Chapter 791: Foraging for Grain

The vast Central Plains stretched out before them. As far as the eye could see, the land in every direction was scorched earth; market towns held only crumbling walls.

Roughly from Xiangyang Prefecture onward, the villages were already empty. Sometimes one could travel a hundred li beyond the city without seeing a single person. Only one or two out of ten walled towns still survived. Fields near the cities were tilled by city dwellers just to stave off starvation. Passing Nanyang Prefecture and heading north, the outer wards were all destroyed, the city walls razed flat, the city sites become tracts of wild grass.

Especially outside the cities, there was not a single resident. The farmland had all turned to tangled brush, stretching for several hundred li as one unbroken expanse, swaying like a grassland.

When chaos descends upon the world, the first to suffer are always the common people — especially those living on the open plains, without stockades, without the means to protect themselves. Roving bandits were everywhere, local brigands covered the countryside, and passing army ruffians and thugs all threatened their lives.

As more and more people became bleached bones, the survivors came to their senses. They fled in droves. The remaining inhabitants of each county mostly sought out high mountains with level ridges on top, built stockades, and lived there. A large county might have several dozen stockades; a small county, no more than ten-odd. They farmed and fed themselves.

They were extremely wary of the outside world. No faction, whatever its allegiance, could win their goodwill. Some people even fled deep into the mountains, living in seclusion apart from the world. As generations passed, they became utterly ignorant of outside affairs — not knowing of the Jin, let alone the Han or Tang.

Whether there was drought no longer mattered, because Henan no longer had any social organization. The people had been thrown back into the jungle, tearing each other apart, the strong devouring the weak.

Apart from the great stockades of powerful families capable of self-defense, to dwell now on the open plains was simply to draw the plunder of every faction, to attract the notice of countless bandits and roving brigands. However fertile the land, however vast the fields — what meaning did they hold?

Thus, all along the way, walled towns and villages survived only as abandoned ruins. Hares fled through the wild; wormwood grew in thick clusters. To travel for days and nights on the road without seeing a single person was perfectly normal.

On many official highways and side paths, wild grass had grown several feet long. Weeds choked the fields; foxtail grass swayed ostentatiously. Sometimes it stretched unbroken for several hundred li. Those who did not know better would think they had reached the grasslands beyond the frontier.

They were now within Ye County, on the southern bank of the Kun River.

"Wolves!"

A mounted soldier beside him suddenly cried out in alarm. Old Hu's face lit up. "Where?"

The mounted soldier pointed. Everyone gazed toward the opposite bank. On both shores, wild grass stretched to the sky. The once-fertile fields were now overgrown with weeds. In the thick grass on the far bank, several hundred wolves were indeed lurking, their eyes glinting with a faint green light.

In that instant, a dazed feeling came over everyone. This was the Central Plains, not the steppe — and now it had become a place where wolf packs roamed?

Then Old Hu let out a hearty laugh and shouted, "We've got meat to eat! Brothers, charge across and kill them!"

At once, over a hundred mounted soldiers roared in excitement. Led by the eight squad leaders, they spurred their horses and charged toward the opposite bank, sending the wolves fleeing in panic. The infantry on this side watched and howled with raucous laughter. Only some of the famished refugees looked on numbly.

Kong San sat on his horse, watching those exultant Chuang troops. His eyes flickered, and he said silently to himself: "Roving bandits!"

Around the fourth month, Li Zicheng's great army had advanced north in a mighty sweep. Old Hu and Kong San had only just reached Huguang before they followed the army north again. After arriving in Huguang, the Chuang camp had also assigned them the unit designation "Mountain Patrol Battalion," under the command of the Rear Battalion.

The battalion was divided by dui. Each dui contained fifty mounted soldiers, one hundred infantry, and thirty to fifty servant boys who did the rough and miscellaneous labor — equivalent to page servants, logistics laborers. Their total strength of four thousand, including one thousand mounted troops and over three thousand infantry, was divided into roughly thirty dui.

As for the original famished refugees, after replenishing the Mountain Patrol Battalion's infantry and servant numbers, they were settled elsewhere by the Chuang camp.

They were now considered somewhat regularized, because starting from the infantry, every man had been issued a uniform tunic — like a later-era vest — with the character "Chuang" written on the back and each battalion's unit markings on the front. Because they belonged to the Rear Battalion, the tunic color was yellow.

