Chapter 194: Mutton Noodles

In the desolate market of Yulin City, Ma Ke led his horse and walked forward aimlessly.

His stomach rumbled ceaselessly, as if the Thunder God and Lightning Mother were hidden inside.

Since returning to the ranks after last year's defeat, Ma Ke's days had been hard — his hard-won battle merits were erased, and his company commander post was gone.

By all reason, this shouldn't have meant much for someone like him.

After all, he had been an officer; as long as he could earn merit through bloody battle in the future, restoring his former rank wouldn't be difficult.

But Ma Ke had not caught a good time.

This year, Yulin suffered the same severe drought as Yinchuan — the summer grain yielded nothing, and the price of a dou of rice in the city's grain shops had already soared to six qian of silver.

However, the rice price in Yulin only indicated the severity of the grain shortage; it did not prove that rice could actually be sold at that price.

Because Yulin was a military garrison town, and in the fourth year of the court defaulting on military pay, the soldiers no longer had any silver in their hands.

As for the idle garrison generals who could afford twelve jin of rice for six qian of silver, they were not so hard-pressed as to only think of buying grain now.

The entire city of Yulin was shrouded in the wailing of starvation, everyone hoping they could hold on until the day the court transferred military grain from neighboring provinces.

Ma Ke felt he could not hold on.

He was simply too hungry; as a young military officer, he naturally ate more than others.

Before, the camp provided meals, and a company commander also drew a monthly salary of four taels of silver. Yet leading troops in camp for a month, once his salary was issued, he would have to subsidize his unit's food expenses by three and a half taels.

But precisely because of this, he had saved no money over his years in the army.

When his post was suddenly stripped, the shift in status was actually manageable — except for the matter of eating.

The daily military rations in camp were barely enough to feed a rabbit; eating a meal was like eating nothing, his stomach would start growling within half a shichen, and the hunger left Ma Ke panicked every day.

Now, walking down the street, he even hallucinated: in the barren, desolate market, a whole instant-boiled mutton would suddenly appear before his eyes from time to time, raising its clear-stewed sheep face and prancing past on four red-braised sheep shanks.

He couldn't hold on any longer.

Through this rise and fall of official rank, Ma Ke had learned far too many things.

Before, he would always hear the common soldiers complain, and he always felt the court was in difficulty — just endure a little and it would pass. Who hadn't gone hungry before?

This time he understood: going hungry once during an occasional enemy pursuit was completely different from being fucking hungry every single day.

The Yellow Court Classic says: between life and death lies a great terror, born in the mind, manifested in the body.

Ma Ke now knew: between life and death, is living.

Living in this mortal world — it's too hard.

It turned out that his former subordinates had loved him so dearly; every time they heard him say "just endure a little and it will pass," they actually hadn't killed him.

He walked for a long time, until he reached the horse market and began haggling with a horse trader.

"Shopkeeper, don't think this yellow dun horse looks ordinary — it's really no common beast. Let me tell you, have you heard of Guo Tianxing, the rebel from Suide? That's right, this is his horse."

The shopkeeper burst out laughing at this, turned and pointed to a black horse in the stable, saying: "See that one over there? Let me tell you, spare me that routine. Just the day before yesterday, some old soldier claimed that was Liu Chengzong's horse."

"That's impossible."

Ma Ke declared with absolute certainty: "I've seen Liu Chengzong's horse — it's a large dappled horse, fat and sturdy, and its mane is red."

The moment he said it, he regretted it — why am I telling you all this? He turned back and patted the horse he'd brought, saying: "This really is Guo Tianxing's horse. My name is Ma Ke, I used to be a company commander, and I fought Liu Chengzong alongside General Li Bei. Guo Tianxing wounded my horse, so I seized his."

"Ah, this humble one knows General Ma."

The shopkeeper sighed, raised his eyes to look at the horse, and said: "The horse is a good horse, just starved thin. To be honest, this humble one's horse market can barely keep going either — I can afford to buy horses but can't afford to feed them."

