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Chapter 37: The Flood
The Jiangcheng Bridge had been obliterated by the flood.
This wasn’t the rainy season, yet the deluge was ferocious. A torrent of water surged down from the upper reaches of the Yangtze River, swallowing villages and vehicles in its path. Like a monstrous wave, it battered the bridge with hundreds of tons of water and debris until the colossal structure—once a marvel of modern engineering—was reduced to rubble and swept downstream.
Li Xingyuan and his companions couldn’t see it, but the source of this catastrophic flood had moved eastward almost simultaneously with them. As tectonic upheavals rocked the Tibetan Plateau—centered around Mount Kailash and the Gangdise mountain range—the once-stable plateau’s hydrological systems spiraled into chaos. Centuries-old glaciers that had never melted began feeding into rivers like the Yangtze, triggering an unprecedented mega-flood.
With humanity’s ability to regulate nature temporarily suspended, the flood swallowed everything in its path. If there truly was a river god, it seemed to be reclaiming sacrifices long denied. Its rampage far outpaced Old Liu’s vehicle, arriving at Jiangcheng days ahead of them.
Though Li Xingyuan’s group hadn’t witnessed the destruction firsthand, the evidence before them painted a vivid picture. The bridge had been snapped in half, its steel-reinforced concrete shattered and battered beyond recognition. Massive dents marred what remained of the wreckage, proof of the immense force behind the impact. Even steel—the skeletal framework of modern civilization—had crumbled under the Earth’s raw power, leaving only broken remnants behind.
All that stood now were two towering pillars of the bridge, still defiantly rising above the churning waters—but for how much longer?
What had once been dry land was now submerged. The muddy waters roared downstream unchecked, their speed unrelenting. The divine entity’s earlier passage had briefly frozen parts of the river, but now those icy chunks surged forward with devastating momentum. Anyone unfortunate enough to be struck by them would suffer broken bones—or worse.
If the countryside was devastated, what hope did the cities have? How many lives would this flood claim?
Li Xingyuan, Old Liu, and Lin Song could only watch from afar. They dared not approach; the flood raged on like an untamed beast, its roar deafening. Another terrifying surge could arrive at any moment, with floodwaters cresting over twenty meters high.
For the first time, Li Xingyuan saw no keyholes on anything. This flood was unrestrained, impossible to lock or contain—a manifestation of nature’s primal, unbridled power. Even supernatural forces seemed powerless against it.
Old Liu, who had participated in flood relief efforts years ago, understood the sheer magnitude of the disaster. His experience made him acutely aware of the water’s destructive potential.
Lin Song crouched on the ground, staring at the raging flood with an expression bordering on despair. “What do we do?” he asked helplessly.
“We can either go around,” Old Liu said calmly, gazing at the distant waters, “but I don’t know where we’d even begin to detour.”
Even returning to the highway wouldn’t help—they couldn’t bypass the Yangtze River, the mother river of Chinese civilization, which now violently severed both banks.
“Or we wait,” Li Xingyuan suggested. “Until the upstream waters recede.”
But that seemed impossible. How much ice had melted in the highlands? How much had poured into the river? The swollen waters might never return to their former state.
“We don’t need to wait for all the water to drain,” Old Liu added. “Just enough for us to find a rubber raft. If we’re lucky, we can cross.”
Luck, however, was in short supply.
Li Xingyuan felt a pang of frustration. After overcoming so many bizarre challenges along the way, they were now stopped dead in their tracks by something as simple—and unstoppable—as a natural flood.
Lin Song buried his head in his hands, lost in thought, his face etched with anguish.
“This kind of flooding won’t go unnoticed,” Old Liu said, observing the situation. “The government will send military aid. Let’s follow the river downstream. Maybe we’ll find a base camp.”
“Let’s go,” Li Xingyuan agreed. There was little else they could do. This was beyond the scope of individual effort.
Reluctantly, Lin Song rose to his feet, sighing deeply. His eyes were dark-ringed, though dry.
Li Xingyuan’s unease deepened.
They drove alongside the river, sometimes using provincial roads, other times navigating the muddy flats left behind by receding floodwaters. Conditions worsened further downstream, each kilometer more disheartening than the last. Debris from destroyed bridges scoured the landscape clean, leveling fields and villages alike.
“This year’s harvest is ruined,” Old Liu remarked suddenly. As the son of a farmer, he couldn’t remain indifferent to the devastation.
“Yes, if things keep going like this, starvation alone will kill countless people,” Li Xingyuan echoed grimly.
The collapse of grassroots order brought unimaginable consequences. The normal supply-demand system had been severely disrupted. People could tolerate temporary shortages, but once the limits of national disaster preparedness were exceeded, famine loomed large.
No matter what lay ahead, restoring societal function was paramount. Farming, production—humanity could no longer afford to hide in their homes. They had to step out and face this changed world.
But while restoring social order sounded simple, the reality was far more complex. Even if some semblance of stability was achieved, one careless step by a deity could undo all human efforts in an instant.
Those sheltering indoors might remain oblivious, but after spending so much time on the road, Li Xingyuan and his companions couldn’t ignore these truths. Silence fell over the car once again, each person lost in their own heavy thoughts.
Their vehicle didn’t last much longer. Hidden pits in the mud claimed it during a sudden drop. They tried pushing it free, but aside from coating themselves in mud, their efforts were futile. Li Xingyuan confirmed yet again that his strength hadn’t miraculously increased.
From here on, they had to proceed on foot. Unlike before, when they always knew their destination, they now followed the overflowing Yangtze downstream without a clear goal.
Perhaps they’d endured enough misfortune for one day—or perhaps they’d traveled far enough along the county road.
Before their stamina gave out entirely, they reached a town.
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