Chapter 142: Here All Along

On the third day of the third month, at Huo Family Manor west of Yonghe County.

This place sits on the border of two provinces, far from any city or town, with barely more than a hundred households — yet when spring shines bright, ancient cypresses on the mountains wreathe in cloud and mist, and the scenery is beautiful beyond measure.

The land here was barren to begin with; in earlier times it was nothing but desolate hills and wild ridges, until a Xiucai named Huo bought up the land and led servants and boys to clear it and build pavilions and terraces.

Later that Xiucai passed the provincial exam and became a Juren, served as an official in the south for over ten years, then returned to his native region and settled here — generation after generation multiplying, until today's Huo Family Manor came to be.

By now, the manor has seen six generations, produced two Juren and seven Xiucai, and the highest-ranking, Old Master Huo, rose to the rank of Yangzhou Prefectural Judge, principal sixth grade; the year before last he was promoted to Ganzhou Deputy Prefect, principal fifth grade, but word came that the mining slaves there were in revolt, so he never took up the post.

Besides, this promotion was honestly rather meaningless — just like a demotion.

The official rank went up two grades, but in reality, could the Yangzhou Prefectural Judge possibly compare to the Ganzhou Deputy Prefect?

Old Master Huo was an honest man; in his four years in Yangzhou, he never did any law-breaking favor for wealthy and powerful households, and apart from the customary silver that every man received from the underlings, he took not a single extra cent.

In his four years in Yangzhou, Old Master Huo forbade any family or clan member from buying a single field or property, and each year he sent the 7,400 taels of customary silver and his 65 taels of salary converted to silver back to his old home.

The sum of the customary silver was staggering, but in Yangzhou, you could not refuse it.

This silver was what the underlings in each county set aside specially from the various monies they collected and handed upward.

Everyone below, from the County Magistrate down to the unranked Warden, received a share.

As for the fourth-grade Prefect, the fifth-grade Deputy Prefect, the seventh-grade Circuit Judge, and even the unranked Jail Warden in the Prefect's yamen — they all had theirs.

And once they all had theirs, could they not send another share on to the capital?

Everyone gets a share — you, the Prefectural Judge, are going to refuse?

If you're going to refuse, what did you come to Yangzhou for?

Besides, even if you refuse, the common folk still face the court collecting one tael and the officials collecting two.

Take it or leave it — it's up to you.

This wasn't Shanxi or Shaanxi, where official posts sat vacant with no one to fill them, and a county got by with a Warden or a Chief Clerk and called it having an official.

Yangzhou Prefecture had a complete bureaucratic system, and even a petty underling's post could set people fighting tooth and nail.

Thinking back on those years as an official in Yangzhou, Old Master Huo had seen too much of garden-building, brothel-crawling, and buying of "slender horses" — eating, drinking, and pleasure-seeking in a stupor of luxury.

Some men would squander ten thousand taels on gold foil, climb Golden Mountain, and scatter it to the wind, letting the whole city's common folk scramble for it — all for a single laugh.

His bit of annual customary silver didn't even count as money in Yangzhou.

Back in his little mountain village in Shanxi, Old Master Huo had little desire to see anyone; when his family proposed buying a large compound in Fenzhou Prefecture, he refused that too, stubbornly staying on in the mountains of Yonghe County.

Every day he looked at the mountains, looked at the trees, ate, pissed, drank, and slept.

Wealth — other people's wealth.

Sometimes when you see someone earn three or five hundred taels, you think, "That's impressive — I need to work hard too."

Sometimes when you see someone earn three or five hundred thousand taels, you start to doubt the world.

Once you've seen enough of that, there's not much point to living this life anymore.

Even if material desires run rampant, no matter what you do, you'll never earn that much money in a lifetime anyway.

And if you worry about family and country, no matter what you do, a sixth-grade official can't do a damn thing about these matters either.

Suddenly, a household bondservant came running up the mountain path to the pavilion, his heavy footsteps shattering Old Master Huo's reverie. "Flustered and frantic — you'll fall at that pace. What's happened?"

The bondservant braced his hands on his knees, lifted the hem of his arrow-sleeved straight robe made of Lu silk, wiped the sweat away, and said, "Father, a great many people have come up the mountain, carrying banners, drums, swords, and spears — many of them even wearing the padded armor of the western border troops."

"Western border troops?"

