Chapter 869: Fiery Liquor Down the Throat Wins Hearts

When the convoy rolled to the outskirts of the Qifu Tribe camp, the sky was already bright.

Gao Jiong jumped down from the carriage pole, stepped onto the hard, dry frozen ground, and the sand in his shoe soles bruised his soles.

The camp was more dilapidated than described in the Mingjing Department intelligence.

A few hundred ragged Herd of Cattle leather tents were crookedly pitched on the leeward side of a low hill, the tent skins covered entirely with patches, some patches stacked upon patches, and the lifted edges were flapped back and forth by the wind against the tent frames.

The herders walked between the tents, the men wearing faded old leather robes, the women wrapped in dirty wool blankets, and the children ran barefoot on the frozen hard Mudi.

There were few sturdy horses, but many gaunt old and sick horses were tethered, gnawing at the dry straw scraps tossed beneath the tents.

Gao Jiong pulled up the collar of his leather coat, and the deferential smile returned to his face.

"Songqi, bring down the two Wine Jars of burning knife and ten jin of salt from the lead carriage, and come in with me."

Songqi cradled the two jars of liquor under his arm, shouldered a bag of salt, and walked behind Gao Jiong toward the camp entrance.

At the entrance stood four herders holding broken wooden spears; when they saw strangers approach, the spears were held horizontally in front.

"Who are you?"

Gao Jiong raised both hands to his shoulders and gave the guard a wide grin.

"A traveling merchant from Fengzhou, trading salt and burning liquor, wishing to meet your leader to discuss a small deal."

The guard sized him up, his gaze landing on the bag of white salt on Songqi's shoulder, his eyes rolling twice.

One guard grabbed his wooden spear and ran into the camp, returning after a little over half a incense stick's time.

"The leader permits you to enter, but only with two people."

Gao Jiong bowed slightly.

"Thank you, Sir General, thank you."

He turned back and gave Songqi a signal; behind Songqi another Hidden Agent dressed as a helper followed, and the three of them followed the guard into the camp.

Qifugu's Royal Tent stood in the center of the camp, its tent two rings larger than the surrounding ones, three horses with relatively bright coats tethered outside, and the doorway adorned with a string of bones and beast fangs that jingled in the wind.

The tent curtain was drawn back.

Qifugu sat on a low platform of old Herd of Cattle leather inside the tent, holding a half‑gnawed sheep leg bone, his mouth smeared with oil.

He was a burly man, shoulders as wide as a door panel, neck muscles twisted into cords, the top of his head shaved on one side, a thick braid on the right side wrapped with several eagle feathers.

His eyes scanned Gao Jiong from head to toe, then back again, and he took a bite of the sheep leg bone.

"A traveling merchant? From Fengzhou?"

Gao Jiong bent over and walked three steps in front of the low platform, smiling as he set the two jars of burning knife and ten jin of salt on the ground.

"Leader, you have keen eyes; indeed I am a traveling merchant from Fengzhou, having roamed both sides of the Great Wall for seven or eight years, dealing in any trade."

He patted the two jars of liquor.

"These two jars are a Meeting Gift to honor the leader; Fengzhou's spiciest burning knife, a single sip sets the throat ablaze like fire."

He gave the bag of salt a kick.

"These ten jin of refined salt are also complimentary; leader, taste them—they are countless times stronger than the alkaline salt supplied by the Royal Court."

Qifugu tossed the sheep leg bone at his feet, reached for the salt bag, pinched a pinch of salt with his finger and placed it in his mouth.

His tongue swirled twice inside his mouth, and his eyes lit up instantly.

"Fine salt."

He dipped another pinch.

"The salt from the Royal Court is coarser than sand, so bitter it could shatter teeth; where can one find such snow‑white goodness?"

He grabbed half a handful of salt and shoved it into his mouth; the salt was so briny his eyes squeezed into a slit, the muscles at his mouth corners twitched, yet he grinned broadly.

"Exhilarating!"

Gao Jiong bent down, broke the mud seal of a jar of liquor, and the aroma drifted through the tent.

"Leader, taste this."

Qifugu snatched the Wine Jar, gulped two large mouthfuls, coughed several times from the sting, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Strong enough, far hotter than Mamajiu."

He set the Wine Jar on the ground and re‑examined Gao Jiong.

"You bring these goods to the Grassland, what do you wish to trade for?"

Gao Jiong squatted on the ground, tracing a circle on the mud with his finger.

"Cattle, Sheep, Horses—all acceptable; I won't be picky about the small ones."

He lowered his voice.

"If the leader has other good items, such as wolf pelts or eagle hawks, I'll also take them; I can resell them for a good price back home."

Qifugu's mouth corner twitched.

