Chapter 162: The Red Eyebrows

After Diwu Lun "coerced" Chai Rong and brought him to the front line, things took an interesting turn.

Forced to relay Diwu Lun's orders, Chai Rong informed the commandery troops' various Majors, Company Commanders, and junior officers — and the county soldiers who had earlier stood motionless as mountains under Subordinate Clerk Shi Xiong's command, their bowstrings frozen too stiff to draw, now obediently began marching toward Wulu City, though their movements remained very slow.

Diwu Lun thought to himself, "This is the norm at the end of a dynasty. The court cannot command the commandery's two-thousand-bushel officials, because the provincial grandees each harbor their own schemes — who knows how many are sitting back waiting to see who wins or loses."

But while the two-thousand-bushel officials no longer feared central authority, they themselves, parachuted in from above, could not command the various counties and powerful local clans either, and could only rely on and defer to them.

In the end, it was the local strongmen whose word carried weight, because the commandery troops were squeezed at every level and could not even be guaranteed food and clothing. The great strongmen, however, could directly hand out benefits to the military officers, and through them control the rank and file — exactly as in the scene before his eyes: Chai Rong's words carried more weight than Diwu Lun and Shi Xiong combined.

No matter how vast an empire the Qin and Han built through conscription, no system in the world goes two hundred years without rotting. The signs were already visible in the time of Emperor Wu of Han: military merit ranks had become worthless, the conscription system was nearing collapse, while the recruitment system grew ever more appealing. Countless men paid to avoid service, so the government simply collected a "substitution fee" and directly recruited the able-bodied.

After a century of accumulated abuses, it was now beyond cure. Local governance grew ever slacker, and after Wang Mang's drastic campaigns against the Xiongnu and Juding, the troops had to be filled out by press-ganged conscripts.

As for the commandery soldiers, did they willingly take up this trade for some illusory honor or unfulfillable merit? Of course not — it was for money and a bowl of food!

In theory the court's public soldiers, they had thus turned into mercenaries. Whoever feeds them is their father!

Diwu Lun basically controlled the financial authority over several counties in the commandery and had food in hand, but he was not very inclined to feed them — for no other reason than that the commandery troops were too slippery, untrustworthy, and their combat strength was a mystery.

Diwu Lun had heard that those Yanzhou commandery troops who followed Jing Shang to Mount Tai to exterminate Fan Chong could march barely ten li at a slightly quickened pace and still manage to scatter and rout themselves.

Fortunately, their opponents were no more impressive. When they reached Wulu City, they saw a dense mass of refugees and bandits.

Altogether seven or eight thousand strong, they stood in a chaotic jumble — no formations, no banners, just following their village headmen and gang chiefs. The refugee bandits from Pingyuan had overrun a few rural settlements along the way and seized some armor and weapons, but the proportion was still extremely small.

From their weapons one could basically guess their trades before they became refugees: those carrying hoes and shovels were farmers, those wielding fish spears and draped in fishing nets were fishermen, and those massed together using bows were hunters — all poor wretches who could not go on living, driven beyond retreat by floods and harsh governance, gathered together seeking only to survive.

"So why do they want to attack Wulu City?" This was what Diwu Lun could not figure out. Drifting between the Yellow River and the Ji River, raiding small rural settlements was easy and could keep yielding food through plunder — yet this force stubbornly came to smash against Wulu City, which was bound to draw reinforcements from every commandery.

They did not even have proper siege equipment, yet had been assaulting Wulu City for days, attacking by moth-scaling — that is, a disorderly mob swarming and clambering up the walls, climbing up on anything — but like moths flying into a flame, they left only several hundred corpses fallen beneath the walls, and Wulu City still could not be taken.

After all, the several hundred defenders inside knew that if the refugees got in and destroyed the tombs of the Child King of Yuancheng, Wang He, and the Qing King of Yangping, Wang Sui, even if they did not die on the spot, they would be dealt with by the furious Emperor.

Ma Yuan, mounted on horseback and gazing into the distance, narrowed his eyes and said, "Though they are many, they are scattered and disordered, not worth fearing."

He had once routed several hundred Yellow Marsh bandits with just a hundred men and smoothly incorporated them, and knew that the bandits' will and discipline were only worse than the commandery troops'. He pointed at the several hundred men clustered around a cart among the refugees: "Those are the bandits' elite, with a modicum of discipline. Look at that cart — that should be where the gang chief Chi Zhaoping is, no?"

