Chapter 218: A City Called Pingliang

South of Guyuan Prefecture.

Along both banks of the Qingshui River, troops and horses stretched southward in an unbroken line for twenty li.

Men shouting, horses neighing — like boiling seas and crumbling mountains. Dust swirled up in clouds, blotting out sky and sun. The river ran murky; broad daylight turned to dusk.

Liu Chengzong swept his forces south. Before his troops even arrived, the garrison commander at Wating Pass retreated three staging-posts, the patrol inspector fled in panic, and the post-station soldiers opened the city gates and offered their surrender.

In the days after crossing Long Mountain, every part of Guyuan Prefecture surrendered at the mere rumor of his approach. Liu the Lion's contingent plundered Qingping Park, Heishui Park, Kaicheng Park, and even the Han Prince's Herd Administration — not a single place where warhorses, donkeys, or mules could be seized was spared.

Not only did they gain over ten thousand warhorses, donkeys, and mules, they even absorbed more than a thousand surrendered troops.

Winning defectors was easier than fighting battles. After all, this was their home turf now — they couldn't beat him in a fight, and defending meant empty stomachs, so they simply swept up the soldiers' families along with the troops.

It wasn't the least bit troublesome. By this point, any starving soldier or pauper soldier who still had a family was as rare as phoenix feathers and unicorn horns — the vast majority were bachelors.

They promptly shifted course toward Longde County in Pingliang Prefecture. Longde was a small county with a square walled city, seemingly insignificant.

But under Yang Dingrui's strenuous dissuasion, the Lion Camp did not besiege Longde County. They merely seized warhorses from pastures on the outskirts and encamped, purchasing winter supplies from the common folk.

It was already the eighth month; the weather would turn cold in the blink of an eye. The column was growing larger and larger, and no matter how they scraped together winter supplies, they could never gather enough.

Yang Dingrui's reason for dissuading Liu Chengzong from attacking the city was simple: four hundred years ago, this small city had been called Deshun and belonged to the Western Xia kingdom. Its defending general, Ma Jianlong, had shown no fear when the Mongol great army invaded.

Though the city ultimately fell and he perished, in an era when city after city collapsed and surrendered at the mere rumor of approach, he had sallied forth on the very first day the Mongol army reached Deshun and won a victory.

Yang Dingrui advised Liu Chengzong not to waste time and morale on besieging cities. They had something more important to do — rescue the Prince of Han.

To rescue the Prince of Han, they first had to put him in a position of insecurity.

The Lion Camp's main force could not move; Zhou Riqiang was right beside them. The only option was to send word to his eldest brother in Zhenyuan County. Liu Chengzu's side quickly sent back a message, reporting that a force had already traveled light along mountain paths and entered Pingliang Prefecture.

When he learned the composition of this force, Liu Chengzong burst into delighted laughter. He could always count on his eldest brother, without fail.

Liu Chengzu understood the importance of this mission — the performance could not afford a single slip-up. He dispatched Luo Rucai to lead the force, drawing select men from Han Chaozai's and Li Laochai's units, reorganizing them, and placing them under the command of troops drawn from Wang Wenxiu's Guyuan soldiers.

In particular, those "flower sisters" under Luo Rucai — himself included — were stripped completely bare of their usual gear and made to change into Guyuan army uniforms as much as possible. And these Yan'an men were forbidden to speak.

Any matter requiring an open mouth was handled entirely by the Guyuan soldiers under Wang Wenxiu.

This force of nearly two thousand men slipped across Liupan Mountain and, on the third day after setting out, reached Kongtong Mountain west of Pingliang Prefecture's seat.

"Damn, that suffocated me to death!"

Luo Rucai, leaning on an iron-chain path donated by the Prince of Han's estate, rested on the mountainside. He pulled off his helmet, drenched in sweat from exhaustion.

He gazed down at the vast flatlands of the Jing River valley to the east. Fertile fields stretched as far as the eye could see, and only at the very limit of vision, in the haze where the fields ended, could he make out the outline of Pingliang Prefecture's walled city.

Luo Rucai raised a hand and pointed: "See that? You can see it even from this far away — high walls everywhere inside that city."

Kongtong Mountain was practically a Prince of Han Mountain. Temples and Daoist abbeys dotted the slopes, and every inscription bore the mark of renovations by the Prince of Han's estate — either built by some Zhu "Perfected One" or funded by the consort of some Han princely-line prince.

