Chapter 211: Official Post, Empty Title

Zhou Riqiang's legs were trembling.

No one was trying to scare him — he was just a little frightened on his own.

Ningzhou City itself only had about nine hundred people, but here on the flat tableland, camp after camp was laid out crisscrossing the land — over a dozen of them — and inside and out, it was nothing but people everywhere!

He hadn't seen this many people in far too long. How many were there — ten thousand? Or twenty thousand?

Zhou Riqiang had no idea. All he knew was that the grain transport carts had carved ruts into the barren fields, and the tramp of people coming and going had stamped out roads.

Even more terrifying were the soldiers. Many people went their whole lives without ever seeing a high official like a prefect; wherever he went, they stared at him full of curiosity.

The young junior officer escorting him, however, seemed quite respectful. He said his name was Wei Qian'er, and that he used to be a post-station runner in Yan'an Prefecture.

He even asked him with a cheerful grin, "Sir Zhou, did you ever skim your underlings' wages?"

Zhou Riqiang thought to himself, back in Shandong, he often... the county yamen? But in Ningzhou, that was gone.

He shook his head.

Wei Qian'er looked delighted. He raised his chin with a self-satisfied air, lifted a hand and rubbed his nose with his thumb, then gave him a thumbs-up. "My old postmaster skimmed our wages — so I killed him."

Zhou Riqiang swallowed hard. More terrifying than Wei Qian'er's flat, casual words was the left hand he had raised with that thumb.

Tattooed on it, clear as day, were two characters: OVERTHROW MING.

Zhou Riqiang didn't dare speak anymore. Only at this moment did he begin to seriously ponder: just what kind of assignment had he accepted from Yang He?

Wei Qian'er hadn't noticed Sir Zhou's horrified gaze. He kept firmly in mind the order the Grand Marshal had given him: let the prefect get a good look at their own troops, so that when he went back later he could spread fear to Yang He.

He pointed at a camp in the distance and said, "Sir Zhou, look at that camp. That camp's military discipline is no good — it's the camp of the local bandits from Qingyang. A complete mess, not even a banner or insignia."

That was Han Chaozai's camp, and it was a very large camp.

Zhou Riqiang could clearly see a large banner with the character "Han" right at the camp gate. How could he say there was no banner?

Boom!

The sound of a cannon shot echoed from far away, making Zhou Riqiang jump and shudder. Wei Qian'er pointed even farther off and said, "They're attacking a fort over there. Probably some commoners filed a complaint that the gentry in the fort were rich but unkind. As soon as the Grand Marshal entered Qingyang, he struck a grain merchant hoarding for profiteering at Heshui."

Zhou Riqiang looked toward where the cannon fire had come from and helplessly shut his eyes. He knew that place.

The forts up on the Ningzhou tableland were all accounted for these days. That one belonged to a retired juren degree-holder who, after returning to his native place, raised sheep and traded donkeys. If it were really as Wei Qian'er said, he shouldn't have warranted an attack.

But Zhou Riqiang knew the real reason. In the third month of this year, His Majesty had implemented the Baojia Law, permitting local gentry to organize commoner militias. That juren had come to him and requested some weapons to take home.

Zhou Riqiang figured the militia had clashed with Liu's bandit forces... but he was baffled. How many militia could that little fort even have? When taxes were collected, they didn't even have more than a few qing of land.

Amid the distant mountains, cannon fire boomed, yet in the camps nearby, soldiers were doing business — there were street stalls, buyers, sellers, men and women, all in perfect order.

"The Lion Battalion's works sentries — the artisans there forge excellent blades. It's a pity Sir Zhou truly..." Wei Qian'er looked Zhou Riqiang up and down and shook his head. "Truly doesn't look like he brought any money. Otherwise, you ought to buy one for self-defense."

An auxiliary soldier who had just finished browsing walked out of the camp gate with a coat of mail rolled up on his arm and happened to run into Wei Qian'er. After exchanging greetings, he looked curiously at Zhou Riqiang.

Zhou Riqiang was under such an immense psychological burden that he didn't dare meet the Lion Battalion soldier's eyes.

In truth, the combat and auxiliary soldiers of the Lion Battalion were all quite amiable. People would nod and greet each other — not the least bit savage.

