Once-in-a-Century Flood

In July of the 13th year of the Chongzhen era, the skies over Changsha Prefecture seemed to be torn open by a sharp blade, unleashing a torrential Meiyu (plum rain) season rarely seen in a century.

Starting from the 17th, moisture from Dongting Lake condensed into unceasing downpours, pouring relentlessly. The water levels of the Xiang River and its tributaries surged like wild horses breaking free, rising at an alarming rate of three feet per day.

On the seventh day, in the early hours before dawn, an urgent report arrived from upstream of the Jinjiang River in Shanhuaxian County, shattering the tranquility of the night like a thunderclap. Three sections of the dikes along the river had developed seepage holes. Fifty dike workers braved the heavy rain, rushing to the scene for emergency repairs. They worked frantically, doing everything they could to stop the gushing floodwaters. But fate was not on their side. The “anti-termite pillars” buried within the earthen dikes had long since rotted away, unable to bear the strain.

At the third quarter of the Mao hour (just before sunrise), with a deafening roar, a thirty-zhang (around 100 meters) section of the dike collapsed instantly. The flood, carrying tree roots and silt, surged forward with unstoppable force.

Like an enormous wall of water, the flood immediately overwhelmed Zhao Jiawei, a village built along the riverbank, making it the first victim of this disaster. The rushing waters smashed through the wooden beams of seven interconnected houses, throwing the entire village into chaos.

Zhao Laosan was inside his house, hurriedly gathering valuables, preparing to flee with his family. But the flood came too quickly. Before he could react, a flying beam struck his right leg, knocking him to the ground. The excruciating pain nearly rendered him unconscious, but he instinctively grabbed onto a nearby Eight Immortals table in an attempt to stabilize himself. However, the ruthless floodwaters swept him away along with the table, dragging him more than thirty zhang downstream before he was finally caught on the eaves of the Dragon King Temple.

He sat there, paralyzed, watching helplessly as his wife and daughter struggled in the murky floodwaters, their clothes and belongings floating further and further away.

Five li downstream, the Zhang family’s large estate suffered an even more horrifying fate. This three-section rammed-earth mansion housed 27 people. When the flood burst through the doors, the clan leader was desperately stuffing children into large water jars, hoping they could float to safety.

But the 70-year-old patriarch refused to leave the ancestral tablets. He sat resolutely in the main hall on his grand chair, gripping his intricately carved cane with unwavering determination. As the floodwaters roared in like a beast, they swallowed him along with the entire house in an instant, disappearing into the muddy waves.

By the morning hour (Chen), County Magistrate Li of Shanhuaxian rushed to the scene with a team. They raced against time, their hearts pounding with urgency. But when they arrived, the devastation before them left them speechless.

An ancient camphor tree, over a hundred years old, had been uprooted and was floating in the water like a sinking ship. The bamboo spokes of a waterwheel were tangled in the tree branches, swaying with the current, creaking eerily.

The official irrigation canals had been torn open in three places, sending muddy floodwaters rushing into the farmland. Rice stalks were flattened in the mud, turning once-golden fields into a desolate swamp.

The seventeen-li embankment of Shanhuaxian, covered in newly sprouted double-season rice, was swallowed by the flood within moments, transforming into a vast lake.

“Chief Wang, quickly! Get twenty cedar logs! They must be as thick as a rice bowl!” County Magistrate Li shouted with his already hoarse voice.

Chief Wang responded swiftly, gathering a team to rush into the nearby forest. Before long, a group of bare-chested men returned, carrying long wooden stakes through the raging waters, struggling to reach the breach.

Each log was so massive that it took three men to wrap their arms around it. They bound the joints with oil-soaked hemp ropes to enhance the logs’ waterproofing and stability.

Meanwhile, laborers swiftly filled grass sacks with soil, forming three lines to pass them down. Every five layers of soil bags, a layer of bamboo mats was laid horizontally to reinforce the structure.

This method, recorded in The River Defense Compendium, was known as the “cabinet method,” an effective technique to strengthen dikes.

By late noon (Wei hour), the breach had narrowed to just over one zhang wide, and victory seemed within reach. But just at that critical moment, bloated corpses of cattle suddenly floated to the surface, crashing into the wooden stakes with immense force. The precariously held ground was immediately at risk.

“Bring the iron chains!” Magistrate Li’s voice cut through the storm, unwavering. He grabbed an iron chain from a constable and leaped into the waist-deep water without hesitation. The freezing metal clung to his embroidered official robe, but he paid no mind.

Quickly, he wrapped the chain around the third wooden stake and shouted, “Hook up the capstan!”

Twenty strong men responded at once, turning the winch. The iron chains screeched as they tightened, forcibly pulling the stakes closer together by half a foot. Every crank of the winch was a desperate battle against the flood.

Just then, a breathless officer rushed over, shouting, “Magistrate! Dozens of floating corpses have been found at the northern foot of Turtle Mountain!”

Magistrate Li’s face darkened instantly, but he quickly steadied himself. Grabbing his command flag, he swiftly issued orders:

“Chief Wang, take three fishing boats and keep sealing the breach! No matter what, hold the line! The rest, follow me to rescue the survivors!”

The team split up—some stayed behind to fight the flood, while Magistrate Li led the others toward Turtle Mountain.

When they arrived, the sight before them made everyone gasp in horror.

Dozens of bodies were caught in the reeds, among them a mother and child frozen in their final moments—her right hand still clutched a torn hair ribbon, as if she had tried to tie her child to a beam in a last attempt to save him.

The scribe recording the scene trembled so badly that he nearly dropped his brush, his eyes brimming with tears.

Magistrate Li swallowed his sorrow and quickly organized the rescue. He personally oversaw the retrieval of the bodies, ensuring they were handled properly while ordering more men to search for possible survivors.

“Keep looking! Someone might still be alive!” His voice rang through the storm, urging everyone onward.

Meanwhile, inside Changsha City—

By mid-morning (Si hour), water was already gushing from the twelve drainage outlets in the city walls, its murky torrents showing the flood’s inescapable reach. But the brick walls, reinforced since the Hongwu era, held firm.

The five-foot-thick foundation roared as water seeped through, like an ancient beast growling. Six-sided drainage tunnels worked tirelessly, directing the flood into the moat, keeping the city from submerging. The streets were waterlogged, but compared to the devastation outside, the city remained a rare refuge.

By late afternoon (Shen hour), with the flood still raging, Changsha’s Prefect Lei Qilong mobilized 800 laborers. The city’s gunpowder bureau supplied 50 catties of explosives for an extreme measure—blasting open a clogged downstream channel to divert the flood.

But when the explosions thundered through the dusk, they unwittingly made things worse. Instead of relieving pressure, the breach sent floodwaters surging backward into the South Gate marketplace.

The flood turned the once-bustling market into a nightmare. Shops were submerged, goods floated away, and people screamed in panic. In an instant, prosperity was replaced by devastation.

As night fell, 300 windproof lanterns were hung from the battlements, their flickering light reflecting on the storm-lashed city. Soldiers worked tirelessly to reinforce the gates, knowing that if they failed, all of Changsha would be lost.

The battle against the flood was far from over.