Yang Chengzu was also drenched in sweat from the climb, filled with regret. "If I'd known, I'd have learned from Uncle Luo and just rested at the foot of the mountain. I just don't get it — the Marshal's whole family are degree-holders and scholars, so it makes sense they'd love visiting famous mountains and paying respects at historic sites."

"But you, Cao Cao, why do you love climbing mountains so much? Didn't you get enough of the hills and ridges all over Yan'an Prefecture?"

Luo Rucai shot him a glare. "You think I wanted to climb? Before we set out, the boss told me specially — we had to scale the heights and survey the terrain. And he said there's a Palace of Inquiry on Kongtong Mountain, the very place the Yellow Emperor met Guangchengzi. It's dedicated to the Zhenwu Great Emperor, so there's bound to be a Daoist master of profound attainment."

The "boss" he meant was not Liu the Lion, but his own commander, Liu Chengzu.

Yang Chengzu curled his lip. "What's a Daoist master to you? You can pay respects at the Palace of Inquiry when the Marshal fights his way over here."

Luo Rucai grinned. "Marshal this, Marshal that — you say it with more affection than I say 'Grand Commander.' Never figured you for the type, Yang Chengzu, a man forged of iron, to pick up that thing — what's it called? Fawning?"

"Sycophantic fawning."

Yang Chengzu supplied the phrase, then waved a hand. "It's not fawning. If not for the Marshal, the wolves would've picked me clean in that ravine. He saved my life — no title is too much for a lifesaver."

"Lord Yang speaks the truth!"

As he said this, Luo Rucai dropped to his knees with a cheeky grin and banged his head on the ground three times with loud thuds, nearly startling Yang Chengzu off the cliff. Yang scrambled aside: "Wh-what are you doing?!"

Luo Rucai stood up, wiping at the mud formed by sweat and dust on his forehead, still wearing that same cheeky grin. "If not for Lord Yang holding the rear guard, young Luo would've died in that ravine too. A lifesaver — three kowtows are hardly too much."

Yang Chengzu laughed and cursed: "Pulling that routine on me! Staying alive beats everything... Well, we've done our survey — shall we head down and attack the city?"

Luo Rucai waved a hand and glanced up the mountain. "Job's not done. The boss said to nab a Daoist master of profound attainment and bring him back — best if we grab a few disciples too."

With that, he directed the soldiers still climbing behind them, issuing orders to ascend and seize Daoists.

"What do you need to nab Daoists for?" Yang Chengzu was baffled. "Who's the boss planning to perform rites for?"

"Rites my ass."

Luo Rucai pointed west. "The Grand Commander wants to go to Qinghai. That's sea-bandit territory — you know that, right?"

Yang Chengzu nodded.

This was something officers of both camps had heard rumors about. But to him, it didn't matter where they went — he'd been running back and forth for over a year, through life and death many times over.

"To the ends of the earth, I ask the vast cosmos: where can a reckless wanderer find refuge?" Yang Chengzu recited a line of Song Jiang's verse, then clenched his fist. "So we fight. The northern caitiffs seized that land — can the western bandits not be seized? Maybe we'll even snag ourselves a Pacification Commissioner post."

"Exactly. But we'll be strangers in a strange land — there'll be recruiting and pacifying to do. Other folk follow the foreign faith, and after they surrender they'll still follow the foreign faith. How do you trust them? How do you tell them apart from the enemy?"

Luo Rucai repeated what Liu Chengzu had told him, then raised a hand with casual pride and pointed. "Daoists. Too bad Wang Ziyong's become a big official now — otherwise he'd be even better than some old Daoist for this."

At this, Luo Rucai sighed, full of envy. "The boss's idea is, once we're there, build a Daoist abbey on a high mountain and cast a statue of the Zhenwu Emperor in the Marshal's likeness."

Yang Chengzu swallowed hard. One hand stroked the stubble on his chin; the other counted on his knuckles, calculating silently. He muttered under his breath: "Two camps, fifteen outpost commanders, squad leaders... Think they'll cast the Thirty-Six Divine Generals too?"

He mulled it over — right now he was a squad leader under Luo Rucai's outpost command in the Yu Camp. Competition for the spots of the Thirty-Six Divine Generals beneath the Zhenwu Great Emperor was fierce, but he still had a chance.

Having asked — and knowing full well Luo Rucai had no final say in the matter — Yang Chengzu's entire demeanor turned murderous. "Merit! I'll win merit and make the Marshal cast a bronze statue of me too!"

