Chapter 169: The Sanchuan Ferry
Xie Jing had by his side an elder who had spent years navigating the rivers of Sichuan. Heeding the elder’s advice, Xie Jing mobilized all the family’s ships and traveled through the night.
Not a single ship—whether a large river steamer or a small boat—was lost.
All ninety thousand tons of supplies were successfully transported into Sichuan.
In the Sichuan region, at the docks.
On the ships, people, public property, and luggage were packed tightly, leaving no space to move. The riverbanks were crowded with people: some dragging luggage and backpacks, others exhausted, clutching children, following the refugee crowds, looking for familiar faces or a place to settle.
After finishing his tasks, Xie Jing searched the docks for some time. It wasn’t until Hu Da and the others came to find him that he learned Lord Bai Jiu had not yet arrived, and the ships wouldn’t dock until noon the next day.
Without hesitation, Xie Jing said: “Then I’ll wait here.”
Hu Da forced a wry smile: “Young master, I don’t think that’s possible. The head of the family is waiting for you back there; he’s been asking since early morning. If you stay here, he’ll come looking too. Mr. Huang has many things to do, and Lord Bai Jiu said people should be settled first…” Pushed along by the crowd, Xie Jing was guided forward, Hu Da holding him protectively and continuing to urge: “There’s just too much to do. It’s best to return for now. It’s your family’s ships; you’ll have to come back anyway.”
Xie Jing hesitated, but shook his head.
There was plenty to do at the docks, and his heart was restless. He worried too much to leave.
Though exhausted, Xie Jing didn’t complain. He stayed at the docks, doing whatever he could. Xie Siquan was truly busy, only sending a few people to assist him. Xie Jing also saw Mr. Huang and his group there. Huang Mingyou had brought some students to write notices to help refugees and cooked coarse grain porridge. Food was scarce and precious; filling one’s stomach was already enough.
Xie Jing helped Mr. Huang set up a porridge stand and transported two carts of grain. The elder repeatedly expressed gratitude.
Xie Jing bent to lift the sacks, weighing them briefly: “No need to thank me. If Lord Bai Jiu were here, he would do the same.”
Mr. Huang smiled: “He’s my student. You’re different.”
Before the elder could continue, Xie Jing added: “It’s the same. I am a student of Lord Bai Jiu as well, so in a way, I am your disciple too.”
Xie Jing spoke little and immediately returned to work, lifting and carrying sacks, working tirelessly—not like a pampered young master.
With Xie Jing and his team’s help, Huang Mingyou’s tasks went smoothly, though by day’s end, the elder’s voice was hoarse from nonstop work.
Nightfall.
The dockside housing was rudimentary. Xie Jing and the others huddled around a firepit for warmth.
Over the fire, an iron pot simmered porridge, with roasted sweet potatoes below. Students whispered questions about lessons, and Mr. Huang patiently explained as the food cooked.
Xie Jing stared at the fire, momentarily lost in thought.
Huang Mingyou draped a thick jacket over him, pulled out two roasted sweet potatoes with a stick, and spoke softly: “Getting used to this?”
Xie Jing took them, rotated them in his hands a few times, blew off the ashes, and bit into one: “Used to it. Uncle often roasted these for me too. Just enough to fill the stomach.”
Huang Mingyou glanced at him and smiled first.
After a long, tiring day, everyone ate and quickly fell asleep.
Xie Jing, though tired, could not sleep. Only at dawn did he manage a few moments of rest, but even then it was uneasy. Closing his eyes, memories of Lord Bai Jiu’s past illnesses played vividly in his mind, as though he had lived them himself. His chest ached, and breathing felt heavy. His thoughts were with Lord Bai Jiu, and he could not lie down any longer. At first light, he went to the riverbank to wait. He knew things were different now, yet the dreams from the night before—sometimes clear, sometimes hazy—made it hard to tell reality from illusion. His heart raced with anxiety.
Xie Jing walked along the riverbank. Fog rose from the river, limiting visibility.
Not far off, a caravan arrived to collect goods. From a distance, people’s calls could be heard. Dozens of miles away, other docking points were similarly busy.
By noon, Xie Jing had not yet seen anyone.
Moreover, none of the scheduled river steamers had arrived.
Soon after, Xie Siquan personally came. Seeing him, he immediately said: “What are you waiting for? Let’s go. The river steamers from Yichang have changed docking points. Hurry and follow me!”
Pulled along, Xie Jing asked: “Uncle, have all of them changed, or just…”
Xie Siquan hurriedly protected him at the dock: “All of them! Whether from Shanghai or Yichang, all incoming steamers are no longer here. This place is unsafe!”
Xie Jing quickened his pace, glancing back: “I haven’t told Mr. Huang yet!”
Xie Siquan held his hand firmly: “I’ve sent Hu Da and the others to inform Mr. Huang. They’re faster than you. Don’t stop—”
Xie Jing looked once at the river, then followed closely behind his uncle.
The new ferry was named Sanchuan, formerly an abandoned dock. Due to the urgent war situation, it had been hastily rebuilt as a temporary dispatch point. Ships carried supplies into the Three Gorges, and the riverbanks were stacked with equipment.
Xie Jing lifted a cart curtain to look. His uncle hurriedly explained: just yesterday, two steamers had been seized by the Japanese. Fortunately, the loss was not military equipment but nearly ten thousand bales of raw cloth from a cotton mill. Because of this, the route and docking point were temporarily changed.
