Chapter 527: Secret Letter

w Old White Bull: My first book, Back to the Ming Dynasty as a Thousand-Household, has also entered the premium selection. Very happy.)

This time when Xie Yike went out scouting, although the Night Scouts he took suffered heavy casualties, they still obtained important intelligence about Baimiao Fort.

After obtaining the intelligence, Wang Dou immediately summoned the officers of the Jingbian Army for discussion, and soon paid a visit to the Ji-Liao Viceroy Hong Chengchou.

Meanwhile, the Ming army's next strategic moves were being carried out intensively; at Songshan Fort, Huangtuling, and other places, the traces of troop movements from various units were obvious. Latest Novel「」

The Ming army's movements drew widespread and close attention from the Qing troops. Observant Ming officers could all see that these days, the slave chief Huang Taiji had been on Rufeng Mountain, holding a telescope and constantly gazing down at the foothills.

Twelfth day of the eighth month, Leijiagou of Shanhai Garrison, Shahezi encampment.

After the council on the ninth day, in accordance with the military orders from the Viceroy's headquarters, the forces of Ma Ke, Tang Tong, and others originally stationed west of Songshan Fort moved their camps in succession to the east side of Huangtuling.

They set up camp on the south bank of the Sha River. Wu Sangui's army also moved camp from Songshan Ridge and set up camp south of the two Regional Commanders. The great army of nearly fifty thousand men formed a continuous chain of encampments, a sea of banners stretching beyond sight. Latest Novel「」

As dusk approached, cooking smoke curled up. In the various camps of the Shanhai Garrison, countless soldiers wearing red-tasseled felt hats and tattered mandarin-duck battle jackets were enjoying their evening meal.

Unlike the Jingbian Army's widespread use of cooking carts, the officers and men of the Shanhai Garrison still used the traditional method of burying pots to cook. One squad or one company used a single large pot, and what boiled and bubbled in the pot was a kind of sun-dried rice.

This ration was made by steaming rice, then spreading it under the sun to dry, repeating the process several times, finally obtaining some dried rice grains, somewhat similar to later-era compressed biscuits.

Although a small lump of sun-dried rice, when soaked in hot water, could expand into a large potful, it naturally had no flavor to speak of and needed salt, vinegar, and the like as accompaniments.

Generally, a Great Ming soldier's monthly salt ration was two jin for those with families, and one jin for those without. However, at this time, skimming was rampant in every army; even a soldier's monthly salt ration would be skimmed by half, or more than half, by his superiors. So having some salt to go with one's sun-dried rice was considered a kind of luxury.

In an era without greasy food, hunger came especially easily and quickly. Piles of Shanhai soldiers, some standing, some squatting, all ate noisily and messily.

They were a mixed bag of good and bad, some burly and fierce soldiers, others emaciated and frail old weaklings. Among the crowd, there were also some arrogant and fierce soldiers wearing mandarin-duck battle jackets and folded kerchiefs wrapped around their heads; most of them were cavalry.

According to the Ming army's military system, generally only cavalry, or squad-leader-level junior officers among the infantry, had armor. But in the camp, apart from soldiers on patrol duty, these cavalrymen would not wear full armor either; the folded kerchiefs they wore also served as inner caps.

The treatment of cavalry was better than that of infantry. Although skimming occurred just the same, most cavalrymen still had money to buy some dried vegetables, dried meat, and other items from merchants to accompany their meals.

The cavalry naturally disdained mingling with the infantry. They too gathered in clusters, forming their own circles. At this moment, their bowls even featured various kinds of dried fish. Although the dried fish was very hard and tasted fishy and bitter, no one minded; many even ate it clean, bones and all.

Many even praised it loudly while eating, declaring this dried fish to be a truly superior delicacy. In an era lacking meat, any kind of meat was welcome.

After finishing their evening meal, a wave of noise erupted in each camp. From infantry to cavalry, every man's demeanor was different.

Some looked numb and withered, like old farmers bent by the weight of life. Others were slovenly and rascally, crossing their legs and chatting idly like marketplace riffraff. Still more were leisurely puffing away on tobacco pipes, engulfed in smoke. At this time, smoking tobacco was widespread among the Ming armies in the north; under the brutal warfare, tobacco also helped relieve stress.

But these soldiers all shared one similarity: in their outward bearing, they rarely possessed a soldier's boldness and heroic spirit. This was also a common failing of the soldiers in every Great Ming garrison camp. …,

When garrison soldiers first arose, they played a great role in resisting the Japanese pirates in the south and the Mongols in the north. However, with the depletion of financial resources and the rise of the retainer system, the majority of garrison soldiers became synonymous with soldier-riffraff and villains. This was also the drawback of the mercenary recruitment system.