Luo Rucai was stunned too.

It was an illusory, intangible thing, utterly meaningless in the present moment. And yet... to become a god?

Could he, like Guan Yu, be revered by generations to come?

Like Mu Ying, two centuries after his death, still have men guarding his land and fighting for him?

Just the thought sent a current through Luo Rucai's body, numbing him from the crown of his head all the way down to his tailbone.

His face split into a beaming grin. "You — you're saying I, old Luo, could get a bronze statue standing on a mountain too? Damn it all, the Luo family's about to produce a true god!"

Before long, the men he'd sent up the mountain came back down, binding seven or eight Daoists.

Strange to say — the same uniforms and armor, when worn by others, looked imposing and majestic. Worn by Luo Rucai's crew, they looked exactly like a band of routed, defeated troops. No acting required.

The Daoist priests were already shocked and terrified; seeing this crew scared them so badly their livers quivered. They had thought these were guards from the Han Prince's estate. The middle-aged priest leading them said as he walked, "Commander, I demand to see the Han Prince!"

A soldier reported, "Chief, this is Perfected Ha of the Inquiry-of-the-Dao Palace. His ancestor was Ha Zhao, the Pingliang Guard Commander during the Tianshun era."

Luo Rucai, having been tipped off by Yang Chengzu, now fancied that he too might have a chance to be immortalized in a statue and receive worship, and in his heart he grew especially fond of the Daoist priests.

When he heard the surname, he grew even more delighted.

Mongol ancestry — this was more than just a perfect professional match; even the bloodline lined up!

"Quickly, untie the old gentleman."

Luo Rucai, beside himself with joy, immediately had the Daoist priests unbound and said, "Come with us for a trip — there's great fortune in store for you!"

Perfected Ha and his disciples, utterly baffled, were herded down the mountain by Luo's band of stragglers.

The fiercely ambitious Yang Chengzu was single-mindedly determined to earn merit. He immediately petitioned Luo Rucai for orders, volunteering to personally lead two squads to infiltrate Pingliang City.

By now, they had already breached two cities with Liu Chengzong — once by infiltration, once by direct assault — and had gained a bit of experience in taking cities.

Pingliang Prefectural City was clearly no easy city to capture. West of the city lay a parade ground, and the west gate had a barbican. To break it, they could only infiltrate it, and even then, seizing the prince's estate would be difficult.

But as the saying goes, "One Han Prince's estate, half of Pingliang City." Only when Yang Chengzu had his men shed their armor, change into civilian clothes, and approach the city disguised as peddlers and porters did he understand what that saying meant.

The city was wide in the west and narrow in the east, long horizontally and short vertically, stretched across the Jing River valley.

It was not a single simple city but a conjoined city. Looking down from the hilltops south of the city, the entire space between the mountains and the river outside the west gate was filled with the parks, terraces, and pavilions of high officials and nobles — water mills, bamboo groves, and abundant fruits and vegetables.

The West City was a complete walled city, with four gates and a barbican. Inside, high walls enclosed grand compounds. The estates of the Prince of the Blood and the Commandery Princes, academies and military guard posts, the prefectural yamen, the Shaanxi Court of the Imperial Stud, and the Pingliang Pasturage Office took up every inch of the city.

Within it stood an inner city with walls two zhang high, occupying a full quarter of Pingliang. Yang Chengzu estimated that this was the Han Prince's estate.

And beyond the north gate barbican, north of Willow Lake, using the north city wall as its southern wall, a small additional city had been built, enclosing the waterside pavilions and terraces of the nobles' villas within its bounds.

Outside the east barbican, likewise using the east wall as its western wall, a sandwiched city extended eastward. East of that sandwiched city lay yet another city — the East Gate City.

Looking from west to east, for twenty li across the three nested cities, all one saw were vermilion walls and tube-shaped tiles — the residences of high officials and prominent nobles everywhere.

Inside East Gate, multi-story buildings stood in dense rows — a place of thriving commerce and industry. East of East Gate was yet another small city, and east of that city stood the Precious Pagoda of Yan'en Temple.

This was truly a scene of prosperity the likes of which Yang Chengzu had never witnessed in his life: princely estate shops, generals' mountain villas, rows upon rows of merchant houses — everywhere vermilion walls and green-glazed tiles, with nobles in splendid attire moving among them.

Yet the elegance and luxury, the scenic terraces and pavilions, did not stand out in this city.