"How many warhorses have been lost this year — doesn't the General know, right here in Yulin City? This horse might have less than two hundred jin of meat on it, but this humble one can't come up with the silver to buy the General two hundred jin of grain."

In truth, if he hadn't known the man before him was Ma Ke, the shopkeeper might have done the deal — buying a horse for three or five taels of silver. But knowing it was Ma Ke, how could he dare make such a trade?

Right now, buying two hundred jin of grain would cost twelve taels of silver; even in the past, a horse of decent appearance was only worth about ten taels.

In times like these, for the horse-buying trade, not to mention raising the price — not slashing the price absurdly low already made one a good man.

"General, this humble one advises you: take it to the meat market instead; perhaps you can trade it for a bit more money."

Having met a polite rebuff, Ma Ke's mood was hardly good. In the end, he asked one last question: "So you won't take this horse?"

The shopkeeper hastily waved his hands: "This humble one dares not take it. And General... this humble one has heard that Shanxi has sealed the trade routes and banned grain shipments to Shaanxi."

A bolt from the blue.

Ma Ke did not believe it.

On the way back, his stomach began to rumble again.

He'd gone out and gained nothing; the trip had only burned off another two taels of flour, but he didn't want to kill the horse.

Prolonged hunger had greatly changed his state of mind. It wasn't quite hatred toward the court, but he felt these officials truly were useless.

How could a perfectly fine army end up with no food to eat?

It made Ma Ke want to return to his hometown.

It wasn't that he wanted to desert; he just wanted to go home, eat his fill for three months, put the lost weight back on, and then come back to guard the frontier for the court.

Back at the deathly still camp, the soldiers were all lying in their bunks. His comrades said the commanding officer had issued orders: no training in camp these next few days — everyone just rest.

This made Ma Ke believe the horse trader's words a little more. Perhaps the trade route from Shanxi really had been cut.

But just thinking that made him even angrier.

Damn it — they couldn't stop Wang Jiayin, yet they had to block the military grain for the government troops of northern Shaanxi.

His fellow border troops advised him not to go out anymore. On this little food, it wasn't worth the energy spent running around.

But Ma Ke felt this wouldn't do, so he gathered his things and went to his home in Yulin City.

He had a small single-courtyard house in a remote part of western Yulin City. The location was poor, and when he was an officer he hadn't liked living there; now, with camp regulations, even if he wanted to live there he couldn't.

So the house was used for storing his things.

Ma Ke left without his horse, walking all the way into the city. When he reached his doorstep, he flared up in rage.

His house had been burgled — someone had smashed the door lock.

Entering the courtyard, he saw all three rooms had their doors wide open; in the side room, several stacks of books were scattered all over the floor.

Those were military books and tactical manuals printed by the Ministry of War over the years. The barracks couldn't hold them all, so every so often he'd send a batch home for storage.

Strange to say, but in times like these, Ma Ke figured these things were the most valuable — yet for plenty of illiterate Yulin military households, they'd be afraid of getting ink on their backsides if they used them as toilet paper.

But the way Ma Ke saw it, sending these few stacks of books to Liu Chengzong, who'd just looted the treasury silver — how the hell wouldn't that be worth a thousand taels of silver?

"Blind fools!"

After tidying up for quite a while, and wasting another two ounces of white flour, Ma Ke took stock of the household's losses.

Li Bei's armor, which had been displayed in the main hall, was stolen. Beside it, the big porcelain vase from Yaozhou Kiln was smashed. A padded cotton jacket and trousers, plus some small odds and ends like a steelyard balance and silver shears.

And the portrait an artist had painted of him when he first became a soldier... He just couldn't figure it out — why would anyone steal his portrait!

It's not like he was some damn celebrity.

Infuriating!

A jumble of odds and ends spread across the bed, Ma Ke inventoried the household goods, seeing what else could be sold.

He still had five weapons left.