Li Chuang's several hundred thousand troops were advancing north, intending to attack Shaanxi. They certainly could not haul grain a thousand li from Huguang. Apart from an initial portion of provisions, everything was procured on the spot. This was also their "advantage" in logistics. As for what to do after every region had been stripped bare — that was not their concern.

Thus, as soon as they left Huguang, the great army advanced while countless mounted and infantry detachments fanned out in all directions, attacking and plundering cities, towns, and stockades that did not belong to their own faction, and sweeping up the refugees wandering everywhere across the wilderness. Stockades belonging to their own faction were still required to contribute money and grain.

For outer battalions like the Mountain Patrol Battalion, gathering provisions for the main army was naturally one of their tasks. This time they had been ordered to go out and forage for grain. Their target was a small stockade northeast of Ye County.

When chaos descended, the ones with the greatest vitality were in fact the rural landlords and powerful great clans. They had ample grain and wealth, but at the same time they had high walls and deep stockades, and were internally united to an extreme degree. Trying to take their stockades was no easy matter.

The classic example was Linfeng Stockade in Jia County. From the Northern and Southern Dynasties onward, through the Sui, Tang, Song, Yuan, and Ming dynasties, generation after generation, it had stood firm beside the Feng Stream. Even during the War of Resistance, when Japanese troops encountered such stockades, they would detour around them.

This type of stockade was also called a wubao. Only wealthy households, lineage associations, and powerful great clans had the capacity to build them. They were extremely difficult to assault.

Back when Li Zicheng fled to Mount Shangluo, he survived by attacking stockades — but only small ones. When he encountered the stockades of true local despots and great gentry clans, there was nothing he could do. At most, he could force them to pay tribute of some grain and fodder, and leave it at that.

Apart from these great stockades, there were also some small stockades on the plains, built by those who clung to a faint hope, or by those living too far from the great mountains.

It is hard to leave one's native soil, and much of Henan is flatland. Finding deep mountains and ancient forests was no easy task. So some local commoners, or certain refugees harboring a slim hope, gathered on their own and raised some fortified stockades, drifting and surviving through the chaos, now flourishing, now perishing.

Ye County counted as a large county. Although the county seat was gone, the remaining commoners within its borders, along with some refugees who had drifted in, had still built several dozen stockades large and small along the Kun and Zhan rivers. Some of the powerful great stockades among them could not be taken in the short term, but as for the rest...

In particular, the scouts had learned that the stockade they were about to attack, called Liulin Village, contained only a few hundred people farming behind its walls. Its leader was a local village head surnamed Yang, who had gathered scattered villagers from several nearby hamlets, along with some refugees.

This stockade had few able-bodied men. The stockade was not large. It should be very easy to take.

Beside Kong San and Old Hu stood a big man mounted on a warhorse, his eyes full of ferocity. Behind him were similarly fierce riders, every one wearing cotton armor and felt hats. The cotton armor was yellow — these were veteran troops of the Rear Battalion.

Now, within the Chuang camp, apart from the Personal Battalion, which was the veteran core and uniformly elite cavalry, the five battalion command generals also had their own veteran core troops. When outer battalions went out to forage, the five-battalion core would naturally dispatch veteran troops to oversee them.

Unlike Old Hu's Mountain Patrol Battalion — where, though they were mounted troops, many rode donkeys or mules, or at best inferior horses — these veteran troops all rode fine horses, warhorses, and generally had two or even three horses per man.

This detachment of supervising veteran troops from the Rear Battalion all rode fine horses. Behind them were some servant boys attending to them, generally around thirteen or fourteen, fifteen or sixteen years old. Though young, their eyes held a savage cruelty, as if utterly indifferent to life and death.

The Chuang camp liked to gather up orphaned children and keep them in the camp. Under the influence of their surroundings, many grew up to become core members of the roving bandits. Many leaders also liked to adopt these children as foster sons, just as Sun Kewang and Li Dingguo had been in those days.

At first, when the wolves were spotted, the big man had been pleased — only to see the Mountain Patrol Battalion's mounted troops charge across the river without hitting a single wolf. He frowned and said with displeasure, "Treading Earth Dragon, the hour is getting late. It's time to go forage. After taking Liulin Village, we still have another stockade to strike today. No dawdling."

Though this man held only the rank of Battalion Commander, while he himself was a General of Martial Might, the man was a veteran troop soldier. Old Hu dared not be negligent. He nodded with a beaming smile and said, "Master Tian is right. The hour is indeed late. We must not dawdle."

