Chapter 1: 001 The First Year of Chongzhen

"In the summer of the first year of Chongzhen, drought struck the metropolitan region; for a thousand li the land lay bare." — *History of Ming, Treatise on the Five Elements*.

…

These are hard years for the common folk.

Since the last years of Wanli, in less than twenty years, flood, drought, and locust plagues have struck one after another; the poor masses suffer beyond words.

Even the capital, the foremost of all places, has not been spared.

In the first year of Tianqi, when the new emperor ascended the throne, locusts blotted out the sky across the capital region.

In the first year of Chongzhen, when the new emperor ascended the throne, for a thousand li the land lay bare.

Across the cracked and barren fields, a crowd of famished refugees wandered, lifeless as walking corpses.

The grain shoots had long since withered, the wild grasses could not survive, and the bark had been stripped clean from the trees; even to swallow a lump of earth one had to laboriously search for water to wash it down.

Zhao Vice Minister, bringing his entire family, young and old, trudged blankly forward among the fleeing refugees.

The year before, his aged mother had died of illness.

This year, his eldest son had died of sickness and hunger.

Just days ago, Heaven took pity on the family, and they actually found a great patch of foxtail grass by the riverbank.

They boiled the grass seeds into gruel, eating sparingly, and made it last two days before it was gone.

The whole family doted on the second son, Zhao Han, and he ate the most seed gruel, which instead brought disaster; Zhao Han had not passed stool for several days. The grass seeds had compacted in his belly, and he could not expel them; there was nothing to do but wait for death.

At dusk, the whole family bedded down in the open wilderness.

Vice Minister Zhao took his eldest daughter, Zhao Zhenlan, to scavenge nearby for dead grass and dry branches to build a fire. His wife, née Chen of the Zhao family, took the second daughter, Zhao Zhenfang, and continued trying to help their son Zhao Han relieve himself.

"Han'er, push harder!" Née Chen held a section of branch and carefully prodded and picked at her son's anus.

Zhao Han, trousers down and squatting on the ground, clutched handfuls of withered grass and strained with all his might. In a tearful voice he said, "Mother, your child cannot push it out."

"Almost, almost," née Chen said, tears in her eyes. Her son's anus was already bleeding from the prodding.

After a long while, Zhao Han let out a pained cry, then fainted dead away on the spot.

Née Chen cried out with joy, "It's out, it's out!"

The family had long since run out of food; they could only boil half-withered grass roots and swallow them down with hot water to stave off hunger.

Even grass roots required good luck to dig up, and the whole family was bloated all over from malnutrition.

Their family's condition was still comparatively good — merely bloated. Some of the famished refugees had gone hungry so long that not only was their fat exhausted, but even their muscles had atrophied; skin stretched over bone, they looked exactly like desiccated corpses.

Night fell, and the stars blazed brilliantly.

Zhao Vice Minister, wearing a tattered hemp-cloth robe, gazed up at the starry sky and murmured to himself, "The glorious Great Ming — its mountains and rivers have lost their luster, noxious vapors breed everywhere, the state nears collapse. We scholars of the Confucian school — what can we do? What can we do!"

Zhao Vice Minister was indeed a Confucian scholar; his ancestors for generations had all been Confucian scholars, because the Zhao family's household registration was scholar registration (like merchant registration, a subcategory under commoner registration).

Over a decade ago, the Zhao family had still been fairly well off.

But his examination attempts had cost a great deal, and the family estate had long since declined. In recent years natural disasters struck one after another; last year Zhao's mother fell gravely ill, and he borrowed at usurious rates to treat her. In the end the person was lost, the debt could not be repaid, and they could only sell their land to settle accounts.

At first, they could still borrow money from clansmen and friends, but who could endure it for long? In the eyes of kin and friends, Zhao Vice Minister was like a plague god, and everyone fled from him as fast as they could.

Another day passed, and the fleeing refugee column reached Tianjin, gazing from a distance across the canal at the city walls.

By the riverside, officials and gentry had set up porridge sheds to relieve the people, and Zhao Vice Minister's whole family queued for porridge.

But after only a few hundred people had been fed, a minor clerk shouted, "Today's porridge is gone. Come again tomorrow."

At once, the area around the porridge sheds was filled with heart-rending wails. Some refugees pressed forward to plead and were beaten by the yamen runners until they were barely breathing.

For a thousand li across Northern Zhili the land lay bare; over a hundred thousand famished refugees massed at Beijing and Tongzhou.

Even if the court wished to relieve the people, it would not reach as far as Tianjin. Feeding a few hundred a day was just for show; what little relief funds existed had long since been embezzled.

Suddenly, a party of men in fine clothes on spirited horses arrived. The leader shouted, "Our master is taking adopted daughters. Those between twelve and sixteen, with fair features, are worth half a dou of rice!"