"Your trade isn't small; those ten‑plus wagons out there, are they all salt and liquor?"

Gao Jiong smiled and shook his head.

"Salt and liquor are only half; the other half is tea leaves, as the leader knows, the Grassland eats much meat, and without tea to dissolve the oil, the fat in the belly gets clogged and uncomfortable."

Qifugu's mouth corner twitched again, this time with a hint of smile.

"You traveling merchant are quite the talker."

Gao Jiong's smile widened further.

"In trade, if your tongue isn't slick, you'll starve on the road with no one to pity you."

Qifugu grabbed the Wine Jar, took another big gulp, and rubbed his mouth with his finger.

"Fine, I've seen your goods; stay for two days, we'll negotiate the price slowly."

Gao Jiong bowed, performing a merchant's salute.

"Thank you, leader, for the favor; I am deeply grateful."

That night, Qifugu lit a cluster of campfires on the open ground in front of the Royal Tent.

Next to the fire were several vats of roasted knives brought from Gao Jiong's carriage; Qifugu gathered a few of his trusted commanders to sit on the ground around the fire, with Gao Jiong placed at Qifugu's left side, a steaming bowl of sheep offal soup before him.

Qifugu had already drunk three bowls of roasted knives, his face flushed an abnormal red, and his speech slurred.

"Trader, you've been roaming the two sides of the Great Wall for years, seen a lot. Tell me, how do the days on the Grassland now compare to before?"

Gao Jiong lifted the bowl of sheep offal soup, took a sip, and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

"I'm just a merchant, I dare not speak rashly about the leaders' affairs."

Qifugu patted his shoulder with the back of his hand, the force almost knocking Gao Jiong flat.

"Speak if you must; there are no outsiders here."

Gao Jiong set the bowl down, feigning hesitation.

"If the leader doesn't mind my chatter, let me say what's on my mind."

"Speak."

Gao Jiong's voice was pressed low, low enough that only Qifugu and a few people nearby could hear.

"I've trekked the Grassland for seven or eight years; when I first came, the little tribes on the border lived a hard but bearable life—cattle and sheep were plentiful, and the tents held out against the wind."

He sighed.

"This year, after passing through three more tribes, each poorer than the last, the herders are as thin as dead wood, and more than half the cattle and sheep have died."

Qifugu's chopsticks paused in his hand for a moment.

Gao Jiong continued.

"Along the way I met a few herders who fled other tribes; they said the Royal Court's conscription edict and grain tax have more than doubled this year, some tribes even had their winter livestock seized, and come spring they won't be able to muster a single breeding cow."

Qifugu slammed his chopsticks onto the ground.

"I don't know which families those tribes belong to, but the situation of my Qifu Tribe is no better!"

His voice rose, the alcohol fanned the fire in his chest upward.

"That tyrant of the Royal Court who only cares about his own survival—when Jinshan fought the Turkic People, my Qifu Tribe sent fifteen hundred strong men, fewer than four hundred returned alive."

He hammered his fist onto his knee.

"The war ended with no words of consolation; then they turned and ordered us to pay double the livestock tax and requisition three hundred warhorses."

One of the commanders beside him also cursed.

"Our tribe's warhorses plus herding horses total just over seven hundred; taking three hundred in one go—what are we supposed to ride to herd? Cattle?"

Another commander downed a bowl of wine, his voice even louder.

"The Royal Court's aristocratic lords live in the warmest tents, eat the fattest sheep, drink fine wine bought from the Central Plains—when will they ever care about the lives of us on the border!"

Gao Jiong lowered his head in the firelight, his mouth twitched slightly, then he suppressed it.

Qifugu's emotions grew more intense; he grabbed the Wine Jar, tipped his head back and gulped several mouthfuls, the wine spilling from his mouth and running down his chest.

"I originally thought I could just endure it, but who's to blame when it's the Royal Court?"

He slammed the Wine Jar onto the ground, his breath reeking of wine.

"But do you know what infuriates me most?"

Gao Jiong looked up at him.

"What?"

Qifugu's voice dropped half a register, hoarse from suppressing his fury.

"He Lan Tribe."

His teeth chattered.

"The Qifu and He Lan have been at war for thirty years; that prime wind‑sheltered meadow was originally ours, but the Royal Court favored the He Lan Tribe and awarded the meadow to them."

"In the Battle of Jinshan, my Qifu Tribe sent fifteen hundred strong men; how many did the He Lan Tribe send? Three hundred! Three hundred useless slackers!"

He kicked the empty bowl in front of him over.

"Why do we contribute the most yet receive the least? Why do they monopolize the best meadow while we have to huddle in this cracked wind‑hole eating sand?"

Gao Jiong blinked in the firelight, his fingers tapping his knee twice without a hint of emotion.

