Chapter 296: Could This Be a Hidden Paradise?

Fan Zhi was trembling all over with fright; his lips quivering, he clutched the sleeve of Jia Yanchang beside him.

"The Liangzhou Wenmo are fierce indeed, far surpassing the Lanzhou Wenmo!"

Having said this, Fan Zhi still wanted to preserve some of his dignity as an imperial envoy of the court, so he fought to keep tears of despair from falling from his eyes.

The only scene he could recall now was the instant he had passed out the night before.

Last night he and Jia Yanchang had discussed sending riders ahead to Liangzhou to deliver word, but before the riders could even set out, they had been ambushed.

On that snowy evening with a few flakes drifting down, Fan Zhi and Jia Yanchang had been eating flatbread and discussing poetry when those Wenmo men seemed to rise straight out of the ground.

The riders who had shot left and right at Lanzhou and beaten back countless Wenmo bandits' probes were thrown to the ground before they could even react.

Fan Zhi opened his mouth to cry out, but a handful of snow mixed with mud was shoved into it. In less than the time it takes to drink half a cup of tea, all twenty-some of them had been completely subdued.

In that ambush, Envoy Fan had taken a heavy blow to the neck and lost consciousness entirely; when he woke, this was the scene before him.

But the situation seemed a little different from what he had imagined. Just as he finished speaking and was wondering whether he should loudly declare his identity and parley with the enemy, Jia Yanchang, looking deeply embarrassed, took hold of Fan Zhi's hand in return.

"Do not be alarmed, Envoy! These are indeed Liangzhou Wenmo, but they have been subdued by Commander Zhang. This is all a misunderstanding!"

A misunderstanding?

At these words, Fan Zhi's eyes, clouded by a film of moisture, slowly began to clear.

He looked around. Sure enough, they did not look like captives at all, for no one had bound them.

Jia Yanchang had even changed into a new set of clothes, and although Fan Zhi was sitting on the ground, a thick woolen blanket had been spread beneath him.

Directly opposite him, Fan Zhi spotted four warriors who looked fierce-eyed yet somewhat shamefaced and downcast.

But looking at these warriors, Fan Zhi's heart, which had just relaxed, rose again.

If what Jia Yanchang said was true, then the warriors across from him should be the Liangzhou Wenmo followers subdued by that Zhang Erlang, great-grandson of Zhang Yichao.

Yet in such a situation, Fan Zhi did not feel his life was saved, for by the temperament of military men in this age, arrogant and unrestrained as they were,

to say nothing of a petty civil official like himself, even before figures such as a Military Affairs Academician or a Military Governor they were utterly insolent.

Most likely, after such an incident, these soldiers' first reaction would not be to come over shamefaced and apologize, but to decide to finish the job, kill him outright, and then wrangle with the court afterward.

Seeing Fan Zhi awake, Jia Yanchang quickly helped him over to a folding couch at the side and sat him down.

Fan Zhi, however, felt as if he were sitting on pins and needles, but the scene that followed shattered his entire worldview.

After helping Fan Zhi sit down, Jia Yanchang walked straight over and began furiously berating the leader, Wang Tongxin.

Wang Tongxin wiped the spittle from his face and did not dare talk back in the slightest.

How could he talk back? His mother, of the Jia clan, came from the same Jia family as Jia Yanchang, though originally from a marginal branch of the Jias, while Jia Yanchang was the pillar of the Jia lineage.

And after Wang Tongxin had followed Zhang Zhao eastward, Jia Yanchang, on behalf of the Jia family, had brought Wang Tongxin's household into the core of the Jia clan.

Wang Tongxin's younger sister had even been married to Jia Yanchang's nephew — something that would have been unimaginable before.

So now Jia Yanchang was Wang Tongxin's maternal uncle. Scolded by his uncle, how could a nephew dare answer back? Besides, they really had attacked an imperial envoy of the court.

If Wang Tongxin dared not answer back, Wen Chongle, Cui Huxin, and the others dared even less.

Over the past month or two, Zhang Zhao had sent large numbers of civil officials to assist the six Wenmo tribes in migrating, opening up wasteland, and building houses.

