Chapter 91: Little Demons Are Hard to Deal With

Beneath the icy blade, the lame horse stayed as silent as a true lame horse.

The short, fat little foreman also dropped to his knees with a thud, his whole body trembling as he looked at Zhang Zhao.

He had originally thought this was some noble second-generation type he could fool, but it turned out the man knew his business. He worked up his emotions for a moment, then burst out wailing.

"Lieutenant, sir! The mine must send at least ten thousand catties of coal to the royal city and the nearby prefectures every day. If the amount falls short, the nobles won't be able to get through the winter!

If you take away a hundred and fifty veteran miners, this quota absolutely cannot be met. Lowly wretches like us all have masters watching over us. I beg you, Lieutenant, sir, have pity on us!"

He truly was a little foreman — far more glib than the lame horse. As the short, fat foreman wailed, the small work supervisors who had been huddled on the left also knelt down in a dark mass and began howling.

They cried out, begging the master for pity, saying why must the noble lord make things hard for lowly wretches like us — carrying on as if Zhang Zhao were committing some unpardonable crime.

Zhang Zhao laid his hengdao saber across the lame horse's shoulder and sneered.

"Pity? Tell me — are you the pitiful ones, or are they?" Zhang Zhao pointed at the miners, who had no idea what was about to happen but were already too terrified to speak.

"If I'm going to pity anyone, it would be them — never you! Don't tell me you can't meet the daily coal quota for the royal city. Don't tell me these several big mines have no stockpiles at all. Do you really dig exactly ten thousand catties of coal every single day?

Even if you only dug ten thousand catties a day, look at these people in front of you. If your hearts were even a little bit kinder, if you skimmed a little less off their food, if these people's bodies were just a bit healthier — ten thousand catties would be nothing, wouldn't it?

And another thing!"

Zhang Zhao turned and kicked the short, fat foreman flat onto the ground with a heavy blow.

"Do you take me for a fool? Ten thousand catties of coal a day, and there are more than five hundred people here. You're telling me each of them can't dig twenty catties of coal a day? Is your master a Buddha? Going around relieving suffering, is he? So overflowing with grain that he likes keeping idle mouths to feed, is that it?"

The short, fat foreman's wailing stopped at once, and the expression on his face froze. That was the consequence of speaking without thinking — though of course he hadn't expected Zhang Zhao to catch the hole in his words so quickly.

"It seems my sword isn't sharp enough! It's at your neck, and you still dare play hide-and-seek with me!"

Zhang Zhao feigned a sigh, a flash of killing intent passing through his eyes. He truly did not want to kill anyone — especially something like taking another person's life — but these wretches simply insisted on forcing her to stain her hands with blood!

"Lieutenant, sir, don't waste your strength. You should go to the royal city and discuss this with the real masters. Here, even if you kill us servants, it will do no good!"

Go to hell! Zhang Zhao was truly infuriated, and his face darkened.

"So in the eyes of people like you, the edict of the Great Sage Son of Heaven doesn't carry as much weight as those masters who never even show their faces, is that it?"

"What kind of dog or pig are you, daring to speak to the young lord Lieutenant like that? My lord! Let Duojin kill this thieving slave who dares to offend you!"

Qiongre Duojin came running over from behind, his face full of fury. In his hand he held a long Tibetan knife, and a string of Tibetan curses poured from his mouth, aimed at the lame horse kneeling on the ground.

Tibet at this time was a slave society, and for a slave to speak to a noble like this was absolutely the gravest offense.

"Duojin, what are you waiting for? Follow your Tibetan customs — skin him alive!"

Fan Shun was indeed quick-witted. Without waiting for Zhang Zhao to speak, he brought out several men and shouted loudly at Qiongre Duojin.

Qiongre Duojin, upon hearing this, pressed down on the lame horse's head and shoved him to the ground, his knee expertly pinning the lame horse's neck. The long Tibetan knife in his hand was swapped for a short blade.