Their complexions were ruddy, their nutrition good, and they were brimming with energy. Any random one of them, picked out at a glance, looked like they lived more comfortably than Zhou Riqiang, this careworn, gloomy prefect.

Zhou Riqiang had seen plenty of amiable people, but amiable and proud people — those he had not seen many of.

Wei Qian'er kept walking.

Every village ruin was a camp. To be precise, wherever there was a well, there was a camp.

And on the roads linking village to village, Zhou Riqiang could see all sorts of people: soldiers marching in formation on patrol, riders galloping to deliver messages, and those warriors charging past carrying banners.

In the fields, someone with disheveled hair and a bare torso stood holding a wooden stick, writing characters on the leveled earth, straining his voice to teach a group of neatly uniformed soldiers how to read.

Wei Qian'er did nothing to stop Zhou Riqiang from looking, but after just one glance, he hurried after Wei Qian'er and kept moving forward.

On that shirtless youth's left hand was the same tattoo: OVERTHROW MING. And what he was writing, stark and clear, were six characters: WHY DO WE STARVE THE PEOPLE, STARVE THE ARMY?

The questions these bandits studied ran deeper than those of him, the prefect.

Elsewhere, over a hundred people had formed a circle at the village entrance. Some wore the Lion Battalion's khaki uniforms, but more were in a motley array of clothing, looking just like bandits and brigands, utterly out of place with the Lion Battalion.

In the center of the circle was a thin Mongol, his Yulin accent extremely thick. He stood high atop a millstone, gripping a bone mace, and shouted: "The Emperor is heartless, the court is without the Way, the feudal princes are incompetent, the gentry are without righteousness!"

"The Grand Marshal has said: this war will be long and drawn out; as one side wanes, the other waxes. We shall be ever-victorious!"

The crowd was seething with fervor; everyone clenched their fists and roared, "Ever-victorious!"

This entire journey left him walking on tenterhooks. Everywhere was charged with an overwhelming impact.

It was only when he passed one camp — a force of fewer than eight hundred men, under the command of officers, drilling in a formation divided into five sentry columns, with infantry and cavalry coordinating with obvious familiarity — that Zhou Riqiang finally let out a long, deep breath of relief inside.

At last, he had seen a scene that fell within the scope of his imagination.

On the anxiety-filled road here, before he arrived, Zhou Riqiang had imagined many possible scenes.

The general fantasy was of swarms of bandits on the tableland, ranging from one-on-one wrestling matches to formation drills, with a hundred guards at the camp forming a blade gate, and at the far end, the chieftains seated on tiger, leopard, and wolf skins, weighing out gold and swilling wine, with some blood-dripping human heads set to the side.

Mixed in with a bit of White Lotus sect stuff, land division and equal-field slogans, that sort of thing.

As for military discipline, it was simply a matter of upper and lower limits. Zhou Riqiang had thought the core of it never changed.

He had seen rebels who trained their bodies, but never rebels who taught people to read!

At last they reached the very center of the linked camps stretching ten li in every direction. Wei Qian'er pointed into the distance at the only camp fortified with a wooden palisade and said, "The central army camp is here."

This fortified camp was not large in scale, but it had the most frequent coming and going of scouts, and its defenses were the strictest. On the outskirts, many soldiers were walking horses in herds.

This was the one good thing about Ningzhou now: although this land could not sustain many people, they could raise as many warhorses, donkeys, and mules as they wanted.

The camp was very quiet. There was none of the clamor or the show of force to intimidate a newcomer that Zhou Riqiang had imagined. No one even came out to receive him. Wei Qian'er simply completed the password exchange with perfect calm and led him inside.

Inside the camp, soldiers were gathered in small groups. Some were polishing armor, some were sharpening weapons, and others were holding hand cannons, cleaning the barrels over and over.

Suddenly, a loud shout rang out: "Worthless wine-sacks and rice-bags!"

Zhou Riqiang jumped, startled. He swept his gaze over and saw that in an open space within the camp, a dozen or so armored soldiers were sitting around the edges, while in the very center, several people were holding papers and rehearsing something.