Old Master Huo felt a surge of alarm. He gazed down the mountain but could see no one. Drawing a deep breath to steady himself, he asked, "Has that Fu Renxi from Yonghe Pass gone mad with hunger? If he wants money, have the accounts give him twenty taels; I'll send him a note later. The wretched scoundrel, daring to come to my home with swords and spears raised — does he not want to live?"

"No, no — not Battalion Commander Fu. Armor from the Shaanxi border troops."

The bondservant couldn't explain clearly either, so he could only point behind him and say, "Father, please come down and see for yourself."

Ming dynasty law set limits on the number of servants, so any beyond that number were not called servants — they were all adopted sons and daughters.

"Let's go."

Old Master Huo asked no more. He took two steps, then turned back to the pavilion to grab his wine flask, and followed the servant down the mountain.

Halfway down, at a bend in the path, the full sight of Huo Family Manor came into view.

Huo Family Manor had a fort atop the hill ridge.

The year before last, just three months after Wang Er in Shaanxi rose in revolt, they had begun building the fort here — delayed at most by the time it took for a letter to reach Yangzhou and a reply to return — and then they had used yellow earth to ram up a square earthen perimeter wall, tall and thick.

The two hamlets where the hundred-odd households lived scattered lay outside the earthen perimeter, on two separate hilltops.

On the mountain, the dry-terraced fields were lush green, planted with corn just a foot high and nearly due for top-dressing; piles of compost were heaped everywhere among the fields.

At first Old Master Huo saw no one, but even without the servant's words, he could gauge the situation somewhat from the unusually panicked state of the manor's clansmen and juniors.

The tenant farmers were frantically driving carts, sheep, cattle, and horses toward the fort, with chickens squawking and dogs barking everywhere.

The young students from the clan school had all taken up bows, crossbows, swords, and matchlocks, and were led by their teacher up onto the fort walls.

Old Master Huo hurried toward the fort as well, and then he saw the arrivals.

First came scattered groups of ten-odd men along the mountain path, every one of them dressed as mounted scouts, wearing light studded brigandine armor and iron helmets marked with the character "Bravery," small flags of various colors strapped to their backs, riding along the mountain path.

In squads of three, they either choked off the mountain path, or seized the field ridges, or circled past the manor fort, choosing key points to ascend the heights — some standing guard with bows, some raising flags to signal.

Then in mere moments, suddenly a dozen riders with spears and bows crested a slope, or ten-odd men emerged from the woods shouldering matchlocks, or cannons came up the official road pulled by horses and pushed by men.

By the time Old Master Huo climbed onto the fort wall, in every direction, armored helmets and spears covered the wilds by the hundreds and thousands — the sight made his heart pound and his flesh jump.

A clan nephew, long accustomed to arrogance, stepped forward with a sour scowl and said, "These lousy soldiers — Uncle, let me go ask them what they want!"

"You'd best forget it. They're brazen and unafraid — these are no troops. Do you see that banner?"

If these were government troops, and Old Master Huo felt even half a word of fear in his heart, then let him walk on his hands all the way to Zhangjiakou.

But clearly these men were no soldiers. The nephew followed his gaze: amid the sea of armored helmets and spears covering the hills, there was a crimson banner, and on it, simply stitched in gold thread, was the character Liu.

"What's coming are likely bandits from Qin."

"Bandits from Qin — drought-starved refugees?" The eldest nephew looked as if he'd seen a ghost. "Drought-starved refugees can't look like this, can they?"

"Of course drought-starved refugees don't look like this. But in Qin there is only one Liu — Liu Chengzong of Yan'an, who first killed a Mobile Corps Commander and then a Regional Commander. Damn it all, that donated Red Barbarian Cannon isn't here."

Old Master Huo's face barely changed color. He lifted the wine pot for a sip, then patted his eldest nephew on the shoulder. "Don't go outside the fort either. Go to my room and fetch my pipe."

Fetch the pipe?

The eldest nephew looked thoroughly unwilling. He turned and sent a servant instead, then came back and asked, "Uncle, if... if these aren't soldiers but bandits, what do we do?"

"I told you to go down, so go down. What can we do? Let them besiege us. We have water and grain — you won't starve. Go, stop hovering around me, and light the wolf-smoke."

The eldest nephew answered and ran off.

