Chapter One: Tie Xinyuan's Ark

Lady Wang of the Iron family clung to the edge of the wooden tub, screaming her husband’s name into the wind and rain. The storm forced its way into her mouth, as if the heavens themselves commanded her to be silent.

Surrounded by the endless muddy waters, she ceased her cries. Resigned, she sat in the center of the tub, propping a battered umbrella over her back, holding her swaddled son tightly with one arm, and scooping rainwater out with a ladle in the other.

As a farmer’s wife, Lady Wang knew exactly what she must do. Her husband would rather drown than cling to the tub and endanger their infant son, not yet five months old. No matter what, she could not let their line be broken.

So she quickly gathered her grief and stretched her neck to search for any place where she and her child might reach the shore. As long as breath remained in her body, her son must come to no harm—if he did, her husband would beat her even in the underworld.

On this journey, she saw many scenes she’d never imagined, even in her dreams. First, a pig was clinging with its mouth to a tree trunk. Perhaps it had been holding on too long; a wave struck, and the pig fell back into the flood.

To her horror, Lady Wang saw the pig struggling to swim toward her tub. She wanted to flee, but fear rooted her limbs, and she could not move.

Great beams of wood floated in the flood—who knew whose house they had once belonged to? One struck the pig’s head heavily. The pig screamed, flailed a few times, and was swept away by the current.

Lady Wang swore that, in the instant her eyes met the pig’s, she saw a desperate will to live—a longing as fierce as any human’s.

Then she saw two men clinging to a slender beam. With one man, the beam stayed above water; with two, it nearly submerged. They strained to keep their heads above the surface, gasping for breath.

Because of the waves, Lady Wang could see them while they could not see her. Suddenly, one man forced the other’s head under. She clapped a hand over her own mouth, terrified she might cry out and be spotted. If that man could drown his companion, he would stop at nothing for her tub.

Soon the outcome was clear: the beam floated free, and both men had vanished.

A five-yard-long speckled snake wrapped itself tightly around the beam. More snakes gathered, along with field mice—creatures that would never approach a snake under normal circumstances—all crowding onto the timber. Before long, the beam was covered in a writhing mass of snakes and mice. This could not last; soon, more lives would vanish around that cursed beam.

A large, wet field mouse leapt into the tub. Lady Wang was unafraid—she killed it with a single blow. She did not throw the carcass out. As a farm wife, she knew every morsel of food was precious after a flood. Rat meat was a delicacy; she had eaten it herself when driven out by the Wang family.

Her child’s cries snapped her out of her numbness. She opened her blouse and pressed the baby to her full breast. The child suckled eagerly, which brought her great comfort—for a while, he had not moved at all.

Had she glanced down at her baby just then, she would have seen a look of deep frustration on his lovely little face.

Iron Heart-Source finished one breast and switched to the other. He did not wish to behave so, but instinct was too strong; whenever hunger struck, his mouth cried out on its own, and a full breast was always there to silence him.

His frustration was understandable. He had been lying alone under the stars in the Gobi, thinking he might soon enter the underworld. Upon awakening, he found himself somewhere else entirely, surrounded by the sounds of rain and rushing water—nothing like the dry Gobi. After much careful observation, he concluded he was aboard a boat—a very small boat, more a basin like those used by southern girls to gather lotus.

He had wanted to check his own safety, but seeing his chubby little hands, he abandoned the idea. Now, his life depended entirely on this woman called Wang Rouhua.

He had learned his name from her. Whenever she had a moment’s peace, she would chatter endlessly about her family, including the not-unpleasant name she had given him.

From Wang Rouhua’s scattered words, he pieced together his current plight and learned that a blacksmith named Iron Ah Qi had pushed her and the child out of the chaos of the village, sacrificing himself to the flood.

Wang Rouhua swore to the heavens, time and again, that she would raise Iron Heart-Source to adulthood and continue the family line. He knew she was really encouraging herself, gathering the will to survive, and finding reasons to stay awake.

Yet it was these words that made him decide to live under this new name. The man had fulfilled a father’s duty, and the woman was striving to be a mother. All that remained was for him to do his part as a son. There was nothing more to say.