In all the current Great Ming armies, among almost all garrison soldiers, sons of good families almost all disdained serving as soldiers. Those recruited were mostly idlers, hooligans, and such characters.

These men were of poor character to begin with. Coupled with the fact that their pay and provisions often went unpaid for months, in order to survive, they harassed the localities, extorted food and money, robbed and killed — such incidents emerged one after another. They were useless in battle, and it was inevitable that they became soldier-riffraff who preyed on the common people.

Such an army naturally had no military discipline to speak of. According to military law, noise was forbidden in the army, but this had long been thrown to the winds by everyone. After meals, each camp was as lively as a vegetable market.

The camp of the main-force battalion of Ma Ke, Regional Commander of Shanhai Pass, was nestled right by the Sha River. As the exalted Regional Commander, his camp naturally occupied the best location. At this time, the Sha River was dry, with little water, but drawing and drinking water was still much more convenient.

Around his camp, the campsites of the various officers and men within the garrison were scattered in complete disorder. Logically, according to military doctrine, with the garrison's Regional Commander as the head, the remaining officers and men should use their own camps to surround the commander's camp in the center, front and back, left and right.

Clearly, Ma Ke lacked such prestige and understanding, so the various officers within the garrison each chose convenient ground, selfishly selecting advantageous spots to pitch camp.

As a result, not only was it difficult to distinguish the different battalions, but command and maneuver were also easily impaired, increasing each camp officer's selfishness — ignoring friendly troops in danger and leaving the commanding general to perish without a care.

Yet this was a common failing of late Ming armies, and every camp was accustomed to it.

At this moment, the soldiers of the main-force battalion had also finished their evening meal, each contentedly patting his belly. They were no better than the soldiers of other battalions, equally noisy and ill-behaved. Many even laughed uproariously, discussing who knew what amusing matters.

Many expressed satisfaction with the meal they had just had.

Beside a tent covered with patches, a group of soldiers sat on the ground.

A burly, fierce-looking fellow, wearing a folded kerchief and stripped to the waist, revealing a tuft of black hair on his chest, was picking his teeth while mumbling indistinctly: "Damn, Old Hu here doesn't know how long it's been since I ate meat. If only we could eat that dried fish every day."

A guy beside him with a few black hairs at the corner of his mouth sneered: "We're about to fight, so the Grand Commander let us have a good meal. This is called the last meal."

"We're going to war again? Black Hair, how do you know?"

Hearing this, the others around all expressed their worry.

The soldier with black hair at the corner of his mouth glanced sideways at the crowd, and a sense of intellectual superiority welled up in him. He laughed with a sneer: "It's obvious. We were originally camped west of Songshan Fort, and now we've moved over here. Not far to the north is Mount Shimen. Isn't this to attack the Tatars at Mount Shimen?"

The crowd fell silent for a while, none wanting to pursue this topic further. They all harbored fear at the thought of fighting the Tatars.

One man furtively changed the subject, lowering his voice: "You know what? Not far south from our camp is Niangniang Temple. That place has now become a dried fish market, as much as you want. Why don't we find a chance and target a small merchant…"

Unexpectedly, before he could finish, the others all cursed him, telling him to die on his own and not drag others down with him.

The soldier with black hair at the corner of his mouth also sneered and said: "You know what? The dried fish over there is all controlled by the big merchant guilds, with unfathomably deep backing. I heard our Grand Commander himself has a share in it. You want to rob them? The Grand Commander will be the first to chop your head off."

That soldier also felt his words were untimely and said: "Anyway, as members of the main-force battalion, we should be able to eat this dried fish and such fairly often from now on." …,

The crowd also thought, probably so. The soldier with black hair at the corner of his mouth sneered again: "Eating a bit of dried fish and you're so pleased with yourself. Know what the Jingbian Army eats? Flatbread, white rice, big chunks of pork and mutton, eat as much as you want. Even for dried fish, what they eat are fish porcelain pots, the most delicious kind."

"Yesterday Battalion Commander Yang bought a few fish porcelain pots. Look how smug he was. It's just the standard of their logistics soldiers."

Speaking of these matters, everyone present was filled with envy, jealousy, and hatred toward the Jingbian Army. The treatment of that army made them extremely envious.

However, everyone only dared to make snide remarks behind their backs; to their faces, they dared not show disrespect.

It wasn't without lessons. There had been soldiers from other garrisons who, upon encountering Jingbian Army soldiers, spoke with sarcasm and veiled mockery.

Unexpectedly, the Jingbian Army were not pious men and women. At the slightest provocation, they would erupt and start beating people. They were well-trained, each man strong and robust, and the result was a hundred victories in a hundred fights. Moreover, from the Loyal and Brave Count down to officers at every level in that army, each one was protective of his own. When matters escalated, it was always the other side that had to settle things and calm the situation.