Refugees with daughters rushed forward to inquire, then took their daughters down into the shallow, dried-up canal to wash their faces.

Zhao Zhenlan, just fourteen that year, said to her parents, "Father, Mother, sell your daughter. If you eat sparingly, half a peck of rice can last many days."

Zhao Vice Minister and née Chen both hung their heads in silence.

Zhao Zhenlan forced a smile. "Death is death either way. If you sell your daughter to a great household, even as a maidservant she can stay alive."

Née Chen sighed. "Lan'er, these are no servants of a great house. They are plainly brokers who buy and sell women."

Zhao Vice Minister ground his teeth. "Our Zhao family has been pure and upright for generations. Even if the whole family starves to death…"

"Father, our eldest brother is already gone, and second brother must not die. The Zhao family still needs him to carry on the ancestral line," Zhao Zhenlan pleaded. "Father, Mother, just think of it as giving your daughter a path to live. Your daughter does not wish to starve to death either."

Zhao Vice Minister turned his head to look at Zhao Han. His son was still unconscious, burning with unremitting fever. If he did not eat soon, he would surely die.

For a long time no one spoke. Zhao Vice Minister turned and gazed at the horizon, closed his eyes, and two muddy tears rolled down his cheeks. He waved his hand. "Go."

Née Chen, tears in her eyes, took her daughter's hand and said in a tearful voice, "Lan'er, Mother will wash and comb your hair for you."

The youngest daughter, Zhao Zhenfang, only six years old, watched all this in silence, as if she understood everything, and yet as if she understood nothing.

The North Canal was so dry it could no longer bear boats. Mother and daughter carefully slipped down into the river channel. The river water washed Zhao Zhenlan's face clean, delicate and pitifully lovely, though her cheeks were slightly sunken from hunger.

Then they heard the broker bellow, "No more, no more! The adopted daughters are all taken!"

Née Chen abruptly let out a long breath of relief — at last she would not have to sell her daughter. But then she thought again of how the whole family had no food, and at once sank back into grief and distress.

Zhao Zhenlan walked up to the broker and said, "I can read."

The head broker turned at these words, studied Zhao Zhenlan for a moment, and nodded. "A budding beauty after all."

Zhao Zhenlan added, "My father is a certified scholar. Among my ancestors there were men who held office."

"A family of letters and breeding." The broker grew pleased.

Zhao Zhenlan said, "I am worth three pecks of rice."

"Heh heh, three dou of rice? In times like these, even a young lady of an official house is worth one dou at most." The broker tossed out two bags of rice, both small bags that held half a dou each — one bag would be about five or six jin.

Zhao Zhenlan did not haggle further. She untied the cord sealing one bag, revealing the yellow-brown, long-stored rice within, and forced a smile for her mother. "Mother, your daughter is leaving. You and Father must take care of yourselves."

"Lan'er, you must take care too," née Chen said, wiping away her tears.

The brokers led the young girls away, and Zhao Chen-shi dragged the two sacks of rice off to see her husband.

Six-year-old Zhao Zhenfang only now grasped what was happening and wailed, "Big Sister, Big Sister, I want Big Sister!"

Zhao Chen-shi, her face full of sorrow, soothed her younger daughter: "Fang'er, don't cry. Big Sister has gone to live a good life, she's gone to live a good life."

"I want Big Sister, I want Big Sister!" Zhao Zhenfang kept on crying without pause.

Zhao Vice Minister looked at the two sacks of rice on the ground, then at his weeping little daughter. Grief welled up from within him, and he crouched on the ground, sobbing bitterly.

Suddenly, Zhao Chen-shi pulled out a rusty cleaver. Like a mother hen protecting her chicks, she snarled viciously, "What do you want? Get away, get away now!"

It was a crowd of starving people, eyeing their two sacks of rice, encircling them with predatory stares.

Other famine victims who had sold daughters for rice, if they had no family or fellow villagers to guard them, were mostly surrounded by nearby starving people too. When truly famished, people would even eat human flesh, let alone kill for rice.

Zhao Vice Minister had no time to grieve. He snatched up the staff he used for the road and tried desperately to protect his family's life-saving grain.

Clop-clop, clop-clop-clop...

The sound of hoofbeats approached, from far to near. Every rider carried a weapon.

The twenty thousand or so starving people stood frozen in place as the mounted party swiftly arrived. One man frowned and asked, "Wasn't there supposed to be a gruel distribution today?"

No one answered.

The man dismounted, grabbed one of the starving people, and demanded, "Where is the gruel distribution?"

The starving man answered in terror, "It's already over."

"Damn it, it's not even noon yet. How could it be finished already? Who are you trying to fool?" The man flew into a rage.

