Chapter 584: End of Volume Three

"This is the master's home for today. This servant has tidied it up properly, and humbly invites the master to stay."

In Henan Yiyang County, several thick columns of black smoke rose within the city, and countless wails echoed above the rooftops.

On City Wall Street in South City, naked corpses lay everywhere. Bloodstains visible all around had frozen into ice, following the grain of the stone slabs and solidifying into dark red ice blocks. In the middle of the street knelt an entire row of commoners, all clutching their heads and weeping bitterly.

Steward Tang Guihe stood before a residence gate, speaking cautiously to the household head, Wang Dashan, who stood in front of him.

Wang Dashan wore a Red Padded Jacket, a Ming Army winter garment. It was not a new coat; there were even some dark bloodstains on it, stripped from a fallen Ming soldier some days ago.

This garment happened to fit Wang Dashan's build and was quite warm. Among the Roving Bandits, there was no taboo about dead men's clothes being unlucky — as long as it kept out the cold, it would do.

Over ten Servants under his command stood respectfully before the residence gate, waiting for Wang Dashan to enter the house first.

Wang Dashan glanced not far to the side. There stood a large compound with a dedicated gatehouse and stone lion-like carvings before the gate. It looked extremely imposing, and living inside would surely be very comfortable.

Before the gate of the large compound was a group of people. Their leader was somewhat plump. Some commoners knelt on the ground, faces tilted upward. Several men in red clothes were cutting at their faces with small knives. Those commoners let out agonized wails from time to time. On the foreheads of a few beside them who had already been carved, the blood had not yet dried, and the characters written were "Heavenly King."

This was a common form of branding in the Roving Bandit camps. With these two characters on one's head, running into government troops made it very easy to get one's head chopped off — similar to the queue-shaving of the Qing army, it prevented Servants from fleeing. Those being branded were all newly captured Servants.

Tang Guihe said in a low voice, "Reporting to the master for his awareness, just now while you were away, Gang Leader Xu happened to come by. He said that compound was claimed long ago, and he is the Old Camp Chief. This small man dared not dispute him, and begs the master's punishment…"

Wang Dashan snorted coldly, his gaze dark and chilling as he glared at the gate over there. The dozen or so Servants on both sides were frozen silent with terror. Even Wang Dashan's own woman shrank back, clutching her child and not daring to look at him.

Gang Leader Xu was somewhat plump and stood there chatting and laughing with others, utterly oblivious. This had always been the rule in the Western Camp — houses were chosen according to rank. Though Wang Dashan was displeased, he was, after all, only a Team Leader, still a generation behind a Gang Leader in seniority.

After a long moment, Wang Dashan finally said, "Those who want clothes, go strip them."

The surrounding Servants dropped the work in their hands and rushed to tear the clothes off the commoners. At once, the street filled with the sound of weeping. Those commoners dared not resist, only crying and wailing without end.

Suddenly, a team of red-clad men surged out from the street corner. Wang Dashan turned to look and saw the Eight Great Kings, wearing a melon-rind cap, appear on the street.

The Gang Leaders and Team Leaders in the street immediately began shouting and cursing loudly, ordering the Servants to clear the road, driving those commoners stumbling and crawling to the roadside.

Wang Dashan was somewhat nervous. He had been in the Western Camp for so long and had seen Eight Master many times, but had never exchanged words with Eight Master. Every time he saw him, his whole body went rigid.

Even Wang Dashan's cheeks were a little stiff. He forced out a rigid, awkward smile.

The Eight Great Kings did not look at him at all, but went straight up to Gang Leader Xu. "Where is the man who can buy Huzhou Silk?"

Gang Leader Xu hurriedly pointed to a person beside him. "This is the man. He says he can deliver it to this place."

That man was about to speak, but the Eight Great Kings cut in, "Where do you get the goods from, and how much can you supply?"

"This small man's cousin runs a silk shop in Luoyang. It depends on how much the master wants."

"First deliver three cartloads. I'll pay you extra in silver."

"Then it will be convenient for this small man to go to Luoyang to handle the goods. I beg the master not to leave characters on my face…"

Zhang Xianzhong waved a hand. "You take the message. If the goods don't come, then you spoke false words, and the master will take your head. What use do you still have for a face."

That man froze. Zhang Xianzhong then said to the men behind him, "Find someone to help him deliver the letter. Send a few more men. There are many local bandits on the road; don't let him die and ruin the matter."

"This small man obeys the order."

"Silk and satin will be useful. Pay extra silver for all of it."

The men behind him acknowledged the order again and went off to speak with that man.