After a few such incidents, no soldiers from other garrisons dared to show disrespect to Jingbian Army soldiers to their faces anymore. Instead, they all greeted them with smiling faces, hoping to befriend them and gain some benefits.

Of course, many people did not understand why the Jingbian Army could enjoy such excellent treatment. Where did their provisions come from?

At this moment, Old Hu also said angrily: "Why can they eat and drink their fill every day, while we often endure hunger? Could it be that the Viceroy and the Army Supervisor have allocated all the provisions to them, and our Shanhai Garrison are stepchildren?"

The soldier with black hair at the corner of his mouth said: "That the higher-ups allocated all the provisions to them — that's not necessarily true."

He said: "I heard that the provisions allocated to them are a bit more, after all, they're a strong main-force army, but not by much. The news I've heard is that the remaining shortfall is all made up by the Loyal and Brave Count using real gold and silver to buy from those corrupt officials in the Ministry of Revenue. Many merchants are also willing to sell grain to them. The Loyal and Brave Count is generous, cares for his subordinates, and is willing to spend shiny silver. Our Grand Commander is not worth comparing — he can't even keep up with skimming our pay."

At this point, he lowered his voice and even subconsciously glanced around.

Old Hu, however, said resentfully: "Damn, we're all soldiers, but our soldiering is really pointless. Why don't we go join the Jingbian Army?"

For a moment, everyone present was tempted. But the soldier with black hair at the corner of his mouth sneered: "Would they even want you? Do you know how many people on the Eastern Route now want to join the Jingbian Army? How many outside the garrison? They can't even arrange positions for their own military households, and they'd take outsiders?"

He said: "You know about those men from Ji Garrison. Earlier, when they were routed, it was the Loyal and Brave Count who took them in. In the end, he handed them all over, not wanting a single horse or a single blade. He didn't think much of them."

The fellow who had earlier incited everyone to go looting suddenly said: "Not necessarily. I heard that now on the Eastern Route, there are the Loyalty Battalion and the Swordsman Hall and such. Anyone with martial valor and ability can be selected, not limited to the military households of the Eastern Route of Xuanfu Garrison. I also heard that those with families are more easily selected."

Old Hu said bitterly, "My whole family died off long ago — do I still need to go snatch a woman and find myself a goddamn father-in-law?"

The whole circle roared with laughter.

Suddenly a leather whip lashed down hard across Old Hu's body, instantly raising a deep bloody welt.

The ferocious soldier, his face all cross-grained flesh, flew into a rage and sprang up, bellowing, "Who hit me? I'll —"

But the rest of his words all shrank back down his throat. Before him stood a swaggering group of camp soldiers — all household retainers and personal guards of the command tent. At their head was a lean, wiry, middle-aged military officer who bore some resemblance to Ma Ke.

His expression was dark and sullen. Flatly he said, "No clamor is permitted in camp. Do you not know this? Or are you eager to taste military law?"

He swept a quick glance over the soldiers nearby, lowered his eyelids, and said, "In consideration that this is a first offense, twenty slaps to the mouth, as a warning to others."

Before Old Hu could even react, a junior officer standing by with a leather whip had already come over with a vicious grin. Without allowing any explanation, he struck left and right — crack, crack, crack — and delivered a savage beating straight to Old Hu's face. After several dozen slaps, Old Hu's cheeks were swollen red; he had been beaten into a pig's head.

The officer grunted with satisfaction and strode off.

The household retainers behind him also swaggered along in his wake, kicking aside soldiers who failed to dodge in time: "A good dog doesn't block the road — move, move, have you no eyes?"

Only after watching those men disappear into the distance did Old Hu cover his mouth and rise, a look of resentment flashing through his eyes: "Damn it, hitting me — just give me a chance, and I'll put an arrow through him."

The soldier with the black hairs at the corner of his mouth, who had just now cleverly shrunk aside, sighed and said, "Ma Zhiyong was a real man — how could he have died in battle? This Ma Zhiren is petty, and newly appointed as household retainer commander, he's desperate to establish his authority in camp. Old Hu, you just had bad luck — you happened to run right into him."

The men around him all chimed in: "Yeah, better not talk about him. We can't afford to provoke him."

The camp troops were corrupt, yet even among them there were ranks within ranks. Soldiers and officers went without saying; cavalry and infantry, even household retainers, were divided into several grades.

That Ma Zhiren just now, for instance — originally a Mobile Corps Commander, he was promoted because Ma Zhiyong, the Vice Regional Commander of Ma Ke's main-force camp, had died in battle. So Ma Ke looked around, promoted Ma Zhiren, and made him his own personal commander, in charge of the remaining household retainers. After all, he was clan kin — he could be trusted.