If this was hell, Iron Heart-Source thought, it was not so bad.

For now, being a good son meant not making trouble for his new mother. Though he was soaked to the bone, he decided to sleep immediately. Not crying or fussing was the best repayment he could offer Wang Rouhua.

She had many hopes—she was already imagining her son’s wedding day. But when she looked down at their empty-handed state, she grew anxious.

A dead ox floated by. After estimating its value, Wang Rouhua sighed with loss—they had once owned an ox themselves.

A corpse drifted past the tub. She was no longer much afraid of the dead; after a day and night on the water, she had seen many bodies.

But this corpse was different: around its waist was a sash embroidered with entwined lotuses, the sort merchants used. Wang Rouhua boldly guessed it must be filled with copper coins.

Noting the gaping wound in the corpse’s neck, she unhesitatingly hooked it closer with a stick. As it neared, her heart pounded—the dead eyes seemed to guard their wealth even in death.

Since they’d both fallen into the water, who else should die, if not the one who clung to money? She spat lightly, steeling her nerves.

Fortunately, a piece of wood tied to the body kept it from being dragged under by the weight of coins.

With great effort, she untied the sash and fastened it around her own waist. She gauged its heft—at least two strings of cash.

Pushing the corpse away, her heart beat wildly. According to village custom, stealing from the dead warranted public shaming.

She remembered Iron Eighteen from their village, who once salvaged a corpse and stole a jade pendant. He was caught selling it, beaten with thirty cane strokes by the old patriarch, and displayed in shame all day.

The memory made her anxious. Iron Eighteen’s son, at fourteen, had not dared show his face since, and no matchmaker would visit. She did not wish the same fate for her own child.

She considered discarding the sash, but the embroideries were too fine, and it could fetch twenty coins at least.

“To throw it away or not?” she muttered, nagging at her son, who now looked up at her with wide-awake eyes.

Iron Heart-Source wished he could tell his mother to throw away the sash but keep the money. Yet all that emerged were meaningless baby noises.

Thankfully, Wang Rouhua was clever. She tossed the sash but kept the coins. When Iron Heart-Source saw her joyfully counting and kissing each copper and silver piece, his expression turned blank with bewilderment.

He could not understand why this woman, who had just lost her husband, should be so ecstatic.

There were characters on the coins, but he could not make them out. Their familiar round shape with square holes reassured him: he was not in some strange realm after all; he had seen such coins before.

At some point, the wind shifted, and the rain softened into a gentle drizzle. Ingenious as always, Wang Rouhua used the broken umbrella to catch the wind and guide their tub along a purposeful path.

She steered clear of the large trees jutting from the water—each crowded with people. Wang Rouhua, in her plain wisdom, believed she and her son were safer in the tub than among desperate crowds.

The flood had changed many. Neighbors once close enough to exchange simple greetings might now become devils. The pig’s desperate struggle for life had made that clear.

In the face of survival, all bonds were as insubstantial as the moon’s reflection in water.

Along the way, Wang Rouhua had encountered other flood victims. The entire outskirts of the capital were drowned; even just their Iron family village had over a thousand afflicted souls.

All the men had gone to the dikes. Only the old, weak, women, and children remained. The seventh brother, a blacksmith, had been allowed to stay behind to make tools.

Wang Rouhua dared not dwell on the moment the deluge swept in.

Seventh brother packed the raft full of people. When she and her child tried to board, no one would give them space. If anyone had made room, seventh brother would still be alive.

Because of this, Wang Rouhua watched others vanish into the flood with a cold heart, feeling not a shred of guilt.

Heroes were men like seventh brother. She was a woman, a mother with a child—she owed pity to no one.

She clung to every memory of her time with seventh brother, pride and sorrow flickering across her face. As long as she remembered him, she believed heaven would grant her and her son a chance to live.

Iron Heart-Source, full of milk, blew bored bubbles. Wang Rouhua’s milk was abundant—he had nearly drunk his fill, yet it still dripped onto his face. It seemed he was destined for a strong childhood.