“How many days will it take them to reach Tongzhou?”

　　William Young asked.

　　“At least five or six days. At the Hexiwu customs checkpoint, they’ll have to wait in line to pass through. There’s no rushing this, and even having a Wang family boat won’t help—there are hundreds, even thousands of boats jammed up there!”

　　Helen Howard said.

　　Without hesitation, William Young stood up and took off the old jacket he was wearing, which had originally belonged to Charles Howard.

　　“What are you doing?”

　　Helen Howard asked in astonishment.

　　“Let me show you what a real man is!”

　　William Young struck a bodybuilder’s pose, showing off his still not-so-strong arms, and said with full confidence.

　　With that, he reached into the cabin and pulled out an oar.

　　The North Canal from Tianjin to Tongzhou is only 186 kilometers, and the Feng River runs almost parallel to it, so at most it’s about the same length—even if it’s a bit longer, it won’t be by much. For long-distance solo rowing, you can usually maintain a speed of about fifty kilometers a day, so in four days he could row this little skiff to Majia Bridge. Those people who row solo across the Pacific can keep up that speed for seven months, covering twelve thousand kilometers, so why couldn’t he row to Majia Bridge in four days?

　　At most, even if he took it easy, five days would be enough.

　　What’s more, with him rowing and Helen Howard using the pole, their speed would definitely surpass those solo rowers…

　　In fact, a pole is faster than an oar.

　　It just can’t be used in deep water, but in shallow areas, poling is much faster than rowing.

　　Helen Howard looked at him in confusion…

　　“What are you waiting for? Let’s go!”

　　William Young said.

　　Helen Howard rolled her eyes at him speechlessly, then turned around, her back to him, and used the long pole to turn the little skiff. William Young admired a certain slightly raised part of her as he gave a powerful stroke with the oar, and the skiff, carried by the current, immediately began to accelerate through the murky river water.

　　“Let’s swing our oars, the little boat pushes through the waves…”

　　William Young’s wolf-like singing once again echoed over the canal.

Chapter 008: That Blooming Flower

　　In fact, William Young didn’t even need four days.

　　The Feng River of this era was actually a branch of the Yongding River, or what is now called the Lugou River, also known as the Hun River. The Lugou River splits into two branches below Lugou Bridge, both flowing southeast and both ending up in the Triangle Marsh. The left branch splits again at Gu’an: one joins the Huitong River (or the Daqing River) at Yuanjiakou and flows east into the marsh, the other goes directly past Yongqing into the marsh. The right branch, after taking in the Liangshui River, splits again at Hongren Bridge—also known as Majia Bridge: one branch continues east and joins the canal at Zhangjiawan, the other heads south, joining the Feng River and flowing into the marsh.

　　This is the current Yongding River system.

　　William Young just needed to row all the way to Majia Bridge and then turn.

　　“What’s that place?”

　　He gazed east and asked.

　　There, a high wall stretched across, but due to years of neglect, it looked more like a ruined, abandoned garden. Inside, pavilions could be vaguely seen rising above the wall. The river beneath their feet flowed out from a sluice there, splitting into two: one branch heading east, the other south, joining the Feng River downstream where they had come from. The water was muddy, only a bit clearer than the Yellow River. In fact, locals just called it the Hun River—the “Muddy River.”

　　“Nanhaizi, the emperor’s garden. Just the wall alone is 160 li long.”

　　Helen Howard said.

　　This was the Southern Park.

　　The Liangshui River runs through the Southern Park and exits the east wall, while the Feng River originates in the Southern Park and exits the south wall.

　　Since it’s a park, of course not just anyone can enter—it has to be walled off, just like the Old Summer Palace. Commoners can only gaze from outside the wall; if they want to go in, it would take imperial grace.

　　Otherwise, they’d have to wait until invaders come to slap the emperor in the face.

　　Or maybe they could do it themselves.

　　William Young looked at the Southern Park, this garden even larger than Beijing itself, with a sigh. The little skiff beneath his feet slowly passed under an elegant stone arch bridge, which was where this place got its name. This bridge was built by Zhu Qizhen, but during his second reign as emperor. South of the bridge, soldiers under the jurisdiction of the Hongren Bridge patrol sat lazily on benches, holding long spears and watching them. Behind them was a large temple. William Young subconsciously touched his smooth face—after just four days, the wounds on his face had completely disappeared. And after four days of nonstop feasting, even his once shriveled body had swelled up like a fat seaweed in water; his once gaunt cheeks now had a bit of flesh.

　　Helen Howard looked at him with a complicated expression.

　　Clearly, the now “fattened up” William Young was like a new man—he could even be called handsome now.

　　Just a bit tanned.

　　In this, the two of them were quite similar—both had that healthy color, or you could call it wheat-colored skin. Only William Young’s was a bit darker, since he couldn’t just shed his old beggar’s skin like a snake…

　　Although he was indeed shedding.

　　For example, all the old scars and calluses from years of hardship were peeling away due to the rapid changes in his body. At this point, William Young not only had no scars left on his face—even if he did, if he walked up to someone like James Grant, who had only met him a few times, they would hardly recognize him at a glance.

　　“Beauty, shouldn’t we have a meal?”

　　William Young said with a smile.

　　“We’re out of money!”