The refugees had already stopped attacking Wulu City and turned around to face the commandery troops in a noisy mob. Although they took Chi Zhaoping as their leader, beneath her they were divided into many small gang chiefs, who had opposed her insistence on attacking Wulu City from the start. Seeing that they had indeed drawn government troops, they now began withdrawing from the battlefield without hesitation, taking their followers and fleeing elsewhere.

With this flight, the refugees instantly fell into great chaos, all wanting to slip away too. They always avoided the strong enemy and struck the weak. Chi Zhaoping, however, had her trusted followers kill a few men to steady the line. Still unwilling to give up on Wulu City, she sent several gang chiefs to probe the quality of the Weicheng commandery troops and see whether they were as useless as those from Heping and Shouliang commanderies.

However decayed the commandery troops were, they still had the advantage of armor and weapons; however lacking in order, they still had banners and drum signals. Seeing the forest of gleaming armor and blades, only a fool would charge head-on. Only those refugees who believed unwaveringly in the "immortal" talk Chi Zhaoping preached — who believed that if they dug up Wang Mang's ancestral tombs, their homeland could be delivered from the floods — came charging forward with loud shouts.

The commandery troops were very good at reading the situation. Seeing the refugees getting serious, they no longer demanded rewards first. The bows and crossbows in their hands loosed in disorder, pinning a dozen or so men dead to the ground. The screams and blood of their comrades sobered the refugees behind them, who immediately halted the charge and retreated.

More and more gang chiefs withdrew on their own, and half of Chi Zhaoping's force was retreating. She also reckoned that the commandery troops numbered as many as two thousand, and with the garrisons of Wulu City and Yuancheng, her side probably could not match them, so she too ordered her cart driven to the rear.

Seeing the refugees flee at the first touch, Shi Xiong was overjoyed: "Grand Governor, this is the perfect moment to pursue the fleeing and chase the routed — we are sure to reap a rich harvest of heads!"

And then what? Would Wang Mang reward you and the soldiers? Could he not see that the commandery troops had already packed up and sat down on the ground? Moreover, Diwu Lun always felt a measure of pity for these refugees who had been driven to banditry with no way out. Slaughtering them was never as free of hesitation as chopping off Xiongnu heads.

But Diwu Lun still signaled Ma Yuan to pursue them a little, for no other reason than to let the new recruits who had trained for over two months see blood — just as he had once dragged the Boar-Rush Braves to fight Lu Fang for the same purpose.

The newly organized troops Ma Yuan brought were clearly distinct from the commandery soldiers — not only because Diwu Lun treated them as his personal force and emptied the armory to equip them, making their armor and weapons sharper, but also because they all wore yellow scarves on their heads.

In fact, most of these new recruits had also been bandits from Wei Commandery. Diwu Lun had earlier worried they would not be able to bring themselves to strike at refugees, but when Ma Yuan led them in pursuit, the new recruits' performance astonished him.

"Lord Diwu clothes us and feeds us — whoever Lord Diwu tells us to hit, we hit!"

Some even justified it to themselves like this: "We are all men of Henei, Dong Commandery, and Wei — we speak the same tongue. But these refugees are outsiders from downstream commanderies, with different accents. Killing them doesn't count as killing people."

And so when these "Yellow Scarves" were ordered to raise the butcher's blade against their poor brethren, they showed no mercy at all. Some even displayed a certain bullying excitement, forming a stark contrast with the commandery troops who followed lazily behind.

It was only because Diwu Lun had stressed in advance that the goal was merely to drive the refugees out of the territory — counting only live captures, not severed heads — that the Yellow Scarves, who would otherwise have pursued without stop, were reined in, and they brought back some captives and a slow-running minor gang chief.

This called for a thorough interrogation. Diwu Lun felt that the Yellow River flood zone was also a good recruiting ground — like the Yellow Marsh, plant a banner and offer food, and you could certainly recruit plenty of soldiers — but he had to get clear on its composition first.

Furthermore, the common people of this age had little sense of nation or ethnicity and were extremely xenophobic, with severe regional prejudice — anyone with a different accent was regarded as an alien. Soldiers from different commanderies had to be divided into separate battalions, or they would start fighting among themselves. Recruiting could not be rushed; it required long-term planning.