Old Master Huo gripped the battlements of the fort wall. His arms strained, but he couldn't stop his legs from trembling. When fear strikes, a man truly can't control it at all.

He thought to himself, back then he hadn't even wanted to build this fort. Now it looked like this fort might just save his life.

He really hadn't wanted to build it at first.

When the letter arrived, Old Master Huo had been drinking and enjoying the snow at Slender West Lake.

He hadn't even read the letter carefully. He only heard the servant who delivered it say the family wanted to build a fort back home, estimated to cost six hundred taels.

Six hundred taels — he couldn't bear to part with it.

For people like them, officials posted in Yangzhou, it was impossible to find their own footing.

Day in and day out, salt merchant sons led them around in feasting and pleasure. Wherever they went, they never needed to spend their own silver. Everything they enjoyed was the finest — squandering gold like dirt.

Yet on the other hand, all of it was castles in the air. Everyone knew this illusion came with power, and naturally, it would leave with power too.

When it came to taking silver out of his own pocket, weighing it against his official salary — throwing away ten years' salary in one go — whose heart could bear that?

But unbearable or not, he had no choice. There were people around; he couldn't lose face. So he agreed to the matter, and a fort was built back in his hometown.

At the time, Old Master Huo had never imagined this fort would one day be put to use.

But if one insisted on calling him stingy, that wasn't quite right either.

Perhaps out of guilt, last year when he heard the Eastern Invaders had breached Jizhou, he threw down six hundred taels of silver on the spot. He commissioned the Zezhou Guard to dispatch Zezhou craftsmen to cast, as a donation, one thousand-jin bronze red-barbarian cannon and one fifteen-hundred-jin iron red-barbarian cannon, intending to donate them to the court to equip Shanxi's reinforcement troops.

Also six hundred taels — this six hundred taels he tossed out without even blinking.

The cannons weren't actually expensive.

Labor costs, material costs, plus a little sweetener for the big-shot commander — that was the total cost for Old Master Huo to donate and cast a red-barbarian cannon.

There was no added value for the craftsmen's skill.

But the bitter irony was, as long as the commander's sweetener was sufficient, it guaranteed the craftsmen's work enthusiasm, and their skill wouldn't be a problem.

It had been going on since the Tianqi era — donating red-barbarian cannons to the court was all the rage these years.

Now the cannons were cast and being transported this way from Zezhou.

He had no choice but to send them home. Damn it, Zhang Honggong and Geng Ruqi had both been thrown in prison. Even if he wanted to donate, who would he donate to? He couldn't exactly push the cannons to Beijing himself.

Old Master Huo thought to himself, why couldn't the Later Jin have invaded earlier? If the Later Jin had invaded earlier, he would have cast the cannons earlier, the Emperor would have thrown Zhang Honggong and Geng Ruqi in prison earlier, and the red-barbarian cannons could have come home earlier.

Though he had no highly skilled gunners, Old Master Huo didn't dream of blasting Liu Chengzong to death with a single shot. But at least with two heavy cannons mounted on the wall, they could frighten the bandit horde outside and boost morale inside.

He knew of Liu Chengzong. All last winter, when the gentry visited relatives and gathered to admire the snow and mountains, the death of Yan'an Prefecture's Mobile Corps Commander Li Bei en route to his post had been their greatest topic of conversation.

One person knowing would chuckle inwardly; two people knowing could exchange views; three people sitting together could talk the matter through completely.

Oh, so it turned out that before him, Mobile Corps Vice-Commander Lu Cheng had also died at Liu Chengzong's hands.

This indirectly proved Liu Chengzong's strength, though it didn't stop the scholars from sitting together and mocking the soldiers, their faces full of earnest patriotism and exasperation at their failure to live up to expectations.

Of course, the eloquent talk of winter didn't stop Old Master Huo's legs from trembling now, nearly wetting himself.

Bragging — who doesn't have that little flaw?

Old Master Huo was up on the wall counting heads. He had just reached two hundred when someone, shielded by several layers of shields, walked up beneath the fort and loudly called for their surrender.

Old Master Huo cursed, his voice trembling: "Surrender my ass! Just you wait, you thieving curs — when the court's great army arrives, this will be your burial ground!"

Tough as his words were, he smelled the acrid stench in his nostrils and turned to look at the black smoke rising into the sky from inside the fort. In his heart, he knew all too well that the fate of his entire clan now no longer rested in their own hands.