He bellowed, "Brothers, all of you, cross the river! Take Liulin Village, and every man will eat his fill!"

At once, the whole battalion erupted in cheers and roars. The soldiers leaped with excitement, every man brimming with drive.

At this time, the Chuang camp's provision supply still followed egalitarian principles. The grain and fodder foraged by each battalion were pooled at the veteran camp, then distributed per head. If grain was plentiful, the overall standard of living was a bit higher; if grain was scarce, the shortage was shared equally, and the whole camp went hungry. Thus, everyone from top to bottom in every battalion was full of enthusiasm for raiding in all directions.

The Kun River was not deep. The Mountain Patrol Battalion roared as they crossed. Each dui had one banner, and the battalion headquarters had a great standard. On the march, whether mounted or on foot, everyone moved with the banners. The opposite bank was still flatland. Though thick with weeds, it was still easy to traverse. The battalion of several thousand troops advanced in multiple columns, with scouts riding far ahead.

The Chuang camp's military discipline: whether marching or encamping, they immediately dispatched mounted scouts to probe in all four directions — one scout every li, extending out to two hundred li, so that any alarm was known at once. This powerful reconnaissance capability was also the reason government troops repeatedly fell into ambushes.

Several thousand famished refugees also followed the army. As the Chuang army advanced north, they had already swept up many refugees. Several thousand had been assigned to the Mountain Patrol Battalion.

Old Hu rode with his head high and chest out, looking back at his "mighty" army stretching far behind him. In his heart, he felt a surge of pride and ambition. In the past, he had been nothing more than a common soldier; now he was the leader of several thousand men. That sense of achievement was hard to put into words. If Kong San were not at his side, he would have long forgotten he was a spy.

But glancing at the veteran Battalion Commander beside him, a look of jealousy flashed through Old Hu's eyes. Look at these men, every one of them skilled in horsemanship, all riding fine horses. Though he himself had over a thousand mounted troops, he had fewer than two hundred warhorses. He could only hope that after fighting some battles, more horses and mules would be granted as rewards.

To encourage each battalion to forage, the Chuang camp also had a rule: whoever brought in the most grain and fodder would receive a larger share of grain issued back to them, along with other rewards. This further spurred each battalion's enthusiasm.

Among the military merit rewards for the various battalions, horses and mules were the highest reward; bows, arrows, and firearms came next; gold, silver, pearls, and jade were the lowest. In chaotic times, rewarding horses and mules naturally greatly increased each battalion commander's hard power. With power, obtaining gold, silver, and treasures was a trivial matter.

Without power, no amount of gold and silver could be held onto. Old Hu, seasoned by years in the military, understood this perfectly.

They marched across the desolate land. The market towns along the way were all scenes of utter desolation. The once-flourishing villages and towns had all become rubble and broken walls. Weeds grew everywhere. Not a single rafter or tile could be found.

On the way, the Mountain Patrol Battalion passed a large stockade, built by a local strongman. At that moment, the stockade walls were crowded with figures, every one of them watching the Chuang troops passing outside with vigilant eyes.

The Chuang camp, top to bottom, hated landlords and rich old bastards, but their stockades were the hardest to take. Sure enough, a rough glance from outside showed that the stockade's village braves were armed no worse than some departmental and county forces. They had bows, arrows, and matchlocks, and were even equipped with cannons.

One picks the softest persimmon to squeeze. Even the supervising veteran Battalion Commander gave no order to attack the stockade. The whole battalion headed straight for Liulin Village.

At last, the entire battalion arrived before Liulin Village. It was like a shrunken-down version of Da'an Stockade — dilapidated and ramshackle. But on the flat fields around the stockade, quite a lot of wheat had been planted. At that moment, the stockade walls were crowded with men and women in tattered clothes, every face filled with terror.

Old Hu and the others looked it over. This stockade's defensive strength was nothing much. There were hardly any bows. Many people held only wooden clubs. The stockade walls were not high. This kind of armament was fine for defending against bandits and ordinary refugees, but against a military unit like the Mountain Patrol Battalion...

A middle-aged man who looked like the stockade leader was shouting, hoping the righteous army would spare them. They were willing to contribute grain and fodder.

