Chapter 242: Three Shares

From Sun Moon Mountain, following the Lala River north to the slopes where it joins the Huang River, twenty-some riders wearing red-tasseled hats headed slowly east.

Gongbu Duoji, headman of the various tribes of Sun Moon Mountain, removed his red-tasseled hat and looked back at the men following him.

The seven tribal chiefs each brought their sons and nephews, every one of them frowning with the same anxious unease he felt.

Autumn is not only the harvest season, but also the time to deliver tribute horses to the imperial court and pay tianba to the Mongols.

In previous years by this time, they would already be driving forty fine horses to the Xining Tea-Horse Office and twenty pack horses loaded with tea to the Little Loop south of the Yellow River.

But this year, with this army stationed below the mountain, that man called Dai Daozi had also said his leader wanted a tenth.

Although Dai Daozi had said that from now on, they would no longer need to deliver horses and tianba to the Great Ming court or the Mongol Little Lozun, in truth all three sides said the same thing.

The Great Ming court said delivering horses would guarantee peace; the Little Lozun also said there was no need to deliver horses to the Great Ming Emperor anymore — but saying is one thing, doing is another.

The Great Ming Emperor would not fight a war for him over forty fine horses, and the Little Lozun likewise would not send troops to raid the border for two thousand jin of tea.

Gongbu Duoji understood the distinction very well: the horse tribute and tianba were, in truth, nothing more than protection money.

Not protection by the Great Ming or the Little Lozun, but protection from being plundered by them.

Gongbu Duoji's growth from a boy first stepping onto the battlefield into a tribal headman was a process of watching those headmen loyal to the Great Ming Emperor die violent deaths one after another.

Loyalty is always worthy of praise; even in Gongbu Duoji's eyes, loyalty could elevate the character of those who died unjustly.

But in the unclaimed lands of the border, yielding and trimming one's sails to the wind, making oneself not worth attacking — that was the only way to preserve one's people.

Therefore, facing this army in the river valley, when the shaman's powers were exhausted, Gongbu Duoji likewise had no choice but to submit.

It was just that they could hardly produce another forty horses or two thousand jin of tea.

From a distance, Gongbu Duoji spotted the main camp — an un-palisaded encampment sheltered by clusters of white tents, red banners fluttering above.

Beneath the banners, two columns of mounted soldiers with long spears slung across their backs stood with hands on their saber hilts; the spear butts were fitted with rope loops hooked over their right boots, each pair of horses facing one another, leaving a passage a zhang wide.

At the outermost end of the passage stood a young cavalryman whose warhorse wore lamellar barding with a tiger rank badge affixed to its chest; he wore the same crimson cotton armor as the cavalry behind him and waited with his hand on his saber.

At a distance of two hundred-odd paces, Gongbu Duoji and his men dismounted, leaving the chiefs' sons to watch the horses. The seven headmen removed their red-tasseled hats, exchanged glances, and each saw the same unease in the others' eyes.

Gongbu Duoji's brow seemed never to have relaxed, deep furrows etched into his face; he grunted something indistinct under his breath and steeled himself to walk forward.

They were already here — whether you stick your neck out or pull it back, the blade falls all the same. What was there left to hesitate about?

On the walk toward the camp, he kept silently rehearsing the Han speech he had not spoken in many years — something he had been practicing for days already.

They wore robes draped over one shoulder, leather belts cinched at the waist, from which hung a fire striker, a needle-and-thread tube, a powder flask, a dog-beating club on a tether, a braided herding sling, a horsewhip, and a small knife.

That belt carried nearly the entire worldly possessions of a Western Tibetan man.

At last, reaching the edge of the camp, Gongbu Duoji cupped his hands in an unpracticed salute: "General, we are the seven headmen of Sun Moon Mountain. Please take us to see the Grand Commander."

Liu Chengzong paused on horseback for a moment, then broke into an easy smile, dismounted, and nodded: "Follow me."

He attached great importance to these seven Western Tibetan chiefs from Sun Moon Mountain, which was why he had come out personally to receive them.

Though these tribes were not populous — men, women, young and old combined, no more than a few thousand people, scattered across a hundred li.

They were the first Western Tibetan tribes willing to submit to him — an excellent entry point.

As for the line involving Chen Qindai, who had already entered Haibei, although Daiqing was still waiting for five hundred Han men to garrison there, Liu Chengzong was, deep down, not very willing to send anyone this year.

It was too cold. Daiqing's side had no houses. Having him personally lead five hundred men over there to freeze — he was unwilling; still less could he stay warm and cozy at Ju'erwan himself while sending his subordinates to freeze.

So he planned to call Chen Qindai back first and go find Daiqing when spring came next year.

In any case, Daiqing, like Gongbu Duoji, was a dependent of the Little Lozun entrenched in the Little Loop.