Another rider said, "Big Brother, we can't have come all this way for nothing. See if these wretches have anything left worth taking."

These men were horse bandits. Hearing that gruel was being distributed outside Tianjin, they had ridden straight over to seize the grain.

They dared not attack Tianjin city itself, but they had the nerve to rob outside the walls. The troops stationed at Tianjin were a bunch of cowards anyway.

"What's that smell?"

"Someone's cooking gruel over there!"

Several bandits rushed over at these words and snatched the grain the starving people had gotten from selling their daughters. When the victims tried to resist, the bandits cut them down with their blades one after another.

Another bandit shouted, "Whoever still has grain, hand it all over!"

"Run!"

Blood had been spilled. The nearby starving people fled in panic.

Those farther away had no idea what was happening, but they figured running along with everyone else couldn't be wrong. In mere moments, terror spread like wildfire, and over twenty thousand starving people stampeded away in blind confusion.

The bandits singled out anyone carrying a sack. Whatever was inside, they grabbed it first and asked questions later.

Zhao Vice Minister hoisted his feverish, unconscious son onto his back, took one sack of rice himself, made his wife take the other, and shielded his daughter as they fled in terror.

"Ah!"

His wife's agonized cry came from behind him. Zhao Vice Minister whipped his head around.

He saw Zhao Chen-shi already felled by a blade, the grain snatched away by a bandit. His eyes split with rage. He set his son down, his eyes blood-red. "Villains! I'll fight you to the death!"

Zhao Chen-shi, enduring the pain, cried out, "Husband, leave me! Run, run!"

Two legs cannot outrun four. Zhao Vice Minister knew escape was unlikely. He raised his wooden staff and charged back: "Villains, pay with your lives!"

The bandit sneered and kicked Zhao Vice Minister to the ground.

Zhao Vice Minister struggled to his feet. The bandit slashed down with his blade, then stabbed him a few more times to vent his fury. Zhao Vice Minister collapsed in a pool of blood and moved no more.

"Papa, Papa!"

Zhao Zhenfang threw herself forward and shook her father's body with all her might.

"So noisy." The bandit raised his blade to strike.

Another bandit stopped him: "Lao Qi, that's enough. You'd kill a little girl too? Grabbing the goods is what matters."

Only then did the bandit sheathe his blade. He grabbed the two sacks of rice, tied them to his horse, and went on killing and plundering.

In the blink of an eye, the twenty thousand starving people had scattered and vanished, leaving behind only several hundred corpses.

Some were killed by the bandits; even more died trampling each other. Still other famine victims, too weak from starvation to flee, simply lay where they were, waiting to die of hunger.

North of Tianjin city stood a makeshift wooden bridge.

The soldiers guarding the bridge had witnessed the entire scene, but none were willing to come to the rescue.

Not only that, they raised their swords and killed any starving person who tried to cross the bridge. Whether starving refugees or horse bandits, both were a grave menace to Tianjin!

Zhao Zhenfang's throat had gone hoarse from crying, yet her parents still gave no answer. She knew that Papa and Mama were asleep. A month ago, Big Brother had fallen asleep too and never woken up.

The little girl was faint with hunger and stood there in a daze.

After who knows how long, Zhao Zhenfang walked toward a nearby corpse. There, a fire had not yet gone out. Inside a broken clay pot was gruel, and some grains of rice were scattered on the ground.

She carefully scraped the bloodstained rice grains into the clay pot. Imitating her mother, she gathered water from several pots and knelt there, waiting for the gruel to cook.

She could not tell if it was cooked or not, but Zhao Zhenfang could bear it no longer. Weeping as she swallowed her saliva, she used her hands to lift the clay pot out of the fire.

"Ah!"

The little girl's hands were scalded with blisters, yet she endured the pain and did not drop the pot. She set it carefully on the ground.

Then she stood there, frozen, and turned to look at her parents. She stood staring blankly until the gruel had gone cold and still did not come back to herself.

Abruptly, Zhao Zhenfang picked up the clay pot and went to her parents' side. She shook her father's body: "Papa, don't sleep. Get up and drink the gruel. Once you drink the gruel, you won't be hungry anymore."

Her father gave no answer.

She went and shook her mother's body: "Mama, drink the gruel. Drink it and you won't be hungry. Mama, get up and drink the gruel... wuwu, wah-wah-wah..."

A tremendous terror swept over her, and the little girl began to wail.

Gradually, she cried herself weary, cried herself out of strength.

"Water, water, so thirsty..."

The little girl turned her head and saw that it was Zhao Han, speaking with great difficulty. She wiped away her tears and rushed over in joy: "Second Brother, Second Brother, get up and drink the gruel!"

(End of chapter)