Chapter 7: The Artful Capture of Fish

With a blink and a breath, he awoke to find wild grass piled waist-high beside him, his mat torn and tattered, pressed against the cold floor. His wrists still shackled, and before him stood several iron bars. He had no idea what crime he was accused of; people often said a mediocre official was worse than a corrupt one. This county magistrate Wang Ge—perhaps he truly was just playing at governance. His cheeks were swollen and sore; recalling the face of the head constable, that wretched brute, his anger surged uncontrollably. Beneath the grand hall, men had become beasts, and beasts, men—how inexplicable.

A jailer fiddled with his handcuffs, accompanied by a well-dressed man who, upon closer inspection, turned out to be the elderly father of the scholar he had met before. The cell door opened; the jailer glanced sideways at Luo Gan, who sat up from the ground, and unlocked his shackles, muttering curses under his breath before turning to leave. The old father thanked the jailer respectfully.

Luo Gan said, “Sir, why are you… I…”

He spoke while rising, the old father helping him to his feet.

The old man said, “Physician Luo, say no more. Let us speak outside.”

He glanced about, ensuring nothing was amiss, then swiftly led Luo Gan away from the prison.

After changing clothes, Luo Gan appeared less bedraggled. The elder gazed at him with sorrow, moved by his plight. Luo Gan felt uneasy, suspecting the old man might despise his wretched state.

Luo Gan asked, “May I inquire how you learned of my misfortune in jail?”

The old father chuckled softly—this young man was well-mannered.

He replied, “I am but a lowly official, recently appointed as a document keeper in Anping County. I oversee clan records and books. Coincidentally, the grain officer transferred with me had heard rumors about Magistrate Wang. Had it not been for the strange illness that befell Magistrate Sima, Wang would never have seized such an opportunity to act so brazenly. I had intended to visit Physician Luo’s home, only to learn you were in trouble.”

Luo Gan exclaimed, “Sir, I was harmed by your son’s peculiar book!”

The old man turned pale with shock. “Is this true?”

Luo Gan explained, “You may not know, sir, but that poetry collection was odd. I had no idea what it contained; it was originally a blank book, but after being soaked by rain—or water—characters appeared. I am truly wronged. Later, I discovered it was full of poems, which villains used to frame me for this calamity.”

The old father was puzzled, but seeing Luo Gan’s earnest distress, he sensed no deceit. He grew anxious, wishing to speak but hesitating. Sighing deeply, he clasped his hands and made to kneel.

He said, “If this is so, then I am truly at fault for harming you! Allow me to beg your forgiveness…”

Seeing his sincerity, Luo Gan helped him up.

Luo Gan said, “No need for apologies… Neither of us knew. We must uncover the truth behind this book together.”

The elder pledged, “I shall do all I can to trace its whereabouts, to repay your kindness in saving my son.”

Hearing mention of the scholar, Luo Gan remembered he had taught him a set of calisthenics—perhaps that had helped him after all.

Luo Gan said, “I am unworthy, but if I aided your son’s recovery, I am glad.”

Noticing Luo Gan’s troubled expression, the old man was quick to perceive it.

He said, “Given all this, Physician Luo, your troubles ahead will only grow harder. They are no ordinary matters.”

Luo Gan bowed. “Thank you, sir, for your rescue. There is no need to accompany me further.”

The elder returned the gesture and turned to leave. Suddenly, Luo Gan realized he still did not know the man’s name, and hurriedly called out.

“Sir, I have been careless. May I ask your name?”

The old father started, realizing he had not yet told Luo Gan, uncertain who was more absent-minded.

He replied, “Ah! My surname is Liu, and my given name is Chengyu.”

They bowed again and parted. Luo Gan was filled with bittersweet emotion—the trail was more tangled than ever, and the road ahead was shrouded in mystery.

He walked back to the village, feeling even more at a loss. Touching his cheek, he found it still sore and could not bear to slap himself for clues.

A group of farmers—including Erhu and Uncle De—were fiercely debating something. Luo Gan thought they were discussing how to rescue him, and, thrilled, he skipped over.

Erhu, indifferent, tossed his sweat rag to the ground. “Ridiculous! The crops are ruined, so let’s just tell them. What can those bastards do to us?”

Farmer A retorted, “You think those old officials are easy to fool? If reason could prevail, would there ever have been the Daze Township uprising?”