A young officer said to them, "You have to curse with force, with fury. Worthless wine-sacks and rice-bags! Throw Zhang Honggong in prison, and that Geng Ruqi — throw them all in prison for me!"

Zhou Riqiang had been thinking it was rather interesting — a bandit camp putting on a play. The moment he heard those lines, his legs were too terrified to even think of moving. Good heavens, they were acting out the emperor!

Wei Qian'er had walked a few steps ahead and, noticing he had stopped in place, turned his head and gestured forward with his chin. "Weren't you looking for the Grand Marshal? That's him right there."

Ahead, a small, skinny soldier spoke up — the crisp voice immediately gave her away as a girl — and she edged closer, saying, "Commander, maybe you should learn how to write storybooks. The lines you gave the emperor are way too stiff."

"One scene he's overflowing with gratitude to the reinforcement army that came to the rescue, treating them like his own sons, and the next he's throwing them in prison, hating them like they killed his son. It's totally fake."

Zhou Riqiang saw the young officer pause for a moment, then smile. "Sanlang, you haven't been following the news, have you? I told you to study properly. Geng Ruqi really was thrown in prison — your Shanxi governor."

Fan Sanlang covered her mouth and glanced left and right, wanting to laugh but too embarrassed. She slowly crouched down, and finally sat obediently on the ground.

Liu Chengzong smiled at the actors. "Just perform it like this. Put on a few more plays, and perform them around camp when you get back. Day in and day out it's either marching or fighting — we need to lift the men's spirits."

He clapped both hands on Song Shouzhen's shoulders. "Lifting their spirits depends on you."

With that, Liu Chengzong caught a glimpse of Wei Qian'er standing not far away, and Zhou Riqiang behind her. He beckoned them over.

Wei Qian'er stepped forward and said, "Commander, this is Master Zhou from Ningzhou."

Then he turned to Zhou Riqiang. "Master Zhou, you've met our Commander — why no salute?"

Liu Chengzong laughed at this and gestured toward his command tent. "What salute? Magistrate Zhou, shall we talk in my tent? Ningzhou produces cherries — let's have some together."

By this point, nothing along the journey had matched his expectations, so one more surprise hardly mattered. Zhou Riqiang could only clasp his fist and say, "Since you insist, I'll gladly accept. After you, General Liu."

The moment he entered the command tent, his mood suddenly lifted — because he saw a tiger skin spread on the ground.

At last, he had found another scene that roughly matched his imagination.

Still, the command tent was truly spartan. The oilcloth exterior looked decent enough, and the interior was quite spacious, but the furnishings were so scattered that it felt empty.

He saw no gold or silver — just two old wooden chests. The top one was open, crammed full of books.

A set of armor doubling as a cat bed and dog bed, and beyond that, only a small low table, a felt-covered bedroll, a map, a few stacks of paper and brushes, and several oil lamps.

"Please, sit."

Liu Chengzong fetched a flame from outside, came back in and lit the oil lamp, then sat cross-legged on the tiger skin beside the low table. He smiled at Zhou Riqiang. "I've heard that Magistrate Zhou came on orders from Viceroy Yang to offer me amnesty."

Zhou Riqiang sat down and nodded. "Yes."

"Let's hear it, then. What terms is Viceroy Yang offering?"

Zhou Riqiang could not stand Liu Chengzong's relaxed, grinning expression. He shook his head. "General Liu, after everything I've seen and heard on this journey, I believe there's no need to say it."

His eyes fell on Liu Chengzong's left hand, the implication clear: you people never even considered amnesty, and what you're doing isn't mere banditry either.

Discussing terms with you would only be giving you a good laugh — completely pointless.

"Magistrate Zhou, you mustn't judge by appearances."

Liu Chengzong actually did want a laugh, and he wanted to know just how much he weighed in the mind of the Three Border Viceroy. He shook his head. "If the court made me King of Ningxia, couldn't I just tattoo another character on my hand — say, 'No'?"

Liu the Lion thought to himself, if they made him King of Guanzhong, he might even tattoo the character for 'Vow' right in front of it.

Zhou Riqiang was amused. What a lion's appetite. He mocked, "The General's ambitions are lofty. Why not think bigger — just make yourself King of Shaanxi."