It depended on when those soldiers — the Fenzhou Guard, the Pingyang Guard, and Yonghe Pass Commandant Fu Renxi — would arrive first.

Fu Renxi arrived first.

To be precise, if one drew a one-li radius around this sturdy earthen fort, Fu Renxi had actually arrived a little earlier than Old Master Huo.

On the hill ridge directly facing the earthen fort.

Liu Chengzong, a wolf-fur-lined helmet on his head, lowered his telescope and turned to ask, "Brother Fu, this is the fort you spoke of?"

Fu Renxi stood right beside him, wearing a straight-hemmed military tunic of even poorer quality than the Huo family servants' clothes, his face masked with a black cloth. He bowed low, pressed a finger to his lips, and whispered, "General, don't call out my surname!"

He was cursing inwardly. His first time doing this sort of thing, he was already scared to death — and Liu Chengzong was shouting his surname!

If these bandits got wiped out by government troops later and they captured a prisoner who talked, wouldn't he be finished?

Liu Chengzong laughed aloud at how cautious he was. "Then what should I call you?"

"Call me... call me Box of Gold."

Not a bad nickname — prosperous.

Liu Chengzong had come here entirely because of Fu Renxi.

He had always thought Chengyun was timid, but the kid actually wasn't timid at all — he just hadn't killed anyone.

He had stationed Chengyun's logistics squad and engineering squad both at Yatou Mountain. Shi Chengwo was in charge of building the fort, and Chengyun was responsible for helping out, observing the Yonghe Pass garrison's movements, and if possible, building some rapport — discussing the future transport of supplies from Shanxi to Shaanxi.

Who would have guessed that the very day Liu Chengzong left, that very night, Chengyun went alone into Yonghe Pass to have a meal with Fu Renxi.

One night, one meal, and out came a Huo Family Fort.

When Liu Chengzong found out, he nearly exploded with rage and gave Chengyun a vicious scolding. Who knew the kid would actually talk back, saying Fu Renxi had nothing to gain by killing him, so why be afraid of him?

But to be fair, Chengyun entering Yonghe Pass alone had earned Fu Renxi the courage to meet Liu Chengzong alone.

"This is the fort. This Old Master Huo was formerly the Vice-Prefect of Yangzhou. Every year, twenty or thirty thousand taels of silver were shipped home. This fort of his is definitely loaded!"

"Twenty or thirty thousand taels — is that twenty thousand a year, or thirty thousand a year? Did you see it with your own eyes?"

Liu Chengzong didn't trust figures estimated by others. When he had just bought the land at Liu Family Village, Song Shouzhen's people had gathered intelligence, and someone even claimed Black Dragon Mountain held over ten thousand taels.

If you hadn't seen it with your own eyes, it was all hearsay — who knew whether there was money or not?

"I didn't see it, but there's definitely money. Last year he even donated two Red Barbarian cannons to Shanxi — those cannons were probably just finished being cast in February."

Fu Renxi said, "General, what's your plan? Just keep them surrounded like this? Bombard them with cannons!"

"You make a good point, but no rush to hit them yet. Surround them for two days."

"General, if you're just going to surround them, I won't stay here and keep you company." Fu Renxi was still very worried at heart, so he said, "What about the silver we agreed on?"

"Relax, what I promised you won't change. Are you certain this fort has ten thousand taels?"

"Certain, absolutely ten thousand taels. If there isn't, after you break this fort, turn around and bombard me with cannons!"

"Fine then. Later I'll have Chengyun deliver a thousand taels over — five hundred taels for a chest of gold, and five hundred taels to buy medicine for me. After the job is done, there's another eight hundred and eighty taels, to be split among all the brothers inside the pass."

Having said this, Liu Chengzong nodded to Fu Renxi, dispatched a squad to escort him back, then turned his head once more to gaze at the fort, a smile emerging.

If he didn't occupy Yonghe County and advance east, the banner troops from Fenzhou Guard crossing the border to the north would cut off his retreat route.

This fort was very suitable — an official's family, and a huge sum of money.

Now it was just a matter of seeing which would come — Fenzhou Guard or Pingyang Guard.

Liu Chengzong drew a deep breath and thought to himself, it wouldn't matter if they were all cowards.

Then I'll just wait for those two cannons.