Then he spoke, his tone still the low‑key, smooth cadence of a merchant, yet every word struck Qifugu's most sensitive nerve.

"Leader, your point is well taken; after traveling through so many tribes, I've found one thing— the Royal Court doesn't ignore life and death, it only cares about those connected to itself."

"The He Lan Tribe chieftain married a Royal Court aristocrat's daughter, making them kin; even sending three hundred strong men they still get the best meadow."

"Your Qifu Tribe sent fifteen hundred lives, but lacking that connection, in their eyes you are just the ones providing muscle, and once used up, they're tossed into a corner."

Qifugu's complexion changed layer by layer, from red to purple, then to a steel‑blue.

The commanders beside him fell silent, the crackling of the fire sounding especially loud in the hush.

Gao Jiong sighed again, feigning a look of reluctant compassion.

"I spoke out of turn; leader, don't take it to heart—these are matters of the great ones, and I'm just a traveling merchant, unable to manage so much."

He stood, patting the dust from his seat.

"Night is deep; I'll rest on the carriage, and tomorrow we'll discuss business with the leader again."

Qifugu remained silent, sitting by the fire, gripping the hilt of a curved blade, his knuckles tightening one by one.

Gao Jiong turned and walked toward the caravan, back straight, a faint smile curving his mouth in the darkness.

The next day, Gao Jiong spent half a day bargaining with Qifugu, agreeing on a price—selling half of the carriage's coarse salt and roasted knives to the Qifu Tribe at thirty percent below market, receiving twenty half‑grown calves and a pile of wolf hides in return.

Qifugu was delighted, feeling he had gotten a great bargain.

At dusk, Gao Jiong again carried a vat of wine to find Qifugu.

This time no one else was present; only the two of them inside the Royal Tent.

Qifugu sat cross‑legged on the low platform, still clutching the Wine Jar.

Gao Jiong sat across from him, his voice half a tone lower than last night.

"Leader, I went around the camp today and discovered something."

Qifugu tipped a mouthful of wine.

"What is it?"

Gao Jiong's fingers drew two circles on the ground.

"Your Qifu Tribe may be poor, but the brothers' spirit is not lacking; each is broad‑shouldered and massive, with killing intent in their eyes, clearly veterans of war."

He pointed toward the east.

"Yet, leader, with so many fine men, you nest in this poorest Wasteland drinking the northwest wind, while the neighboring He Lan Tribe, those softbones, occupy the best wind‑sheltered meadow, raising the fattest Herd of Cattle and Sheep."

He shook his head.

"I haven't studied many days, but I know a saying—'the capable take the position.'"

Qifugu's Wine Jar paused a beat in his hand.

"What do you mean?"

Gao Jiong's voice carried a perfectly timed urging.

"Leader, your troops are strong and your horses robust, yet you endure petty contempt; why should the He Lan Tribe, those softies hiding behind women's skirts, ride atop you?"

Qifugu's pupils contracted half a degree.

Outside the tent, wind whooshed against the tent's leather, producing a muffled crack‑crack.

Qifugu gripped the Wine Jar, his five fingers crushing a ring of the mud seal on the altar wall.

Inside the tent, silence lingered for a long while.

Finally, Qifugu spoke first, his voice so low that only two could hear.

"You are right."

He tipped the Wine Jar for a big gulp, the spilt wine splashing onto his chest.

"Do you know what that means?"

He set the Wine Jar down on the ground.

"The Qifu Tribe's assets are this thin: the curved blades have gaps with no fresh iron, the arrow shafts are made from reed poles, what can they use against the He Lan Tribe? Their backs are backed by the Royal Court; if I move a single finger, the Royal Court's army will crush down, turning the entire Qifu Tribe into ice sculptures in the Xuedi."

Gao Jiong lowered his head, the curve at his mouth flickering faintly in the firelight.

The timing was right.

But one more bundle of firewood was still needed.

He said nothing further, stood up and took his leave.

"Leader, you are right; this matter truly isn't something a lowly merchant can meddle in. I spoke out of turn."

Qifugu stared at his silhouette for a long while, his finger rubbing back and forth on the curved blade's hilt.

Gao Jiong stepped out of the Royal Tent, cold wind flooding his collar, cooling the thin sweat on his back.

He walked to the caravan side, and Songqi came forward.

"Chief, how did the talks go?"

Gao Jiong tucked both hands into his sleeves, his voice as light as if he were asking what to eat today.

"Just missing a natural disaster."

Songqi didn't understand.

"What?"

Gao Jiong lifted his head and looked at the sky.

In the northwest horizon, the cloud layer hung low, a thick gray‑black mass, as if something was gathering strength behind it.

He tightened his sleeves.

"Wait for it."