These low-ranking civil officials, trained by Zhang Zhao himself and drawn from his maternal grandfather's Song family, had played an enormous role in the six tribes' migration.

At the same time, to establish his authority, Zhang Zhao had compelled the Wenmo tribes to respect the authority of the Military Governor's office's civil officials, and had already had several dozen men caned over it.

And the Hexi and Longyou of this time could be counted as a rare clear stream in this age of extreme military arrogance.

In the eyes of these Wenmo tribesmen, there was no distinction between civil and military officials — only the distinction between officials and commoners, and between greater and lesser ranks of officials.

So the men who had caused this trouble could only let Jia Yanchang rage at them.

But all of this, seen through the eyes of Fan Zhi, who was long accustomed to the brutality and arrogance of soldiers, seemed like something out of a myth.

To say his worldview was shattered would be putting it lightly. In the Eastern Capital of Luoyang, if any civil official dared berate a soldier like that, even if he was not killed on the spot, bandits would break into his house in the middle of the night and finish him.

But as he watched, an irrepressible envy suddenly welled up from Fan Zhi's heart.

For in the Central Plains of this time, a pure civil official actually had very little future.

Not only was his status low, but he had little real power — roughly equivalent to a soldier's paymaster and clerk.

In places with a powerful Military Governor, the authority of civil officials such as County Magistrates had already been eroded almost entirely by the military men; an ordinary squad general could strut and swagger before them.

Having finished berating Wang Tongxin and the others, Jia Yanchang reckoned that Fan Zhi's anger should have subsided somewhat.

So he walked over to Fan Zhi and said, "I never expected that in the few short months since I left, Commander Zhang would already have subdued the Liangzhou Wenmo.

That being the case, Envoy, why not wait with me in this town? We can have them send fast riders to Liangzhou to report. Once Commander Zhang gets word, he will surely send yabing guards to escort us."

Fan Zhi naturally had no objection. Jia Yanchang thought he would be furious, but in truth, Fan Zhi was now extremely grateful to have escaped with his life.

But at the same time, his curiosity deepened about the relatively equal standing between civil and military officials in Liangzhou, and about the man who had brought it about — Commander Zhang Zhao himself.

He now very much wanted to meet this figure who sounded almost legendary, to see what kind of man he really was.

In Liangzhou city, Zhang Zhao was not nearly as angry as Wang Tongxin imagined about the mistaken capture of Jia Yanchang and the imperial envoy from the court.

In fact, Zhang Zhao felt Wang Tongxin had not done anything seriously wrong, although the fellow was unreliable in many ways, especially in his personal life.

But this time, militarily, Zhang Zhao thought he had done nothing wrong. It also reminded Zhang Zhao that Hongchi Ridge was the key pass on the road from Liangzhou to Lanzhou, and that he must send troops to hold it.

He had also keenly seized on one piece of information: Wang Tongxin reported that since Qinzhou, the imperial envoy had suffered multiple Wenmo attacks in Weizhou, and especially in Lanzhou.

To Zhang Zhao this was a golden opportunity that came once in a thousand years, for he had been worrying about where to find fault with the Lanzhou Wenmo — and now they had delivered the handle right into his hands.

Even... Zhang Zhao rubbed his chin. He was even thinking: could he have one or two of the imperial envoy's attendants killed, and pin the blame on the Lanzhou Wenmo?

Fan Zhi of Wucheng Garrison did not know that the greatest threat to his life was not, in fact, the Hexi and Longyou warriors he was worried about, but Zhang Zhao himself — that ruthless commander of the Guiyi Army.

And during these days of waiting for Liangzhou to send troops as escort, Fan Zhi also discovered the greatest difference between Liangzhou and all the other places — whether Lanzhou, Weizhou, or the court-controlled Qinzhou.

For example, Wucheng Garrison had several hundred residents, but Fan Zhi rarely saw them idling in the streets.

These hurrying able-bodied men, and even young women, seemed to have endless work to do in the slack winter season.

In any case, over these past few days he had ridden around on a donkey looking about, and he saw that under the organization of a local petty official, the residents were either building new irrigation channels, leveling roads, or opening up wasteland.

Sometimes they were even organized together for large-scale instruction.