Li Bei's sword — a fine four-sided blade of patterned steel, just over two jin, excellent for cutting people down. But this one couldn't be sold; it was the only memento he had left. Thank heaven it had been hidden under the bed.

Then there was Gao Yingxiang's long saber — a well-forged blade, tossed in the corner of the firewood shed and somehow not stolen.

The last was a blade of his own — though not really his. It was a straight-bladed Tibetan knife with silver-inlaid fittings, war booty seized from a sea Tartar.

The remaining two items were bows.

Ma Ke did the math: of his entire worldly worth, not a single thing was originally his.

His mind made up, he strapped on Li Bei's sword and his own knife, wrapped Gao Yingxiang's long saber in a bedsheet and carried it in his hand, rolled up two unstrung bows and slung them over his back, then rose and walked out of the courtyard.

Since the door lock was already broken, he simply didn't lock it again.

With no grain or pay anyway, public order in Yulin Garrison Town would only keep deteriorating. Putting on a new lock would be a waste — better to leave it as is, so people would know this house had already been hit by thieves.

What a world.

Clutching his stomach the whole way, Ma Ke returned to the market outside the city wall and headed straight for the weapon shop.

The Tibetan knife that had been with him for years was slapped onto the table. "Smith, you buying this blade?"

The weapon shop's business looked decent enough — walls covered in hanging blades. The smith in the back was hammering iron; he ignored Ma Ke and struck a few more blows before tossing the blade blank aside, releasing the bellows cord, and walking over.

"That's a rare blade you've got there, Commander!"

"From a Qinghai Tartar. There's silver on it. You buying or not?"

"Buying."

The smith drew the blade for a look, then raised his head and glanced at Ma Ke. "Six hundred."

Ma Ke frowned. "Six hundred?"

He'd figured twenty taels for this blade would be the absolute ceiling. Had this smith's brain been baked stupid in a charcoal kiln?

"Right. Worth six hundred in cash — using Wanli Tongbao, that's six hundred standard cash for you. If it's in double-value coins, I can give you four hundred and fifty."

"Four hundred fifty, and double-value coins at that?"

Ma Ke snatched the blade right back. "Are you crazy, or am I?"

"Neither of us is crazy. Calm yourself, Commander."

The smith looked helpless too. "The blade is fine — worth more than that. But look at the state of Yulin right now. Even the pawnshops have shut their doors. It's not that this humble one has a wicked heart; I truly can only offer this much."

"In times like these, who can you even sell a blade to? I've got all these blades sitting in my hands, deposits already paid, forged and finished, but no one comes to claim them."

The smith pointed at the weapons covering the wall. "If you've got money, Commander, take a look. The blades in this little shop are cheap right now. Whichever one catches your eye, I'll give it to you for two hundred cash."

Ma Ke was furious — so angry he could only scratch his head. His stomach rumbled like thunder again. He truly couldn't hold out any longer.

"Four hundred cash. I'll pawn this blade with you. Within a month, I'll come back with six hundred cash to redeem it. Deal? My name is Ma Ke. I used to be a Company Commander."

Oh! So you're Ma Ke!

The smith studied Ma Ke carefully. Hmm, very young — just like the rumors said.

Word was he was the only officer to escape with his life when Li Bei campaigned against Liu the Lion of Yan'an.

A Yulin celebrity, of sorts.

The smith thought for a moment, then smiled. "So it's General Ma. How about this, General: this blade stays pawned at my humble shop. I'll advance you four hundred cash. If a customer takes a liking to it — four taels. If it goes for more than four taels of silver, I'll sell it."

"When you return, General, I'll give you three taels. If no one takes a liking to it, then you just bring four hundred cash and redeem it."

The smith finished speaking and cupped his hands toward Ma Ke. "Only, when times get better, General, just don't forget this little shop."

Faced with the smith's goodwill, Ma Ke looked at the blade in his palm, his gaze tinged with reluctance.

