Chapter 2: Doors Unlocked at Night

Yühe Fortress was a fine place, at the confluence of the Wuding River and the Yuxi River north of Yan'an Prefecture.

In northern Shaanxi, anywhere beside a river was a fine place.

Seventy li north of here was Yulin City, the seat of the Yansui Garrison; ninety li south was the Yinchuan Post Station of Mizhi County. The official road built for military use had long fallen into disrepair, its broad dirt path overgrown with weeds along both sides.

Last autumn, famine refugees passed along the official road and ate the ground clean — nothing was left.

As night fell, Yühe Fortress, backed against the mountains, looked like a giant spider lurking in the shadows; the desolate fields beyond the moat and the rolling sand ridges west of the river were its tattered web.

On the path outside the fortress, dusty border-army dependents wrapped in grimy, never-washable padded jackets squatted under the trees, holding soup bowls filled with new leaf buds, their eyes numb and unfocused.

Without chickens, without dogs, without even many people, the village lay silent in the spring, like a corpse frozen dead in winter, stiffly sprawled outside the fortress.

It is not only honest governance and a contented populace that allow doors to be left unlocked at night — as long as you are poor enough, anyone can do it.

Skirting the narrow, winding path, the dry moat of Yühe Fortress was close at hand.

The reports requesting funds from Yulin for fortress repairs were submitted year after year, and year after year they sank like stones into the sea. The last time this fortress was reinforced was in the fourth year of the Wanli era, when they took advantage of the momentum of Grand Commander Qi Jiguang's defense-line construction in Ji Garrison to clad the three-zhang-high earthen walls in brick.

But after that, whether it was the Taolu raiders invading in the second year of the Tianqi era, or the rains in the third year collapsing a corner of the wall, not a sliver of silver was ever approved for repairs.

Now the dry moat and the two earthen ditches outside the fortress formed three dry trenches; the wooden palisades and abatis at the bottom were all rotted away, the gaps in the rammed-earth outer wall near the fortress were crudely plugged with timber, and the collapsed southwestern corner of the fortress wall still bore its scars.

It was as if war had only just departed.

In truth, this fortress had not encountered an enemy for a full seven years.

Garrison Commander He Renlong had gone to Yulin City before the new year to petition the Regional Commander's headquarters for pay and had yet to return. The soldiers guarding the gate were listless, only perking up when they saw the wild geese hanging from Red Flag's back.

"Yo! Lion here bagged some geese?"

The brothers on gate duty crowded around, each swallowing saliva as they stared at the two wild geese hanging from the horse's rump, asking this and that.

Out there the hills were bare and the waters clear — bringing game back was a novelty. Over a dozen household troopers from the fortress went out every day, and for a full ten-day stretch, barely a few could bring any game back.

And even if they brought something back, it wasn't necessarily game. In the first month, someone stole a goat from who-knows-where, a bell still hanging from its neck.

Yesterday, a household trooper, embarrassed to keep returning empty-handed, caught and brought back two sand monks.

Sand monks were the little desert lizards around here, a handspan long. No one knew how to eat them, so in the end they were tossed to Mei Dianmei, the Rat Extermination Squad Commander of Yühe Fortress.

Mei Dianmei was a seven-year-old tri-colored old cat. The year she was born, the Yühe Fortress Rat Extermination Squad was still an elite unit with a full complement of sixteen, and her own brothers and sisters alone numbered seven.

Then a rat plague struck, and her entire family died in the line of duty — many people died then, too. She alone endured those hard years. After the unit was downsized, she inherited her mother's post, was entrusted with the mission in a time of crisis, and assumed the vital fortress post of Rat Extermination Squad Commander of Yühe Fortress.

Back when the border troops at Yühe Fortress could still get by, her monthly pay was three dried Yuxi small carp, plus a variable number of small mice as performance bonuses — a very happy life.

Now, Mei Dianmei was among the most senior of the Yühe Fortress garrison. Though she had grown thin from hunger, her gait was agile, her movements nimble, her authority undiminished by the years.

Little Whirlwind, mad with hunger, had tried many times to beg some food from the Rat Extermination Squad and was beaten back every time — to this day, three scratch marks still remained by his eye.

After Liu Chengzong became a household trooper, his duties outside of regular drill included feeding the cat and walking the dog. He cultivated a profound comrade-in-arms bond with Squad Commander Mei of the Rat Extermination Squad. Whenever the Rat Extermination Squad opened for business, that very day, under the window ledge, there would surely be a small mouse delivered by one of Mei Dianmei's cat couriers — and sometimes even a portion for Little Whirlwind.

Not anymore. The people have nothing to eat — who can still think of the cats?