Zhang Xianzhong stood in the middle of the street speaking. No one around him dared move, not even daring to breathe loudly. The crying and clamor outside seemed as distant as the edge of the sky.

Gang Leader Xu sidled over, pointing at a person kneeling on the ground. "Reporting to the master for his awareness, this man kicks the ball well, and his shuttlecock kicking is even more pleasing to watch. If the master likes, keep him to amuse the master."

Zhang Xianzhong suddenly cursed, "Donkey Ball's balls! I, your old man, don't kick balls. What use is keeping him."

Gang Leader Xu immediately said, "Then this small man will kill him at once."

The ball-kicker kneeling there burst into loud sobs upon hearing this. The other commoners in the street were already terrified and had endured for so long. Hearing the crying, they finally all began to wail together.

Zhang Xianzhong had already started back the way he came. Hearing this, he stopped and cursed angrily, "What use is keeping these people! Their crying is just plain annoying!"

Gang Leader Xu hurriedly said, "Kill them all together, clean and done."

Suddenly, a trembling voice from the side said, "This small man has a matter to report to Eight Master."

Zhang Xianzhong turned his head to look. Wang Dashan hurriedly knelt.

"What matter."

"Th-this… this small man reports to the master. This small man has a plan. We can cut off these people's hands, and Eight Master will have even greater renown."

Gang Leader Xu beside him pointed at Wang Dashan on the ground. "Eight Master said kill. What use is cutting off a hand? Naturally, killing brings greater renown…"

Zhang Xianzhong ignored him and spoke directly to Wang Dashan. "Which hand to cut off?"

"In reply to Eight Master, let them stretch it out themselves." Wang Dashan caught his breath. "Whoever stretches out the left hand first, cut off the left hand first, then cut off the right hand. Whoever stretches out the right hand first, only cut off the right hand."

"What is the reasoning?"

"People are all accustomed to using their right hand. Those who stretch out the right hand first are honest. Left with one hand, they still won't dare oppose the master."

Zhang Xianzhong's yellow face bore a slight smile. "Is cutting off the head not more frightening than cutting off a hand?"

"Once the head is cut off, they are buried, and others later won't see them. Let them keep their lives and walk around everywhere begging to survive with a severed hand. Wherever they go, the people there will know the master's renown, and from then on won't dare oppose the master." (Note 1)

The street fell into dead silence. Everyone looked at the kneeling Wang Dashan with varied expressions. Some also stole glances at Zhang Xianzhong from the corners of their eyes, wondering how this unpredictable Eight Great Kings would actually react.

Zhang Xianzhong suddenly let out a loud laugh and said, "Which household head do you follow, and what is your seniority?"

"I follow Master Wenxiu. A minor Team Leader."

Zhang Xianzhong turned toward the commoners by the street. "They just heard this. They will certainly stretch out their right hands first, which means none of them are honest. Cut off both hands together. You will do the cutting."

Amid a chorus of wails, Wang Dashan raised his head to look at Zhang Xianzhong. "This small man obeys the order."

Zhang Xianzhong walked over to a Carriage by the roadside, reached out and picked up a Copper Basin. "You are promoted to Gang Leader, still following Wenxiu. That Yang Sichang has led troops in pursuit. I, your old man, cannot beat him. We go west into the mountains. The road is hard to travel. Don't bring anything irrelevant."

"This small man has noted it down."

"That accent of yours, where did you come over from?"

"In reply to Eight Master, from Ink Smoke Shop in Susong."

Zhang Xianzhong threw the Copper Basin onto the ground, producing a burst of grating clatter. He looked Wang Dashan up and down for a long moment, then chuckled darkly. "I, your old man, thought Anqing only produced villains. Turns out there's still a good man."

……

In Shipai Town, Anqing, the training ground rang with the chaotic blare of gongs, drums, suona horns, and conch shells. The hooves of over a hundred cavalrymen thundered as they galloped. All manner of clamorous noise mingled together, and among it rose wave after wave of cursing shouts.

"Why isn't the squad leader calling the cadence!"

"Open, open the priming pan, bite the paper cartridge, pour the priming powder…"

"How much priming powder are you pouring! You're spilling gunpowder, this side's missing a tooth — why not bite the other side instead, and you didn't close the pan after loading!"

In front of the Infantry Firearms Battalion's formation, several officers strode rapidly back and forth, bamboo rods swinging ceaselessly — switched to wooden rods in winter — and though padded by cotton coats, the blows still hurt enough to bare teeth in pain; muffled groans sounded continuously through the ranks.