But the hunger in his belly was truly unbearable. Gritting his teeth, Ma Ke said, "Fine. As you say."

Four hundred Wanli Tongbao coins were wrapped up in a cloth Ma Ke had torn off. Though his old weapon was gone, three jin of heavy money tucked against his chest could temporarily suppress the hunger in his gut.

He calculated: four hundred cash plus military grain — how could that possibly not last him until the eighth month?

With money, a man's confidence swells.

Ma Ke headed straight for the Victory Tower in town. He was going to have a bowl of lamb noodles, and get four Suide oil-swirl pastries to go with it.

Damn it all, he hadn't eaten his fill since New Year's. Today, no matter what, he was going to have a proper meal.

Passing the grain shop, across the street a dozen or so old soldiers in tattered mandarin-duck tunics squatted against the wall, sunning themselves. Some stared at the grain shop and mimed eating noodles at the empty air.

Ma Ke thought they didn't look like old soldiers. They looked like beggars.

But his perspective was no longer as overbearing as before. Half a year of enduring hunger had made him keenly aware: old soldiers without food or clothing were utterly helpless against famine.

The shopkeeper's gaze toward them was especially contemptuous. He rose lazily and flipped over the shop's signboard.

One dou of rice: seven qian.

Entering the restaurant, the atmosphere was entirely different.

It wasn't mealtime, yet there were plenty of idle scholars and martial students drinking, the place buzzing with voices. They traded news and hearsay, now and then mixing in a couple of anguished laments over the state of the realm.

Ma Ke was all too familiar with scenes like this. He used to be the same way, believing the court had merely run into a short-term problem, that the blame lay with the rioting mobs and deserters — that they were the ones making things worse.

The soldiers still holding their posts — if they could just endure a little longer, they would see the situation turn around.

One after another, they put on a show of bearing the weight of the world on their shoulders.

Now Ma Ke knew: bearing the weight of the world was, in truth, utterly useless.

Fully armed and carrying a long saber and a short sword, Ma Ke startled everyone the moment he entered the tavern — though luckily, both the owner and the waiter here knew him.

Smiling, they greeted him and called him "General," letting the patrons know this was an upstanding man, and only then did they manage to calm everyone down.

In the end, though, he still didn't get to eat mutton noodles, ordering only two oil-swirl flatbreads.

Ma Ke thought himself a real fool — he'd only considered that grain prices had gone up, never imagining that tavern prices had gone up too.

A bowl of mutton noodles cost ninety cash; four oil-swirl flatbreads cost sixty cash.

With his four hundred cash, buying two oil-swirl flatbreads a day, it would probably only last him until the seventh month.

He heard a scholar at the next table, wine cup in hand, say: "In the fourth month, at Changle Fort, toads crawled out of the river, forming a column seven zhang wide — no one knows how long — and followed the official road out beyond the border... Even the toads know Yulin can no longer sustain life!"

"Wang Jiayin is fighting at Hequ. The Shanxi Grand Coordinator has cut off the trade routes — army provisions can't be brought in, grain merchants can't get in either. The days ahead are truly worrisome!"

The days ahead are truly worrisome.

Ma Ke no longer had any spare energy to consider whether the days ahead were worrisome or not.

His own stomach was worrisome enough.

How much longer could he go on like this? Clearly possessed of skills that could sweep aside all before him, yet he couldn't even fill his belly.

The oil-swirl flatbreads arrived at his table, and the next table had likewise moved on from the topic of worrying over state affairs — they had already turned to the matter of Han the Squire of the western suburbs taking a fourth concubine at the advanced age of sixty.

The more Ma Ke ate his oil-swirl flatbreads, the more they lost their taste.

Others could rob and plunder — was it just because he was a good man that he was fated to endure hunger?

Once this thought rose in his heart, it could not be suppressed. Ma Ke slammed his money pouch onto the table and shouted: "Innkeeper, three more oil-swirl flatbreads and a bowl of mutton noodles!"

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