Chapter 132: Mobilization

Before joining the army, they were all farmers, and before marriage, all they wanted was to work hard and save enough to marry a wife; after marriage, they saved again to afford a bride-price for their sons so they could continue the family line.

Each of these three steps was incredibly difficult; many villagers could not afford a wife and instead paid to rent someone else’s, returning her after she bore their child.

Those who couldn’t even rent a wife had no descendants—many in the village remained childless because they couldn’t even feed themselves, let alone save money.

This life ended abruptly when the Revolutionary Army arrived, overthrowing the masters who had oppressed them and returning to them what had been stolen from the poor.

When they first received land, many burst into tears, holding the soil to their faces and breathing in its scent.

After receiving land, they ate their first full meal—everyone in the family could eat until they were stuffed—and those who gave them this did not pretend to be gods like other rebels; they called themselves servants of the people.

They spoke gently, without arrogance; they checked every household for what was lacking and what hardships they faced—lacking doctors, they trained barefoot doctors in every village; they taught the poor to read and write, and ensured their children went to school to become cultured people.

They provided high-yield crops—potatoes and sweet potatoes—and since they came, their families’ lives improved steadily, their futures growing brighter.

Yet the court called these people bandits, while calling the masters who had oppressed them, defecated on them, and stolen from them loyal and virtuous.

They realized how naive and foolish they had been—they once believed the emperor stood with them, that their suffering was due only to corrupt officials around him, that if only the emperor knew, he would punish them and deliver justice.

Two years ago, when the officials they elected took office, they thought things would only get better; now they finally understood—the greatest traitor was the emperor seated on the throne, the greatest corrupt official was he.

He was the leader of those dog officials, leading them to drink the blood of the people.

Trumpets sounded, and soldiers who had been resting quickly assembled at their assigned positions; a young officer stepped onto the podium. Perhaps because the Revolutionary Army was so new and had grown so fast, even high-ranking officers like the commander-in-chief were young.

Yet though young, the officers held immense respect in their hearts—in fact, the Revolutionary Army’s cadres were deeply trusted and beloved.

Unlike past officers who beat and cursed them, withheld their pay, and fled from battle, these officers led charges, protected their men like fathers.

After stepping onto the podium, the commander said: “I believe every soldier here has seen the notice issued by the Jin emperor across the land—it’s simple: they call the two Commissars Zhang traitors and rebels. Oh, and they also say that if we give up our land and do not interfere while they hunt down the two Commissars Zhang, they will forgive us.”

No sooner had he finished than a soldier shouted out: “Impossible! Whoever dares take back our land or go after the two Commissars Zhang, I’ll kill him!”

These words instantly ignited the fury of everyone below.

Seeing the soldiers’ burning eyes, the commander nodded and said: “I won’t say more. Let me tell you my story. I was a true Shandong farmer. When I was eight, my father was sold into slavery by the landlord for failing to pay rent—I never saw him again.”

“But this dog of a court and that dog of a landlord still didn’t spare my mother and me. They claimed my father’s sale price wasn’t enough—we still owed them money. My mother and I worked ourselves to the bone, scrimping and saving all year, yet at year’s end we still owed them two taels of silver—how could we ever repay it?”

“Then the two Commissars Zhang came. They overthrew the landlords who had defecated on our heads and gave our family land—this was the first time in generations we owned land. As I swore to give my life to repay them, they corrected me.”

“They weren’t here to seize the empire and become emperors—they came so that countless poor people could live well, free from the tyranny of dog officials. If you’re willing to sacrifice your life, swear to devote your finite life to infinite service for the people. Comrades, tell me—is such a person a bandit?”

“No.”

The roar of tens of thousands rose as one, shaking heaven and earth—even the mountain spirits and wild ghosts trembled.

“Comrades, we are not like past armies—we don’t fight for any emperor. We fight for ourselves, for our families’ better lives. What was life like before the People’s Government? What is it like now? They want to drag us back to a life worse than pigs and dogs—do you accept that?”

“No.”

Below, soldiers’ expressions varied—some eyes red with rage, others filled with fury. They did not want to return to the past, did not want the masters back, did not want their descendants to remain slaves.

These most downtrodden people feared death; they rarely sacrificed themselves for grand ideals. They admired loyal ministers but knew they themselves could never be such.

Because that ideal only demanded their sacrifice, never offered them anything—only the chance to be slaves in a golden age.

But they didn’t want to be slaves. They wanted to be human. They wanted their descendants to stand tall as human beings. Yet no one ever let them stand—they only wanted them to be beasts of burden.

To give their children even a slim chance to kneel as slaves in a golden age, they clung to life. But if sacrificing their lives meant their descendants could stand tall as free humans, they were ready to die without hesitation.

The landlords training their militia knew nothing of the terror they would soon face—and the Revolutionary Army would soon deliver a thunderous slap to the face of the newly enthroned Wanyan Honglie.