Still, being mistaken yet again for the squad leader who rode the red-haired horse, Liu Chengzong felt it was about time he changed his attire.

Liu Chengzong, who came from the border garrisons, was unlike those generals who rose through the military examinations. Rather than overawing others with ceremonial trappings to gain authority, his prestige had long come from victory.

Victory brought money and food, which made him unstoppable in the drought-stricken Shaanbei — even if he wore a burlap sack, others would still respect him.

And ordinary armor could ensure his survival in frontline combat.

So for a long time, even when he acquired more handsome armor, he would not wear it, at most fitting the better-quality plates inside his old padded cotton armor.

But that period of often needing to be on the front lines in person was drawing to a close. Liu Chengzong felt that going forward, he could consider the matter of changing his attire.

"General."

He had taken only two steps when Liu Chengzong was called back. Turning around, he saw Gongbu Duoji pull a red gemstone bead from the bosom of his great robe and offer it to him.

Gongbu Duoji said quietly, "Please, General, kindly accept this, and put in a few good words before the Grand Commander."

Liu Chengzong took the bead and smiled. He had often seen such gemstones from Ü-Tsang in Xining, mostly used by guard officers to decorate their blades.

He asked as he walked, "How many households do you have?"

Gongbu Duoji answered, "The seven tribes have one thousand five hundred and forty households, four thousand six hundred souls."

A round number. Liu Chengzong suspected even this great chief could not say exactly how many people there were.

"And how many mu of land have you reclaimed?"

"There are fourteen thousand mu of mountain land." Gongbu Duoji had come prepared for such questions and answered fluently: "There are mature fields planted with highland barley year after year, yielding eight times the seed per mu; mature fields rotated with beans every other year, yielding ten times the seed per mu; and highland barley planted only in fallow years, which can be sown in the ninth month, yielding four times the seed per mu."

Liu Chengzong calculated back and forth but still could not figure out exactly how much one mu of land produced.

They had already entered the camp. As Gongbu Duoji answered, he quietly observed his surroundings.

On either side of the passage, spaced three zhang apart, were very neatly constructed pit dwellings, their entrances facing outward from the camp — four linked vertically, five linked horizontally, then a narrow passage, followed by another five linked together.

The outermost pit dwellings were built atop earthen walls a chi high, with firing loopholes left in them.

They looked like small military formations buried in the ground.

Some of the pit dwellings were still unfinished; soldiers leaned in the doorways, watching them with relaxed expressions.

How to describe these people in Gongbu Duoji's eyes?

Not the sort to put on a show of intimidation to cow newcomers, but certainly not what you would call friendly either.

Most were tall and robust, but not every man wore armor or carried weapons — some even gripped hoes and iron shovels, covered head to toe in mud.

They chewed on smoked strips of dried meat, their bearing relaxed and proud, tinged with a kind of weary indifference; every man had the look of someone long hardened by bitter combat.

They soon reached the center of the camp, which must have been a large training ground. Not far away, soldiers were shooting arrows at targets in an open area. A space had been left in the middle, where several clean sheepskins were spread on the ground, and north of the sheepskins lay a tiger skin.

Before each hide cushion sat a low table.

On either side, several people were already seated — some in court officials' robes, others in armor — and every one of them rose to salute the young general.

Gongbu Duoji thought to himself, This young general clearly holds high status in this army — could he be Liu Chengzong's son?

Just as he was thinking this, the young general gestured toward the sheepskin cushions and said, "Sit."

Then Gongbu Duoji's eyes went wide — the man had, with perfect ease, seated himself on the tiger-skin cushion!

Is that a place you just sit down in blindly?

Gongbu Duoji felt a surge of irritation, but forced by circumstance, he showed nothing. He merely asked, still deferential, "Are we not permitted to see the Grand Commander?"

Liu Chengzong smiled easily, tossed the ruby bead back, and once more extended a hand toward the seven, saying, "Sit. I am Liu Chengzong."

Liu… Liu Chengzong?

The seven chieftains looked at one another, and in the end it was Gongbu Duoji who reacted first, hastily leading the others to salute Liu Chengzong anew. Just as he was about to exchange pleasantries, Liu Chengzong raised a hand to stop him.

"Spare the courtesies. Sit, and let us talk business."

Once Gongbu Duoji and the others had seated themselves as bidden, Liu the Lion said, "It is good that you are willing to submit of your own accord. Still, I must ask — what can you provide me?"

Gongbu Duoji badly wanted to turn his head and exchange glances with the other chieftains. He could not quite grasp Liu Chengzong's approach, but the arrangement of the cushions made it awkward to look back. He could only steel himself and ask, "What does the Grand Commander need?"

"Grain. Gold. Silver. Copper. Iron. Salt. Saltpeter. Sulfur. And warhorses and troops."