Chai Rong lavished flattery on Diwu Lun, fawning over his composed command and the routing of a great foe.

Shi Xiong, for his part, was still not satisfied and continued to lament the withdrawal of the refugees' main force, unaware that Diwu Lun had let it happen deliberately.

Diwu Lun glanced sidelong at the commandery soldier lords: "These commandery troops are not enough to accomplish anything. If we need to deal with the Li clan of Wu'an, they cannot be relied upon — but they are more than enough to ruin things. Better to use the pretext of guarding the Emperor's ancestral tombs nearby and transfer Chai Rong and a thousand commandery troops to Yuancheng. That will divide his attention and spare me from worrying about my rear at the critical moment."

Chai Rong was a hidden danger, but he could not be killed — not by Diwu Lun's own hand.

Diwu Lun looked at Shi Xiong: "I need to prop up this useless Subordinate Clerk Shi Xiong, use today's events to sow a little discord, and make him and Chai Rong fight a hundred battles a day, so the two check each other and both need my support."

So after releasing Chai Rong and letting him leave, Diwu Lun summoned Shi Xiong and sighed: "The Grand Governor controls the people and the Subordinate Clerk controls the troops — that is the custom of this dynasty. In today's engagement, command should have rested with the Subordinate Clerk, yet I overstepped my role. I hope you will not take offense."

"I understand — in extraordinary times one can only use expedient authority. It was fortunate the Grand Governor was here today; otherwise, whether the refugees could have been repelled is another matter." Shi Xiong was somewhat embarrassed. The way the commandery troops had played him was truly unforgettable, whereas Diwu Lun's slight maneuvering had opened his eyes. Diwu Lun also hinted to Shi Xiong that they stood on the same side.

Shi Xiong thought to himself, "Thanks to Grand Governor Diwu, I now see clearly — the one obstructing my control of the commandery troops is none other than Chai Rong. If I just coerce him, or eliminate him, the commandery troops will obey my orders…"

"I've learned my lesson!"

…

Chi Zhaoping and her people retreated to the northeast. In this reckless assault on Wulu City, they had first lost several hundred beneath the walls, then lost several hundred more when Diwu Lun sent his new recruits in pursuit. The gang chiefs seized the chance to go their own ways, and as a result, of the seven or eight thousand she had gathered in the Yellow River flood zone, at least half had scattered.

Yet even so, Chi Zhaoping could not stop turning her head to look back at Wulu City.

Yuancheng, Wulu, the Wang family ancestral tombs — these were the concrete symbols of her hatred for the court. Why should we innocents downstream have to take the calamity for the imperial temple?

Those with nothing are more inclined to gamble, and she herself had half come to believe those words.

"Take Yuancheng, and we will have our revenge; destroy the tyrant's ancestral temple, and the great flood on the plains will recede!"

Chi Zhaoping had already made this the goal of the rest of her life. She had raised her troops only a short time; next, she must constantly preach it to her followers, make them believe it too, and be willing to stake their lives on this deed.

But this probe had also made Chi Zhaoping understand that attacking Yuancheng was nothing like striking a small rural settlement — it would absolutely draw swift reinforcement from government troops. Her strength was simply not enough.

"Then seek outside aid."

Chi Zhaoping had risen by liubo and babo dice-casting; the bone dice in her hand, besides gambling, could also be used for divination. She tossed the dice high, and when they landed in her palm and she opened it to look — it was a greatly auspicious number!

"There are rumors on both banks of the great river, saying, 'In the rivers and lakes there is a bandit, calling himself King Fan, surnamed Liu, ten thousand men in a column, refusing amnesty, aiming to shake Qin and Luoyang!'"

"Everyone says that Fan Chong is none other than Liu Xin, who rose in arms together with Zhai Yi over ten years ago. He must also hate the Xin and want to dig up the Emperor's ancestral tombs."

"Send men to the east, to Mount Tai, to seek King Fan!"

"Tell him: Chi Zhaoping of Pingyuan is willing to be a 'Giant' under his command!"

…

Over four hundred li east of Yuancheng County in Wei (Guan County, Shandong) lay Mount Tai.