It was already far better than expected.
Xie Jing’s heart tightened upon hearing the news. Once he confirmed that Lord Bai Jiu’s name was not among those missing, he slowly exhaled, fingers white from clenching.
Xie Siquan said: “Don’t worry about him. Bai Jiu is clever—he won’t get into trouble.” Seeing the dark circles under Xie Jing’s eyes, he gently touched him and sighed. He had only just reunited with his nephew; if not for Xie Jing’s insistence, he would never have let him do this. Xie Jing had suffered so much as a child. He had wanted to keep him safe in Sichuan City for a stable life.
At the Sanchuan ferry.
Steamers gradually arrived. Those disembarking were mostly refugees—elderly, children, and women. Lord Bai Jiu’s group was not among them.
By evening, the ships were filled with people but no cargo.
The decks were crowded. Some people stepped on bedding; mud-stained quilts were trampled. On subsequent ships, even chimneys were crowded with children. This time, the majority disembarking were women and children; a few elderly appeared, but no able-bodied men.
No crying or wailing—just pale, thin faces, tightly controlled expressions, eyes red from holding back tears.
Local officials arrived to help with resettlement. The crowds slowly moved forward, with the river waves rolling behind them and steamer whistles echoing.
Thirty thousand soldiers and civilians in Yichang, trapped at the last moment, had quietly chosen to let children and women go first.
Mr. Huang stood by the road. His temples grayed, holding a pen and preparing notices, but his eyes fixed on the departing people. A student beside him choked back tears, hands trembling even as they held a bowl of hot porridge.
“The people’s will never dies, the nation’s spirit endures… the people’s will never dies, the nation’s spirit endures!” the elder murmured. Bowing deeply to the river, he raised his head to tears streaming down his face.
Xie Jing stayed at the dock, refusing to leave, waiting all night, with no more ships arriving.
Xie Siquan stayed with him, sitting by the fire roasting sweet potatoes, muttering: “I didn’t have time to tell you, but your father has safely arrived. He brought some students and deliberately took a longer route. This morning he reached Sichuan City. Tsk, I don’t know why—he’s crippled in one leg, yet insists on taking mountain paths.”
Xie Jing frowned: “Wasn’t it supposed to be just a scrape? Why isn’t it healed?”
Xie Siquan, holding a stick, snorted: “Did he tell you that?”
Xie Jing looked up.
Xie Siquan said: “Your father is stubborn. He insists he’s old, but he still wants to do more, to contribute. Limping on one leg, he travels everywhere. The doctor warned him that if he didn’t rest, the leg might have to be amputated. You know what he said? He said he didn’t hurt the leg along the way—he hopped on the good leg all the way…”
Xie Jing both laughed and sighed.
Xie Siquan rubbed his hands together: “He’s completely obstinate, Jing’er. You must scold him properly when you see him!”
Xie Jing noticed a bandage on his uncle’s wrist: “Uncle, what happened to your hand?”
Xie Siquan casually covered it with his sleeve: “Oh, just a minor scrape while riding.”
Xie Jing didn’t believe him, checked the hand, and saw the clean bandage, the strong smell of medicine, and burn marks—clearly more than a scrape. But since his uncle didn’t want him to worry, Xie Jing didn’t press further, simply rebandaging it carefully.
Xie Siquan spoke of He Dongting in front of Xie Jing, though his tone was slightly bitter: “Everyone praises your father now. Bai Jiu manages the big picture, and your father hasn’t been idle. He rented many wooden boats to help people. He was busy shuttling between cities for factory relocations. Now the authorities have appointed him a new role. You’ll see—land acquisition and reconstruction will keep him running for months.”
Xie Jing smiled: “He’s like Mother.”
Xie Siquan scowled: “He can’t compare to your mother! You’ve never seen her. She’s far stronger!”
“They’re the same type of person.”
“You haven’t seen her…”
“I know.”
Xie Jing tied the bandage, rolled up his sleeve carefully, voice calm and firm.
Xie Siquan looked at him and, after a pause, said softly: “Jing’er, you’re like your mother. If… if we can’t wait, you’ll go with me back to Sichuan, alright?”
Xie Jing stared at the fire, saying nothing.
Two days later.
Xie Jing finally saw Lord Bai Jiu and his group.
The morning sun rose, fog lingering on the river. Slowly, the shape of the steamer became clear, approaching the dock.
Many people disembarked, backpacks on their shoulders. Xie Jing pushed through the crowd, eyes immediately lighting up at the sight of those he sought. He walked so fast that Hu Da and the others struggled to keep up, almost separated by the crowd. He ignored it all—his eyes saw only the one person he wanted.
Lord Bai Jiu, taller than most, spotted Xie Jing from afar and walked toward him. Though his face was pale and fatigued, he walked steadily.
Xie Jing remembered the time at the northern trading house, trudging through deep snow, nearly numb from the cold, and countless other times he had gone to find Lord Bai Jiu—always stepping forward, eyes bright, reaching out from a distance, warmly greeting him.
It had always been this way, never changed.
Lord Bai Jiu extended his hand, and Xie Jing immediately grasped it tightly.
Before Xie Jing could call out, the crowd surged. Lord Bai Jiu protected him in front, pulling him into his embrace, lowly laughing: “I’m here, Jing’er. Don’t be afraid.”