What stood out instead, right at Yang Chengzu's feet, in the corner where East Gate City met the eastern outer city, were thatched hovels covering the ground and long-neglected brick-and-tile houses, spreading eastward along the base of the city wall and the riverbank willows into the river valley.

In the distance, desolate grave mounds and grassy hillocks stretched in unbroken tracts, with barely clothed common folk scattered among them — that was what stabbed the eye most sharply.

Yang Chengzu stood on the hilltop and spat on the ground. "Pingliang Prefecture built five conjoined cities — how is it that not a single one is for the common people to live in, and all of them are mansions for high officials and nobles?"

This city would be very hard to breach. The greatest difficulty lay in the parade ground and garrison troops outside the city. He therefore sent word back to Luo Rucai: if they could seize the west city checkpoint, they must not plunder outside the prosperous city first — they must occupy the west city checkpoint before anything else.

He rubbed his palms, slick with sweat from watching, raised his arm, and pointed toward the bustling East Gate City. "Let's go in first and gather some information. If it really won't work, we'll climb the west city's south wall tonight. These cowardly bastards built the city so solidly — it's going to be damn hard to blend in."

Rich and poor were as distinct as the Jing and Wei rivers — how could they possibly blend into the city?

With that, Yang Chengzu hoisted his iron-chain club, led his men pushing their carts, and headed toward the slum in the corner by East Gate.

His convoy of mule carts had a hard time moving outside the city — not because of any obstruction from government troops, but because there were simply too many beggars lining the streets.

Walking a circuit outside this city stirred deeper emotions in Yang Chengzu than his two years as a bandit in Yan'an Prefecture ever had.

Men who had spent half their lives as slaves to the princely estates in the fields, their spines bent crooked by wooden plows, their trouser legs clinging to their gaunt, withered legs, scrambled over one another to beg for work from the out-of-town traders coming to do business.

Girls of thirteen or fourteen, grown women of twenty-seven or twenty-eight, in the sweltering heat of White Dew season just beginning to recede, stood in rows under the thatched eaves in filthy, tattered padded jackets, straw markers stuck behind their necks.

A ceremonial guard in flying-fish robes covered his mouth and nose with a handkerchief, standing at a distance with furrowed brows, utterly disgusted by everything around him. His servants picked and chose among the crowd and led three or five women away.

Those chosen kowtowed and gave thanks with boundless joy; those not chosen clung to legs and tugged at clothes, wailing to heaven and earth. Even when a vicious beating disfigured their faces, they would not cry.

They would only curl up on the sludge-covered street corners, wronged and bewildered, continuing to steal glances at passersby with eyes still full of hope.

Yang Chengzu leaned against the stable railing outside the cart inn, watching the whole process coldly. From start to finish, he saw no money change hands — or rather, no money needed to change hands.

The inn's hired hand came out to dump slops. Seeing Yang Chengzu in a daze, he grinned and said, "Don't just stand by the stables, guest. Pingliang City isn't always like this — it's just that in famine years there's no other way. Being bought by the princely estate to be trained in music and dance is a good thing, too."

Yang Chengzu turned back and gave the hired hand a smile. "Do they always come out to buy people?"

"There are many princely estates in Pingliang City, so there's never a shortage of nobles leaving the city. Sometimes it's not really about buying people — if they see someone pleasing to the eye, they just take them back. That's the one good thing about our cart inn — you can always catch sight of nobles. Without their stipend grain, Pingliang would have fallen into chaos long ago."

Yang Chengzu smiled with satisfaction. He went back into the inn, took out ten taels of silver, showed it to the hired hand, and said, "That is a good thing, then. I've got a batch of fine treasures here and I'd like to get to know a general or a lieutenant. If you, innkeeper, can invite one back for me, this is yours. What do you say?"

The young hired hand beamed at the sight of the silver. "If the guest can give half in advance, then leave this matter to this humble one."

"Isn't that easy to arrange?"

Yang Chengzu handed over the silver and watched the young hired hand dash off excitedly toward the city gate. He smiled and shook his head.

"These trees really have grown well."

Yang Chengzu tilted his head back and gazed at the ancient trees that had taken root in the mountains for centuries. He thought to himself: Not one more, not one less — every single tree ought to have one of my own imperial clansmen hanging from it.

Note: The layout of Pingliang Prefectural City is based on the Jiajing-era Pingliang Prefectural Gazetteer by Zhao Shichun.