But Ma Zhiren had risen by flattery and fawning; though his unit excelled at bullying men and violating women, their combat strength was very poor, and he could not command respect.

Relying on his connection to Ma Ke, Ma Zhiren had long been arrogant and domineering, and naturally could not tolerate the slightest slight. He nursed a deep grudge against the several officers in camp who refused to submit to him. Old Hu was a subordinate of one of those officers — hatred for the house extended to its crows. Add to that Ma Zhiren's desire to establish his authority, and you had the misfortune that had just befallen Old Hu.

Old Hu knew full well that Ma Zhiren was not someone he could afford to provoke, but how could he swallow the anger he felt just now? In his heart he swore bitterly, "Hmph, hitting me — just don't let me find a chance..."

Ma Zhiren led his trusted followers through the encampment. Between the tents, garbage and sewage ran in every direction — it looked like one refugee camp after another.

According to Great Ming military regulations, the encampment must be kept clean and orderly, yet within the Shanhai garrison, not even Ma Ke's own main-force camp had managed to comply.

Yet as Ma Zhiren passed these piles of refuse and excrement, he looked upon them as if seeing nothing, clearly long accustomed to such conditions.

As they made their way along, soldiers and officers of the main-force camp kept greeting Ma Zhiren warmly and saluting him. Ma Zhiren merely nodded indifferently, putting on every air.

Soon, a magnificent great tent appeared ahead. Around it stood armored personal guards, each in helmet and mail. Ma Zhiren had his attendants wait outside the tent, composed his feelings, put on a humble, ingratiating smile, and entered.

Inside and outside the tent were two different worlds. The moment he entered the great tent, he saw that the interior was lavishly appointed. Thick candles, as big as a child's arm, were lit, making the tent bright and gleaming.

Before a large table, Ma Ke, dressed in a brocade informal robe, was enjoying his dinner. The dishes were exceedingly sumptuous, spread abundantly across the table — fresh fish of every kind, everything one could wish for on the table, several tins of high-grade fish-paste likewise opened. The tableware he used was all gold and silver vessels.

At either side of the table, two alluring, coquettish women were laughing and attending him, from time to time feeding morsels into Ma Ke's mouth. No — on closer inspection, one realized these two were not women at all, but handsome youths dressed as women.

Watching the three of them in such intimacy, anyone not inclined toward the male fashion would surely feel sickened. But Ma Zhiren thought nothing of it. The Grand Commandant was fond of young catamites and had always proclaimed that two flats could not compare to one round. These two young catamites had, in fact, been procured by Ma Zhiren himself — one of the reasons he enjoyed Ma Ke's favor.

After entering the tent, Ma Zhiren dared not disturb the Grand Commandant's meal. He stood with hands hanging down, waiting respectfully.

Seeing him enter, Ma Ke merely lifted his eyelids slightly, then continued eating at his leisurely pace. Only after a quarter-hour did he set down his silver chopsticks and say with a smile to the two young catamites beside the table, "You sisters have served well. These leftover dishes are yours as a reward."

Both were overjoyed and said in coy, honeyed tones, "Many thanks, Grand Commandant."

Ma Ke said with a grin, "Is a thanks like that enough?"

He slapped one of them on the buttocks. "You two little sluts — just wait till tonight, see how I deal with you."

That one glanced back with a coquettish pout: "You're awful."

After the two had left, Ma Ke took out an exquisite tobacco pipe, drew some shredded tobacco from a pouch, and packed it. Ma Zhiren hurriedly produced a fire striker and lit it for the Grand Commandant.

Ma Ke contentedly exhaled a puff of smoke and said flatly, "How goes the matter?"

With his back to the candlelight, the smoke curled and wreathed in the shadows, giving him a sinister and somewhat frightening air. Ma Zhiren dared not be careless — this master was a man of unpredictable moods; one slip, and you would not even know how you died.

He hastily and respectfully replied, "Contact has been made. Only..."

"Mm."

Ma Ke's expression changed. "Only what?"

Ma Zhiren gritted his teeth and answered with the utmost caution, "The other side says the Grand Commandant must write a letter in his own hand before they will believe it..."

With his back to the candlelight, the smoke curled and wreathed in the shadows, giving him a sinister and somewhat frightening air. Ma Zhiren dared not be careless — this master was a man of unpredictable moods; one slip, and you would not even know how you died.

He hastily and respectfully replied, "Contact has been made. Only..."

"Mm."

Ma Ke's expression changed. "Only what?"

Ma Zhiren gritted his teeth and answered with the utmost caution, "The other side says the Grand Commandant must write a letter in his own hand before they will believe it..."