The ink bamboo was incredibly tough. Fan Dazhi clung to a branch as thick as his arm, dangling from it like a giant panda. He bent and twisted it with every ounce of strength he had, but failed to break off even a splinter. Instead, a slender branch beneath his feet suddenly sprang back and lashed his backside, leaving it burning with pain.
Just as Fan Dazhi's anger surged and he prepared to pay it back in kind, he heard the Academy Head greeting someone outside the courtyard and strolling back. Frightened, he hurriedly vaulted the wall and fled.
With no other options, Fan Dazhi thought of Gu Qingzhou. In the imperial capital, perhaps this Duke was the only person who could help him now.
To save money, Fan Dazhi could not bear to hire a carriage. He walked to the Duke's residence, sweating profusely, and knocked on the door ring while gasping for breath. The old steward who answered told him something that made his vision go black; he almost fainted. The Huai River had flooded, the dikes at Funan had burst, and Gu Qingzhou had traveled through the night with several Ministry of Works officials to provide disaster relief and repair the dikes.
In the sweltering dog days, Fan Dazhi trudged listlessly back to the Knowledge and Practice Institute beneath the blazing sun, his face roasted the color of soy-braised eggplant. Several blisters had already formed on the soles of his feet.
Recalling everything he had suffered over the past few days, Fan Dazhi's guts twisted into a hundred knots of worry. If only He An were here. He tossed and turned in bed, then drifted into a hazy sleep.
He slept until the sun sank behind the western hills. Rubbing his eyes as his stomach growled insistently,