The farmers echoed their agreement, and Erhu made as if to strike someone.

“You lot just need a beating, you cowards! Always eager to bow to those officials, digging up crops for the Dragon King. Next time, will you destroy our fields for pleasure?”

Uncle De intervened, “Stop quarreling! How to save ourselves is the question. We’re all worms on the same vegetable—if it’s submerged, we’re all gone.”

Luo Gan hid behind Farmer A, hoping to surprise everyone, but they merely greeted him as usual.

Erhu, flustered, grabbed Luo Gan. “What are you grinning for? Think of a solution! The vegetables are gone—how do we pay our taxes? Everyone, give your opinions.”

Farmer A said, “What opinion? We should just turn ourselves in.”

Erhu argued, “Turn ourselves in? What crime have we committed? Is a torrential rain our fault?”

Luo Gan suggested, “This is force majeure—damage caused by weather isn’t subject to compensation.”

His words left everyone confused, staring at him as if he were mad.

Uncle De said, “It’d be nice if we didn’t have to pay.”

Erhu mused, “Force majeure?”

He scooped up dirt and sprinkled it on Luo Gan’s face. “Can’t hit your waist? Can I hit your face? You know how to talk tough?”

Luo Gan felt that among these uncultured men, his words made even less sense. But he had just been released, spirits high, and since Erhu had helped him when it mattered, he let the insult pass.

“Enough, enough. Listening to you all, we have no other options.”

Farmer A asked, “Do you have a clever idea?”

Luo Gan squatted down, picked up a stick, and drew on the ground in a lowered voice. The others crouched as well, listening intently.

He drew a circle. “Look, here’s the situation: the vegetables are gone. We can’t conjure them back. Reporting the loss means certain death, but hiding it and delaying isn’t a solution either—it will mean death in the end.”

Erhu slapped Luo Gan’s head. “Stop rambling. Get to the point.”

Luo Gan pursed his lips, annoyed by Erhu’s roughness. “You’re stubborn and angry. Uncle De, isn’t the grain officer new this year?”

Uncle De clapped his hands. “Yes! You’re surprisingly well-informed.”

Luo Gan said, “Since there’s a new grain officer, we can adjust our tribute this year. Don’t let the vegetables dug up for the dragon go to waste—let’s use them as bait. We can catch fish in the river and hand those over instead.”

The group debated—there was a way besides admitting fault or rebellion.

Uncle De hesitated, but Erhu was enthusiastic.

Erhu declared, “I’m in! Waiting means death—we’ll do this together.”

With Erhu’s support, others followed suit. Luo Gan waited for Uncle De’s response, for the venerable elder was their leader; only with his approval could a plan be set.

Uncle De said, “Hiding the truth is a serious crime. How will we cover it up? Is it really feasible?”

Luo Gan replied, “Defying authority is a greater crime, as you know. We’re not lying, just clever farmers.”

Uncle De nodded, and the group agreed.

That evening, Luo Gan gathered them to divide the spinach and turn it into bait. The next day, they went fishing.

It was late summer, and the weather had grown cool. The farmers carried baskets filled with vegetables.

The fish darted playfully in the river, flipping their heads with abandon.

Soon, these lively fish found their way into Erhu’s hands. He gripped their tails and smashed them against the rocks.

Within moments, the fish lay limp, lifeless in his strong hands—the fate of small fish was to become a meal.

Before long, the relatives and friends of those fish joined them—all the fish families together.

The sun had yet to set, and their vegetable baskets were now filled with fish.

The farmers wiped their brows and carried their baskets home.

Erhu, seeing no one nearby, sidled up to Luo Gan.

“Will this really work? We have no other way.”

Luo Gan replied, “If I can’t do it, who can?”

Erhu regarded him seriously. “You’ve looked unreliable since you were a child.”

Luo Gan couldn’t help but laugh at this, grinning mischievously at Erhu.

“If I’m unreliable, would you dare rebel?”

Erhu remained silent—there was no better option.

Luo Gan patted him on the back. “Just catch the fish. Whether it’s the grain officer or the grain gate, I’ll deal with it—I’ve had enough of dealing with these officials.”

His joking manner turned to fierce indignation, eyes blazing. Erhu, puzzled, thought he had said something offensive, and fell silent.