At this very moment, the "King Fan" Chi Zhaoping spoke of cut an utterly grassroots figure. Fan Chong's hair was a wild mess, his curly whiskers made his face look huge, and he sat cross-legged on a stone couch draped in tiger skin.

One hand was raised high, catching lice under his armpit — they loved to live in the hair and down below, especially when no one bathed all winter. Fan Chong casually pinched one, and with a squelch it popped, not a care for appearances. He had lived like this for decades.

Hearing the captured imperial army scout tremblingly address him as King Fan, he burst out laughing.

Then his face hardened: "Drag him out and behead him!"

"I hate it most when people cook up nonsense about my origins."

Fan Chong needed no one to wait on him. He scooped water with a gourd and drank, cursing between gulps: "My family's from Langya, eight generations of tenant farmers and paupers. All my life I've loathed those princes, marquises, generals, and ministers. Whoever dares again to say I'm Liu Xin, or call me 'King,' I'll kill without fail!"

Fan Chong was born in bitter hardship, sick to death of being trampled underfoot. Yet now, having turned his fortunes to become the most notorious bandit chieftain in the land, he did not, like Chen Sheng and Wu Guang, cry "Are princes, marquises, generals, and ministers born to it?" Instead, he demanded his men, like him, keep the plain titles of common folk.

Fan Chong styled himself "Elder," while his capable lieutenants — Pang An of Langya, Xu Xuan of Donghai, and others — were called "Attendants," and below them "Clerks," all titles of village officials known to country folk. For everyday address, they used "Giant."

So Fan Chong liked being called Fan the Giant, or Elder Fan — it felt close to home!

Though their force had swelled to tens of thousands, there was still no elaborate ritual. The only rules were death for murder, compensation for wounding, and keeping order by word alone — no documents, no banners, no formal battalions, no commands.

Yet this seemingly loose band, under Fan Chong's leadership, fought with ferocious strength. From Langya they battled to Mount Tai, becoming a real power, mauling commandery troops and drawing the court to send General Jing Shang to strike them.

As spring opened, Jing Shang began massing tens of thousands of troops, closing on Mount Tai from Dongping to the west. Jing Shang led one column himself, the Inspector of Yan Province led another, and the Inspector of Qing Province a third.

Their military decisions were thrashed out while a bunch of them picked lice off each other.

"Let them come however many ways — I'll just gather our forces and fix on Jing Shang! Once we smash him, the rest of those provincial inspectors and commandery troops are nothing to worry about!"

Fan Chong crushed a louse, bloated purple with blood, dead against the stone table — as if it were the imperial army.

Unlike Chi Zhaoping, who retreated before strong foes, Fan Chong and his men had no fear at all. Jing Shang had been encircling them for over half a year; who knew how many of their families and village kin had died at the imperial army's hands. Even if it meant moths flying into flame, they had long since lost any choice — they could only fight the imperial army to the end!

Right at the foot of Mount Tai, one great battle!

Someone raised a point: "Among the government troops and commandery soldiers, there are plenty of conscripted laborers, ragged just like us. If we don't tell them apart when battle is joined, we might kill the wrong people."

Unlike that Yellow Turban great leader in Wei, Fan Chong and his men were trapped near Mount Tai by the government forces, so hard-pressed they could not even get cloth strips to wrap around their foreheads. But Fan Chong laughed heartily: "Isn't that simple?"

He stepped outside the stone cave. Spring rain had just fallen, the mountain soil was damp. Fan Chong simply bent down and scooped up a handful of earth — the soil these farmers loved best. The mountain had red loam, a reddish-brown, the very color of the underclass and prison garb.

Fan Chong smeared his hand with the reddish mud and slowly painted it onto his own eyebrows, creating a pair of exaggerated red brows.

The Mount Tai bandits followed suit. Every one of them, just like Fan Chong, dipped into the mud and helped each other smear it onto their eyebrows. They looked at one another and roared with laughter, then, bearing their crude weapons and singing the songs of Qi and Lu, they followed Fan Chong to the decisive battle with the government troops!

That day, on Mount Tai, ten thousand men all bore red eyebrows!

This would become their mark and their new name.

"The Red Eyebrow Army!"

…

PS: Chapter 2 at 13:00.

(Chapter 3 at 18:00.)