A string of items rattled from Liu Chengzong's mouth. Then he asked, "What can you provide me?"

Gongbu Duoji's face creased with difficulty. He explained, "Gold, silver, copper, iron, salt — we have none of these where we are. Each year we must deliver two hundred and eighty horses to the imperial court, and our surplus grain goes to Xining Garrison in exchange for tea to supply the Junior Lhazun. If the Grand Commander needs grain, we can offer a little."

Their people also did some small handicraft work and petty trading on the side, mainly selling to the nomadic Mongols — worked stone and wood items — but these were clearly of no use to Liu the Lion's troops.

So the only thing they could bring out was grain.

Yet he did not want to give grain. The laborers in his stockade toiled five two-hour periods each day and had only two bowls of tsampa to fill their bellies.

If they tightened their belts, made those people eat just one bowl of tsampa a day, they could supply Liu Chengzong a little more grain.

Fortunately, this young Grand Commander, for all his contradictory aura — like a courteous old soldier — seemed a reasonable man, unlikely to be too overbearing.

But Liu Chengzong was not satisfied with this answer.

He watched Liu Chengzong turn, beckon to those around him, and issue an order. Before long, the man called Dai Daozi arrived, bowed his head, and answered a few questions.

Only then did Liu Chengzong look back at them. "Have you delivered horses to the Emperor this year, or paid tamba to the Mongols?"

Gongbu Duoji shook his head.

"My men already told you — from now on, you never need to pay tribute to the Emperor or the Mongols again. Did you not understand?"

Liu Chengzong paused, then said, "Then let me tell you now: from this day forward, you may no longer pay tribute to anyone else."

Never need to, and may no longer — Gongbu Duoji distinguished the two very clearly, and the chieftains behind him did as well.

He realized he had misjudged. Liu Chengzong was far more overbearing than he had imagined.

Even the Mongols had never forbidden them from paying tribute to the Emperor.

No one was pleased by this. Gongbu Duoji hastily shook his head. "Grand Commander, we could also give you a tenth of the harvest, but we cannot stop giving to them. If we stop, all seven of our divisions will be raided."

"You must raise horses for the Emperor, pay tribute to the Mongols, and then give me another tenth — how much would you have left for yourselves?"

Liu Chengzong understood their worry in his heart. He waved a hand. "Alternatively, swear fealty to me. If the Emperor or the Mongols come demanding things from you, tell them to come see me."

"First option: from your seven divisions, each division shall organize two hundred elite troops to serve under my command. I will not meddle in the seven divisions' affairs — only require an annual tribute of four hundred warhorses."

Liu Chengzong deliberately inflated the troop number; he did not want them to choose this. "Second option: consolidate households, merge armor, register the people. You chieftains will receive official rank from me. All taxes — only one-tenth will be levied."

"Which is better — paying three shares, or paying one? And if you choose the latter, my men need many things. I will send people regularly to open markets. Bring your surplus goods here, and we can buy them."

When Liu Chengzong finished, he waved to the side, and guards carried forward wooden trays prepared in advance, setting one before each chieftain and whisking away the red cloth covering them.

Underneath was no treasure — merely fifty taels of silver.

"If you are willing to swear fealty, this is your reward."

In truth, Liu Chengzong cared not one bit what the Seven Divisions of Sun Moon Mountain could pay him in tribute.

In his eyes, these tribes were all too poor. Though they could deliver two hundred and eighty horses a year to the imperial court, horses did not spare them from poverty.

Just like Brother Huang Wa's family — they also delivered horses to the court each year, and it did not spare him from poverty either. In fact, raising horses made him even poorer.

In Han lands, horses fetched a high price. Here, a horse's value was somewhat lower, though not absurdly so — yet it was just like the silver in Liu Chengzong's hands back in northern Shaanxi.

There was no market here. Xining and the common folk here would not trade fairly, and certainly would not trade fairly with horse-tribute barbarians.

What cannot be spent has no value.

He had not come to Qinghai for wealth, but to train his troops' ability to live among the common people. Without common people, how could they train?

Even if they won every battle, they would still not be a regime.

But with common people, they could begin transforming into a regime — westward, gaining experience in governing the people; eastward, gaining experience in subverting and mobilizing the people.

Fifty taels of white silver was a sum neither large nor small to the seven chieftains. No one would be thrilled by it, and no one would be offended.

But it made Gongbu Duoji even more wary. He asked, "Does the Grand Commander intend to go to war with them?"

Liu Chengzong smiled and shook his head. Of course he intended to go to war with the Junior Lhazun — these chieftains who controlled too much territory were not on his list of people to win over.

But he could not say so. Saying it would unsettle the seven chieftains.

"I will do my utmost to avoid war. When the Junior Lhazun's people come, have them come see me. I will persuade them."