Commander He Yong's personal soldier stood together with the gate guards — he was also a young fellow surnamed He from Mizhi. He exchanged a few polite words, left behind a line — "I'll bring the goose feathers to you tonight" — then took the two wild geese and headed off, jubilant, to report to the commander.

Wild goose feathers were about the same as goose quills, both very ordinary arrow-fletching material, not worth much. But for someone like Liu Chengzong, who used a bow often, repairing his own arrow fletching was cost-effective.

Entering Yühe Fortress, he saw several people sitting on the inner slope of the wall in the shadow of the torches, waving him over. He recognized them as his own elder brother Liu Chengzu, Squad Leader Tian Shoujing, and Gao Xian.

Liu Chengzu was his blood elder brother, four years his senior, twenty-two this year. In the seventh year of the Tianqi era, he had been spotted by He Renlong along with Liu Chengzong and recruited to Yühe Fortress as household troopers.

Last year, a squad commander named Zhang Wu led his squad in desertion. The two brothers were ordered to go out and recruit refugees to fill the ranks. When they returned, they were given squad commander posts to fill Zhang Wu's vacancy — as if the desertion had never happened.

Recruiting soldiers was all too easy. Disasters struck everywhere, refugees filled the land — being a soldier at least guaranteed you half-full.

Constant hunger was hard to endure, but still better than starving to death outright.

Who doesn't want to live?

As for deserters, they had their own path. They had armor, carried weapons, and had learned a body of killing skills in the army. Turn bandit in the wilds, and maybe you'd die a violent death — or maybe you'd never worry about food and clothing again.

Tian Shoujing and Gao Xian were both border troops who hadn't left with Zhang Wu back then. The former's hometown was Fushi County in Yan'an Prefecture, just a few mountains away from Liu Chengzong's home; the latter was from Ansai County, a bit farther off.

Both had been very ordinary soldiers before. After the new recruits were brought in, both were promoted to squad leader.

In this one flight and one promotion, the number of border troops at Yühe Fortress remained unchanged, but their quality dropped a level.

"You got some geese?"

Liu Chengzu sat on the slope, pointed at the ground beside him where a wooden basket sat, and said, "Figured you'd be starving. Saved you some food."

Better he hadn't mentioned it — Liu Chengzong's stomach was already so empty it had stopped growling. Without standing on ceremony, he sat on the slope, lifted the basket lid, brought out the golden millet rice inside, and began wolfing it down.

Millet and foxtail millet looked about the same.

Though it was cold and the mutton fat spread on top had congealed, making the gamey smell stronger, to a man ravenous with hunger, it was fragrant.

So fragrant that the more he ate, the more bitter he felt.

Back when he joined the army, his family had met with disaster, but the old Liu family of Dragon King Temple Hill had been doing all right — otherwise they couldn't have afforded to let two sons leave the fields to study and practice martial arts for over a dozen years. Before becoming border troops, though they had gone hungry at times, it was never three days out of five without enough to eat.

A squad commander, a low-level officer like that, was not an imperially appointed official, and now drew no silver, but his rations were guaranteed sufficient. Liu Chengzong often mooched food and drink from his elder brother — that was how he scraped by.

"Got 'em. Two. My linked-arrow technique wasn't good... couldn't draw the bow for the third shot. By the time I nocked it, they'd taken flight and were out of reach."

Liu Chengzong spoke as he ate, then suddenly remembered he had other gains. Still holding his bowl, he stood, untied a clay jar from his horse, and said, "Brother Shoujing, I picked up a mirror and half a candle. They don't look half bad."

"Help me see who still has any of those beans from the field-burning — I'll trade for a handful or two if I can."

Their army provisions came in two types: rations and monthly grain. Rations were like travel meal allowances, only issued when you left the garrison on a mission beyond forty li — and those were usually given in full measure.

Last autumn, Yühe Fortress selected a batch of cavalry to ride beyond the border to burn the fields. They had all been reluctant to eat the beans, and some still had surplus left even now.

"All right, I'll ask around for you when I get back." Tian Shoujing folded his arms, looking at Red Flag's somewhat comical dyed hair below the earthen slope, and laughed. "Hey, your Red Flag? What was wrong with the name Three Fatlings — look how thin he's gotten since you changed it."

Tian Shoujing was making a wisecrack, but Liu Chengzong, his mouth stuffed with millet rice, was in no mood for banter. He grabbed his waterskin, gulped down two mouthfuls to wash the food down, and turned his head toward his elder brother.

"The horse getting thin is a small matter." In the flickering torchlight, Liu Chengzong's face bore a rare seriousness. "Brother, we've got to think of something. Today, out hunting, I couldn't draw my bow.

If this keeps up, all the martial skill we've built up will be wasted."