And what was taught was usually an old farmer, clearly bearing Han features, teaching a group of tribespeople who looked to have foreign blood how to select seed, how to plow and sow, and how to skillfully work an ox.

To Fan Zhi this was both astonishing and deeply stirring. In his heart he felt this was exactly what a court ought to be doing.

The courts of the Central Plains were busy fighting each other for supremacy, yet far away in Hexi, a remote frontier regarded as barbarian, he could actually witness the scene of agriculture being encouraged and promoted.

And they did it even better — at the very least, gathering experienced old farmers together to teach farming techniques to other foreign households was something Fan Zhi had never even imagined before.

Fan Zhi stood to the side and watched as the old farmer carefully explained to the others how to plant spring wheat.

Not only did the old farmer speak with extreme care and seriousness, but the Wenmo people listening also paid very close attention.

Although none of them could read or write, they picked up turning the soil, plowing, and working the oxen with astonishing speed.

Watching the scene before him, Fan Zhi felt somewhat dazed.

Dignified officials stood nearby offering patient guidance; the experienced old farmer held nothing back; foreign youths carrying swords and bows on their backs were earnestly learning the arts of cultivation; even young children with hanging tufts of hair did not run about causing mischief, but quietly watched the adults, committing their movements to memory.

Was this not the sign of a sage ruler come into the world?

Fan Zhi suddenly recalled a line once written by Minister Du: "To raise one's lord above Yao and Shun, and make the customs pure again."

In the time of Yao and Shun, should it not have been exactly such a scene as this?

Suddenly his heart gave a jolt — the King of Qin had swept up the six states starting from Hexi and Guanzhong.

Emperor Gaozu of Han had also relied heavily on the strength of Guanzhong to accomplish his imperial enterprise.

The former Tang imperial clan had risen directly from Longyou and Hexi; were the Longxi nobles not precisely the foundation of the Li-Tang?

That Military Governor Zhang already held Hexi. Swallowing Longyou was only a matter of time. Once Hexi and Longyou were both in his hands, what would he want to do next?

The low, drawn-out sound of an ox horn sounded. The old farmer teaching farming techniques stopped, and the able-bodied men and sturdy women all packed up their things and prepared to mount and leave.

Fan Zhi, leading his donkey, stopped the old farmer who was about to depart. "I have listened to you teach the arts of farming and found it most instructive. Do you teach them here every day? And what is the meaning of that ox-horn call?"

The old farmer, seeing that he was neatly dressed, of uncommon bearing, and spoke with an outsider's accent, guessed that he was one of the imperial envoys from the city.

He simply did not expect that this was the envoy himself. Taking Fan Zhi for one of the envoy's attendants, the old farmer cupped his hands toward him and said:

"As for the methods of farming, this old man has labored for more than thirty years, so naturally I have some small insights. Military Governor Zhang also sent men to gather the strengths of various schools and compile them.

How to select seed, how to plow and sow, and so on have all been issued as regulations. This old man only needs to memorize them, and with his own experience, teaching others is naturally not difficult.

As for the ox-horn call, it means the time has come to build the irrigation channels today. Their lesson is now over, and they must hurry off to work on the channels."

Fan Zhi clicked his tongue in amazement after hearing this. That morning he had seen some people go out to reclaim wasteland; at noon they were studying farming; in the afternoon they still had to build irrigation channels.

With such heavy corvée labor, which even sturdy women had to join, how could the common people endure it? The Wenmo had only recently submitted — would this not surely provoke a revolt?

The old farmer saw Fan Zhi's doubt and pointed toward the west.

"Young lord, if you have any doubts, go to the place where the channels are being built and take a look. You will understand at once."

Fan Zhi nodded, cupped his hands in farewell to the old farmer, mounted his donkey again, and ambled off in the direction of the irrigation channels.

He had gone only a few li when Fan Zhi was stunned by the bustling scene before him.

At least a thousand men and sturdy women were laboring hard there. Several broad irrigation channels were being built of earth mixed with wooden frames filled with stones.

It looked as though they intended to divert the waters of the great river winding at the foot of Hongchi Ridge to irrigate the farmland here.

Here he heard none of the weeping and wailing that accompanied corvée levies in the Central Plains courts.

