwood incense that filled the air with a pleasant fragrance.

An elderly man with graying hair knelt at the forefront, prostrated himself before the clay Dragon King three times, and cried out, “We, the humble people, have long neglected the Dragon King. Today, we bring these offerings in earnest. We beseech the Dragon King of the Jing River to have mercy and grant us rain.”

“May the Dragon King of the Jing River have mercy!” the crowd echoed loudly.

“Why do they pray to the Dragon King of the Jing River?” Fang Jun asked, puzzled.

Morton lowered his voice to explain, “This year’s drought is worst along the banks of the Jing River. The water level has receded, exposing the riverbed. The people of Guanzhong say that this drought must be the Dragon King’s wrath.”

The most parched regions were the counties along the Jing River’s banks. In some places, it hadn’t rained for a month and a half, and the water level had fallen to a historic low.

“Oh!”

Fang Jun suddenly understood. He usually stayed in Chang’an and had never witnessed such rain-invoking ceremonies before. He watched the villagers’ strange rites with growing curiosity.

Burning incense, bowing, offering sacrifices, seven maidens kneeling to pray to Heaven—moreover, the procession had even hired a Taoist priest to perform a spirit-calling ritual, exhausting every conceivable method to bring rain.

“Hey, Morton, do you think the Dragon King of the Jing River will forgive them and send rain?” Fang Jun nudged Morton’s shoulder quietly.

“Poor fools, praying to spirits instead of Heaven.”

Morton sneered coldly. If praying to gods were effective, then those gods would be far too cheap, easily bribed by a few pig and sheep heads.

Fang Jun stared speechlessly at this unusual child. Could he not burst into poetry at the slightest provocation? Didn’t he see his parents were still nearby?

“What a fitting phrase—praying to spirits instead of Heaven!”

A sharp shout came from behind Morton, startling him. He quickly turned to see Li Er’s face darkened in gloom as he gazed at the rain-seeking procession. Faced with drought, the people did not think to irrigate their fields but instead worshipped the Dragon God for rain. If prayer were truly effective, the Great Drought of the fourth year of Zhenguan would never have happened.

“Spirits and gods!”

Li Shimin closed his eyes in pain, having already lost all hope in such superstitions back in the fourth year of Zhenguan.

“Your Majesty!”

Fang Xuanling whispered in surprise. He had not expected Li Shimin to come here incognito.

Fang Jun and Morton were equally shocked to find the emperor right behind them. Fang Jun’s heart leapt with excitement; this trip had truly been worthwhile. Following the Mo family’s child was indeed the right choice—he had even encountered the rarely seen emperor himself.

The three men intended to bow, but Li Shimin waved them off gently, clearly wishing to keep his identity concealed.

Morton and Fang Jun had no choice but to give a slight bow in return.

“Your Majesty, with your noble status, how could you risk such danger dressed in plain clothes?” Fang Xuanling whispered cautioningly. Though outside Chang’an, if anything happened to Li Shimin here, no one could bear the responsibility.

“Rest assured, I have already made arrangements,” Li Shimin shook his head.

Fang Xuanling glanced around and indeed noticed several well-disguised individuals nearby. Though they looked like ordinary villagers, their eyes kept drifting subtly toward the emperor. At their head was a familiar face—Li Junxian. Only then did Fang Xuanling relax and cease his admonitions.

“Besides, if I could make my chancellor abandon his duties and clear the way with his official seal, it must be something urgent. How could I not come see for myself?” Li Shimin said.

He had originally been inspecting conditions outside Chang’an, investigating the drought, when he happened to notice Fang Xuanling leaving through the South Gate. Curious, he followed and discovered Fang Xuanling working alongside the Mo family’s child.

“Morton, it seems you’re indispensable wherever you go!” Li Shimin snorted coldly, casting a sharp glance at Morton.

Morton suddenly felt a chill run down his spine and lowered his head guiltily.

Fang Xuanling quickly whispered the explanation of Morton’s irrigation tool that utilized the ubiquitous underground water, which immediately brightened Li Shimin’s eyes and stirred his heart.

The Mo family’s new waterwheel had indeed astonished Li Shimin. If popularized, it could alleviate at least ten percent of the drought’s impact. Yet he had not expected the Mo family to focus on irrigating lands far from rivers.

“I thought the improvements to the waterwheel alone were enough to surprise me, but it seems there is yet another marvel in store!” Li Shimin took a deep breath to steady himself. If it had been anyone else, he might have doubted, but he had confidence in Morton—this boy always came up with the unimaginable.

Well water! Li Shimin was well acquainted with it. Chang’an was dotted with ancient wells, some centuries old, which never ran dry even in the worst droughts.

One could only imagine how much water lay buried beneath the fields. If it could be harnessed for irrigation, it would be an unparalleled boon for Tang agriculture.

Generally, as long as the land was not low-lying, a bit of rain wouldn’t greatly affect harvests. But drought was the greatest calamity for farming—when it struck, vast lands turned barren and famine ensued.

“If you can truly solve the irrigation problem of dry fields, I will forgive your conspiracy with Gaoming and let bygones be bygones,” Li Shimin said coldly.

Morton sighed. That matter had indeed been exposed. Serving the emperor was like walking a tightrope. Though Morton meant well and had been subtle, Li Shimin inevitably felt his pride wounded.

“Please, Your Majesty, come to the Mo family’s experimental fields. Let me personally demonstrate,” Morton said confidently.