Lu Xiaoma and Zhou Chen stood side by side in line, the two of them focused intently on loading; the deafening din all around made the drill instructors' shouts barely audible, but the bamboo rods waving before their faces were all too conspicuous.

Sweat streamed down Zhou Chen's forehead; the torn opening of the paper cartridge simply would not align with the gun barrel, and a passing instructor swung his rod straight at him — Zhou Chen's whole body shuddered in pain, and the paper cartridge promptly fell to the ground.

The instructor kicked him; Zhou Chen took the blow squarely, and just as the instructor was about to strike again, a ramrod suddenly clattered down from the soldier with the missing tooth beside him.

"You dare drop your ramrod — what are you going to ram the gunpowder with! Was your mother a pig, to give birth to someone this stupid…"

The instructor abandoned Zhou Chen and laid into the gap-toothed soldier beside him in a flurry of blows; Zhou Chen hurriedly dropped to the ground to pick up the paper cartridge — the granular gunpowder had already spilled out. Amid the cacophony, Zhou Chen, drenched in sweat, carefully swept the powder into a pile.

Then, blowing away the dust as he gathered it back into the paper cartridge, he caught sight of another instructor approaching out of the corner of his eye. Not daring to stay crouched, he roughly collected the powder and hastily stood up — just as he rose, that instructor passed by, saw someone moving out of turn, and struck him directly with the rod.

Zhou Chen let out another miserable cry; the instructor had already passed before him, and Zhou Chen's arm trembled.

"Return ramrod, ram, ramrod!"

The squad leader's cadence had already reached "return ramrod"; once the volley command was given, anyone whose gun failed to fire would first get a round of army canings, and those rated poorly for the whole day would be hauled before the entire Banner Team to be cursed out — and on top of that, assigned filthy, exhausting duties like emptying the latrine buckets or standing sentry.

Zhou Chen, frantic with anxiety, finally aligned the paper cartridge with the muzzle; no longer able to be careful, he poured it all in in one go, then crumpled the paper cartridge and stuffed it straight into the muzzle, smoothly drawing out the ramrod. The squad leader was already calling to open the striking hammer; Zhou Chen dared not delay, pressing down just once before pulling it out.

Beside him, Lu Xiaoma, wholly concentrated, had already followed the command and cocked the striking hammer. Zhou Chen at last caught up — with a click, he cocked the striking hammer and raised the gun, awaiting the squad leader's order.

"Ready! Fire!"

A thunderous roar exploded across the parade ground, white smoke billowing through every formation; wood splinters flew from the targets in front of the ranks.

On the reviewing platform, Pang Yu's gaze shifted ceaselessly among the several horizontal lines; the General Officers around him were equally intent.

From what he had observed today, the Infantry Firearms Battalion had assembled from the barracks — Pang Yu had chosen to array them facing the camp gate, a relatively long distance that required two turns along the way; the formation had been somewhat disordered, but they had managed it passably, and afterward, under all manner of interference, had achieved a volley.

That Wu Dacai could train the Infantry Firearms Battalion to this standard within three months already exceeded Pang Yu's expectations.

"For Your Excellency's information, this is the three-row volley. The Swedish Army over in Europe also uses a three-row volley method — first row kneels, second row crouches, third row stands, all three rows firing at once."

Pang Yu looked at Wu Dacai. "And those English Barbarian mercenaries — which method do they say is better?"

"They can't explain it clearly either."

Xie Zhaofa, standing nearby, said, "Three times or once, in the end it's still those fire lances, and it's still killing those men."

"Lord Pang has said that battle is about shattering the enemy's Organization Degree, and Organization Degree is army morale. In my humble opinion, a single volley is better able to break the enemy's morale."

Pang Yu nodded and was about to speak when Pang Ding, beside him, said, "My lord, a letter from Cao Bianjiao has been forwarded from the Capital Silver Bank."

Pang Yu said, startled, "What about?"

"He wants to buy twenty Small Cannons, and asks how much silver is needed."

"Inform the Artillery and Firearm Department: the newly cast bronze cannons are not to be issued for now — set aside twenty of them along with cannonballs. Order Ceng Yiyun to select instructors and prepare. You, reply to the Capital immediately: set the price at fifty taels per cannon, but no matter how much Cao Bianjiao bargains it down, the deal must be concluded. If Cao Bianjiao has no silver, then lend it to him for the purchase. Confirm the delivery location as quickly as possible, and ensure the cannons reach his hands." Pang Yu hastily scanned the letter. "A great war every two years, a middling war every year — I fear the Eastern Invaders are about to come."