Nor did he see able-bodied men with faces ashen as death, utterly lifeless.

Still less was there any scene of supervising officials lashing out with horsewhips at the slightest dissatisfaction.

On the contrary, here everyone was vying to work, faces brimming with happy smiles. The rhythmic "heave-ho, heave-ho" work chants were extraordinarily spirited — some tamping earth, some hauling stones.

Not far from the channels, cooking smoke rose lazily. Fan Zhi walked over to look: great cauldrons of millet rice, sheet after sheet of coarse-grain flatbread, huge quantities of pickled vegetables, and fresh fish scooped from the river being boiled into fish soup.

"Would this gentleman care for something to eat, if his belly is hungry? Some pickled vegetables and flatbread, and a little fish soup?"

A minor clerk who looked to be in charge of the cooks called out to Fan Zhi.

Fan Zhi hastily cupped his hands. "Officer, I have not labored — may I still eat?"

The clerk gave a faint smile. "Sir, you must be from the court, judging by your look. Here with us, what does a coarse flatbread and a bit of pickled vegetable amount to?"

So saying, he took a large flatbread for Fan Zhi, added some pickled vegetables, and ladled out a bowl of fish soup.

Fan Zhi took a bite of the pickled vegetables. The taste was slightly sour, a little odd, but there was enough salt.

The coarse flatbread was a bit hard, but substantial. One piece would fill even a strong man six or seven tenths full.

The fish soup was also slightly fishy, but it seemed mutton fat had been added, so the flavor was still fairly fresh — it counted as half a meat dish at least.

He nodded, thinking that if the supervising officials could eat food like this, then the laboring men being full was probably not much of a problem.

So he pointed at the crowd laboring joyfully in the distance and said to the clerk, "I have come from the Eastern Capital. Even in the Central Plains I have never seen people perform corvée labor with such high spirits.

May I ask, officer, how have these Wenmo tribespeople become so docile? It is completely different from what I saw in Lanzhou."

Docile? The clerk shot Fan Zhi a startled glance, stepped back a couple of paces, then looked at the bustling crowd in the distance and lowered his voice as if afraid they might hear.

"Sir, do not mention those two words 'Wenmo' again. The Military Governor has issued a strict order: from now on, anyone who dares call these descendants of the Longyou and Hexi soldiers 'Wenmo'

will receive thirty strokes of the army rod — enough to beat a man to death. And furthermore..."

The clerk drawled with a touch of feeling. He was of Liangzhou Han origin, so naturally he knew whether the Liangzhou Wenmo were docile or not.

"These Six Tribes people have never been docile. Those fellows in Lanzhou? What are they worth? They are poor, have little grain, and do not even have many iron arrowheads. They look fierce but in truth amount to nothing.

But the Six Tribes of our Liangzhou are not like that. Many of them are true descendants of the old Longyou soldiers. They are not only fierce and skilled in battle, but can forge their own swords. Their strength is absolutely above Lanzhou's.

The reason they are working so hard now is that this land is not being built for others — it is being built for themselves.

Once the channels are built and the fields reclaimed, they need only go out on campaign and follow the Military Governor to war, and the old and young at home can farm the land and live their own good lives.

And the Military Governor does not make them work for nothing. Though there is no corvée pay, you see this millet rice, flatbread, pickled vegetables, and fish soup — all supplied by the Military Governor."

So all this food was for the laborers. Fan Zhi began to understand.

This Military Governor Zhang truly was a man of ambition! On one hand he worked to erase the Wenmo mark; on the other he built waterworks and reclaimed farmland.

And he paid out of his own pocket to win people's hearts. His designs were great indeed!

Merely looking at the area of a dozen or so li around the Wucheng garrison, everything in good order, the common people and gentry at ease, and the military men not overbearing, it truly could be called a paradise beyond the world.

He made up his mind: if the escort troops from Liangzhou still did not come tomorrow, he would take Jia Yanchang and go directly to Liangzhou.

He wanted to take a good look along the way and see whether all of Liangzhou was as he now saw it.

If it truly was, Fan Zhi could almost be certain that a king capable of ending this age of chaos was gradually emerging.

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