He uncorked the millet wine Zhang Zhao had tossed aside earlier, took a big swig, then sprayed it all over the lame horse's head. With that bit of wine as lubricant, Qiongre Duojin began scraping the hair off the lame horse's scalp.

"Ah! Buddha! Buddha!"

The lame horse, who had been as silent as a stone just moments before, screamed in terror and began struggling violently.

But Fan Shun and three others held down his limbs, and Qiongre Duojin had his neck pinned. No matter how the lame horse thrashed, he could not break free.

The harsh scraping sound of hair being shaved was unbearably grating, as if it were scraping across the hearts of the little foreman and all the work supervisors. They stopped wailing, their faces filled with panic!

But Zhang Zhao paid them no mind. These people were all beneficiaries of the system — without killing a few, nothing could be gotten out of them.

Bullying such lackeys brought no sense of accomplishment either. He had a better method.

Zhang Zhao waved his hand, and several guards from East River Prefecture blocked a group of men and women who had been frightened witless. They looked to be poor farming folk from nearby, who helped haul coal to the river at the foot of the mountain to earn a little money.

Zhang Zhao had someone take a bolt of white cotton cloth from horseback and tossed it into the arms of the woman at the front.

"Help me cook a meal here. Do it well, and this bolt of cloth is your reward. Of course, you can all eat your fill along with it."

A bolt of white cotton cloth was no small fortune among poor farming households like these, let alone getting a full meal as well.

The woman froze for a moment, then joyfully accepted it. She led the others in kowtowing twice to Zhang Zhao before they began preparing the meal.

The pots and stoves were already there. Several large sacks of millet and polished rice were dumped roughly into the big pots, and soon the fragrance wafted out. Chunks of dried cheese and jar after jar of honey were set out on a battered table.

A cold breeze blew gently, and the kneeling miners swayed like a reed bed stirred by the wind, rocking back and forth with the aroma of the food.

Several hundred people stared at those pots with the eyes of starving wolves, swallowing their now-dry saliva, guttural animal-like whimpers rising from their throats!

Zhang Zhao said nothing. He was waiting — waiting for the boldest among them, the one who would risk his life for a mouthful of food, to step forward.

These miners still did not know what Zhang Zhao had come to recruit people for, nor whether his power was great enough to actually take people away from this mine.

So anyone who dared come forward now was absolutely staking his life on it. The work of tunnel-blasting was not something a man who valued his own life could ever do!

Finally, someone could not hold out any longer!

A man wearing only a tattered robe in the dead of winter, with no shoes on his feet — just a wooden board and some kind of grass bound on with a few kudzu vines — hunched his back, gently shook off the hands in the crowd that were pulling him back, and walked trembling with fear up to Zhang Zhao.

"Master! Are you going to give out food? Surely a noble like you wouldn't eat this stuff?"

He was speaking to Zhang Zhao, but his eyes could not help drifting toward the pots of cooking rice and the cheese stacked on the table!

"You want to eat?" Zhang Zhao smiled faintly.

"Yes! Yes!" The man said "yes" twice in a row!

"Then go. Slap him." Zhang Zhao pointed at the short, fat foreman still kneeling on the ground.

The man woodenly turned his head to look at the short, fat man — this noble who had once seemed like a celestial being in his eyes. He shook his head slightly out of habit, indicating he did not dare!

"Then crawl back! Don't ever expect to eat your fill in this lifetime!" Zhang Zhao curled his lip, his face full of contempt!

"Eat... eat my fill!" The man took two difficult steps backward. He did not dare go up and strike the short, fat man, but after a few steps he could not help turning back, muttering under his breath about eating, about eating his fill.

Zhang Zhao personally took a bowl of millet rice just scooped from the pot, the golden grains piled high.

A large chunk of salted cheese was placed on top of the hot millet rice. The heat of the rice slowly melted the cheese, until it lay across the millet like threads of silk.

It gave off an enticing sheen of grease — the most important source of protein for humans. The pull that a bowl of millet rice soaked in fat had on these poor miners was something people of later generations could never understand.

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