The veteran Battalion Commander gave a cold laugh. Contribute? Once the stockade was taken, everything inside would be theirs. The previous powerful great stockade had offered to contribute, and the righteous army had gone along with it, even issuing them a banner with the character "Chuang." But this stockade...

He said: "Tread Earth Dragon, no need to ramble. Attack the stockade at once. The famine refugees in front, foot soldiers and cavalry behind. Anyone who retreats — behead them all. If the cavalry retreat, the old camp will behead them just the same. A tiny stockade — one drumbeat and it falls."

As a hardened bandit of the old camp, such tactics were second nature to him; the words came out as easily as breathing.

Old Hu obeyed and immediately made arrangements. He had the famine refugees, armed with all sorts of weapons and carrying short ladders, placed in front. He also had the camp servants and laborers carry out several baskets of flatbread and corn buns and set them before the formation, telling the famine refugees that if they won the battle, these would be their reward.

The famine refugees stirred at once, every pair of eyes blazing red. Perpetually trapped in starvation, the temptation these foods held for them was immense.

Then he deployed the camp's archers and matchlock soldiers behind them. The cavalrymen spurred on the infantry, and the battle formation began to spread out. Then, after a single great drumbeat, the whole camp roared as one...

A quarter-hour later, Liulin Village was breached. Bodies lay scattered atop and below the stockade walls. The village headman, a local man surnamed Yang, was dragged forward, his face and body covered in blood, forced to kneel before the crowd, his eyes filled with boundless despair.

Before the Mountain Patrol Camp and the captured villagers of Liulin Village, the old camp commander smugly pronounced the crimes of this Yang-surnamed headman — being rich yet unkind, oppressing the common people, exploiting the countryside, resisting the righteous army, and so on. The crimes were unpardonable, and he must be put to death.

The Yang-surnamed headman murmured: "Yang has never oppressed the common people. Yang gathered his fellow villagers only to help them stay alive."

The old camp commander bellowed: "Before the righteous army, how dare you quibble! Men, cut him down."

Several old camp soldiers grinned savagely as they stepped forward, drawing their blades. The Yang-surnamed headman knelt quietly. He gazed toward the crowd of Liulin Village folk, especially in one direction, his eyes brimming with guilt. Then he murmured again: "Yang's heart was willing but his strength was lacking... In these chaotic times, human lives are as lowly as ants. When will an age of peace arrive?"

Then his head fell to the ground. On the Liulin Village side, there was silence at first, then sobbing rose from all around, mingled with the terrified cries of children — a scene of utter desolation. Old Hu, who had been gleeful moments before, suddenly felt as if a needle had pierced his heart, and he fell silent.

The old camp commander, however, was displeased and roared: "What the hell are you all crying for? We, the righteous army, have rid you of an evil tyrant. Good days are just ahead, and you still cry?"

"Heaven has no eyes..."

A desolate voice came from within the crowd. The old camp commander's eyes flew wide open, and he barked sharply: "Who said that?"

Then they saw a young woman stumble out. Several women beside her tried to pull her back but could not hold her. She walked up to Headman Yang's corpse and said mournfully: "Why do good people not live long? My father was such a good man..."

The old camp commander bellowed: "Insolence! The officials are without the Way. Our righteous army acts on Heaven's behalf..."

The young woman looked at her father's corpse, then suddenly turned toward the commander and shrieked: "Act on Heaven's behalf? The officials are without the Way — then go kill your officials! You were in Shaanxi, we were in Henan. Did we oppress you from a thousand li away? We only wanted to farm in peace. Why won't you let us live..."

The old camp commander roared: "Rebellion! Rebellion! This witch has rebelled! Just like her father, she must be killed!"

The young woman laughed wildly, shrieking: "You are nothing but roving bandits! No matter how you pretend to be righteous and merciful, you are still roving bandits! Look at the evil you've done — bones everywhere, people all dead..."

The old camp commander raged with fury. Several old camp soldiers drew their blades and hacked toward the young woman. She screamed miserably, her voice piercing and desolate: "...You bring calamity upon the common people. There will be retribution. None of you will die a good death..."

"...Retribution... die a good death..."

In the end, the young woman lay upon her father's body. Amidst the pool of blood, her eyes stared wide open, and her piercing, desolate voice still echoed in the air above.

Old Hu stared blankly, his heart clenching tight. Kong San turned his head away, his right fist clenched, the veins on his hand bulging. The soldiers and horses of the Mountain Patrol Camp were also dumbstruck. (To be continued...)