"No, no, no. Make me King of Shaanxi, and the whole deal's off the table."

Liu Chengzong's cynical expression faded. He shook his head in earnest. "If someone claimed the title King of Shaanxi right now, the Emperor — assuming he had any sense at all — would laugh himself awake from his dreams."

Zhou Riqiang found that this Liu Chengzong had not a shred of respect for imperial authority, which made him deeply uncomfortable. He said stiffly, "Since the General wishes to know, the Viceroy offers the post of Defense Commander, your forces reduced to one thousand, and your soldiers dispersed and resettled between Yan'an and Qingyang."

Defense Commander?

Liu the Lion said, baffled, "Did Viceroy Yang discuss this with you in the morning?"

Zhou Riqiang paused, then answered seriously, "In the evening."

"I meant he wasn't awake yet."

Liu Chengzong was utterly perplexed. Why did they look down on him so much?

"You've seen my men. What rank do you think the court should offer if they want to pacify me?"

Zhou Riqiang thought to himself, the range Yang He had given was between Defense Commander and Regional Commander. So he said, "Regional Commander of a prefecture."

He had expected Liu Chengzong to be displeased with this answer, but instead, Liu laughed heartily. "Regional Commander. These are all good soldiers I have. One Regional Commander post, and the rest get resettled — can resettlement fill their bellies?"

Liu Chengzong waved a hand. "Ah, forget that. Where is Cao Wenzhao now?"

"Cao... General Cao?"

Zhou Riqiang was choked up. A flurry of questions flashed through his mind in an instant.

What did Liu Chengzong's smile mean? Why jump suddenly to Cao Wenzhao? How did he know the Guanning Army's commander was Cao Wenzhao?

Zhou Riqiang himself had only learned the commander's name was Cao Wenzhao two days ago — some obscure, unknown junior officer. How did Liu Chengzong know?

Then was his encampment here... to wait for Cao Wenzhao?

The sheer volume of information in that instant left him speechless for a long moment. "You... how do you know?"

Liu the Lion did not answer, only continued, "I didn't come here to attack Ningzhou. But with Yang He relocated to Ningzhou, the government troops have to rescue him. The reinforcements are coming from Xi'an Prefecture?"

Zhou Riqiang did not want to answer. He asked bluntly, "If General Liu is not satisfied with Regional Commander, then what do you want? What are your terms? You can tell me, and someone will relay them to His Excellency in Ningzhou."

"Terms? The post of Lintao Regional Commander is vacant — can you offer that? I didn't raise this army for my own glory, wealth, or noble titles."

Liu Chengzong pointed a finger at the table, his face a mix of mockery and sorrow. "Shaanxi — the military provisions of the Three Borders and Five Garrisons, the people scattered and displaced. Who can solve that? If no one can, then you pacify this year's rebels, and next year they'll rebel all the same."

Zhou Riqiang said, "Then the General's meaning is that you do not want amnesty."

"Who rebels if they can live decently? But if amnesty means we can't live decently — I see no path to survival from you, let alone any path the court offers to the starving people and starving soldiers. The court only wants to give empty titles, and won't even part with a big one."

Liu Chengzong smiled and asked, "Disband my men so they can go rebel again or starve to death — how do you expect me to accept amnesty?"

"Let me offer you an idea. Send someone to talk to Yang He. I have troops, I have enough grain — who I rob is just a matter of choice, isn't it?"

Liu Chengzong drew a line on the low table with his finger. "I want a real post, and I want an empty title too. This probably won't be settled in one negotiation, but no matter — if we can't settle it, we keep fighting."

On the whole, Zhou Riqiang was still fairly relaxed. At least so far, he had not felt his life was in danger.

As long as he wasn't separated from his wife and children by the divide of death, negotiating terms with Liu Chengzong didn't much matter to him. He was just a messenger, after all. So he asked, "What real post, and what empty title?"

"The Xining Guard Commander post for my brother. My troops may purchase provisions and supplies along the route as we go — I guarantee they won't loot and pillage, and Viceroy Yang guarantees no local resistance."

Liu Chengzong's face held an unprecedented seriousness. "I want the title of Qinghai Pacification Commissioner, to hold this land in perpetuity."