Chapter 30: Brother Zhu, Farewell and Take Care

“Looks like it’s not going to rain again,” Zhu Minglang muttered to himself.

The forest had its own way of holding water—dense shrubs, thick soil, leaves that shimmered with moisture under the sun’s heat. But down in the valley, the city was parched, the earth cracked like old pottery.

It wasn’t that people had no water to drink. No, they still had enough for survival. But the farmland and pastures were dying from thirst. Winter was coming, and food needed to be stored.

Bai Qi was as lazy as ever. It had wings—had just woken from a long slumber—but instead of dancing through the trees like any self-respecting dragon should, it stayed curled on Zhu Minglang’s shoulder, refusing to move a single step.

If it could perch on a human, it would never walk on its own.

Still, the little thing was light. If Dahuai—the big black-toothed one—acted this way, Zhu Minglang might’ve seriously considered switching careers and becoming a blacksmith instead of a dragon rider.

“Up ahead, there’s a cliff by the stream—too dangerous to pass. See if you can find another route,” Zhu Minglang said to Bai Qi.

Bai Qi looked less than thrilled about leaving its cozy ride. It leaned its tiny head against Zhu Minglang’s cheek, giving him the kind of look only a spoiled pet could master—sweet, pleading, utterly shameless.

“Just die of laziness already,” Zhu Minglang sighed, half-laughing, half-exasperated.

Fine. He’d go scout it himself.

Zhu Minglang skirted around the stream and found the terrain suddenly rising sharply. Several spots were so steep there wasn’t even a handhold—no way up.

“Huh… how come there are footprints here?”

As he circled the cliff, he noticed something odd: vines and thorns had been cut through, and beneath his feet, a clear path wound upward—like a trail carved by a regular woodcutter.

Curious now, Zhu Minglang followed the path higher, using his memory to locate the river’s source…

Then he froze.

A dam.

Right where the land dropped off into sheer cliffs, a stone dam blocked the stream completely.

The Zulong City-State’s water management wasn’t exactly backward. A dam here? That made sense. In rainy seasons, it stored water; during droughts, it released it. Standard irrigation practice.

But what stood before him defied logic.

Behind the dam, the reservoir was full—overflowing, really, like a mountain lake. Not a single sign of drying out. And though the upper stream was thin, it kept flowing steadily into the basin below.

With this much water, the dam could easily irrigate the entire dry farmland of Ronggu City—and feed livestock too. All it took was opening the stone sluice gates.

So why wasn’t it being used?

“What the hell is going on?” Zhu Minglang stared, stunned.

The young city lord had told him only yesterday that Ronggu had no water left—farming and animal care were collapsing. Yet here, right in front of him, was an overflowing reservoir. Was this deliberate? Was the city leader letting his people suffer on purpose?

Zhu Minglang had liked the young lord—at first. He’d held himself with quiet dignity when facing dragon riders. His words had been clear, logical. He’d even raised concerns about nighttime rains causing floods.

But now? Seeing the full reservoir, the iron-shut gates, the meager trickle feeding the fields… Zhu Minglang felt nothing but disgust and betrayal.

Water gushing over the banks… yet locked away.

People suffering… ignored.

This man wasn’t just incompetent. He was *malicious*.

…

On the way back, Zhu Minglang’s mood sank.

He wasn’t some grand hero with world-saving ambitions. But he couldn’t stand corruption like this. This had to be reported to Teacher Duan Lan—right away.

Compared to this, Duan Lan was truly compassionate. She’d flown all the way from the west, across thousands of miles, just to bring rain to a place that gave her nothing in return. And she’d taught her students a lesson: *those with power must use it to help the struggling.*

…

High noon. Blinding sunlight lashed down like whips, scorching orchards and splitting the soil. The autumn heat was intense—yet somehow, it made the air feel colder, heavier.

Temperatures swung wildly between day and night. By the time Zhu Minglang returned to Ronggu City, he was drenched in sweat. He walked down the street toward the residence, noticing merchants hastily packing up their stalls, faces tense, eyes darting.

Inside the compound, he didn’t see his teacher or classmates. They must’ve already gone to the ritual platform. He asked a servant for directions and headed there.

Just as he stepped outside, someone came rushing toward him—like they’d been waiting for him all along. The man’s expression was strange, almost desperate.

“Is it you, Brother Zhu?” The man bowed deeply.

Zhu Minglang studied him silently.

This was Zheng Yu—the young city lord.

Zheng Yu remained bowing, which made Zhu Minglang’s instincts flare. He tensed, ready to summon Bai Qi at a moment’s notice.

“I heard you went upstream to the stream valley,” Zheng Yu said. “Did you see the dam?”

“Yes,” Zhu Minglang replied, voice flat.

“Are you planning to tell Master Duan Lan and Master Ke Bei?”

Again, the tone was calm. Unchanged.

“Say what you mean,” Zhu Minglang snapped. He was ready to fight.

“Please don’t misunderstand me,” Zheng Yu said, slowly rising. “I’m just a frail scholar. I know nothing of dragon riding. I have no ill intent toward you. But before you report me to your teachers—or to the people—may I speak a few words? If you still choose to expose me, I won’t stop you. I’ll accept whatever punishment comes.”

Zhu Minglang glanced at the sky.

Just moments ago, it had been cloudless. Now dark clouds gathered overhead—rolling in fast. Was it a sudden storm? Or had Duan Lan already begun her Azure Dragon magic?

The air grew heavy. No longer burning hot, but thick with tension.

“Then speak, Your Highness,” Zhu Minglang said, not rushing. The man had laid it all out. He deserved to be heard.

“Brother Zhu,” Zheng Yu began, “do you know of Wutu? Do you know that soldiers are fighting brutal battles there—against rebels from Wutu?”

“Yes,” Zhu Minglang nodded.

Wutu… a place filled with memories. Good ones. Planting mulberry trees. Raising silkworms. Peaceful days.

“You seem like a thoughtful man,” Zheng Yu continued. “How do you view this war?”

“I’m listening,” Zhu Minglang said quietly. But inside, his opinion of Zheng Yu had shifted.

The man was repulsive in his actions—but not blind. Unlike that petty merchant by the bridge, he saw clearly.