Chapter 294: Chef Luo

By the banks of the Zhaqu River, the Yarkand Eastern Khanate's envoy, Councilor Shili, felt as if he'd seen a ghost.

When he set out from Turpan, he had fully understood how grueling this journey would be and had steeled himself mentally.

When dealing diplomatically with the Great Ming, as long as you had no shame, it was an extremely happy affair for the whole country — the Emperor would bestow money, silks, and official posts, from Centurion all the way up to Chief Commissioner, from Hami all the way to Egypt.

Without the slightest exaggeration, ask every Khan and Emir of the Eastern Chagatai Khanate, and they would all, with one voice, recite their Great Ming official titles.

For them, living deep in the great desert, having a strange and wealthy colossus sprawled beside them — compared to launching eastern campaigns and western expeditions, liking to hear people call it 'Daddy' could hardly be counted as a bad habit.

What's more, as long as you called it 'Daddy' and it gave you pocket money, it was practically a virtue.

Of course, for the subjects of Great Mughalistan, if they could take it by force, they would absolutely never talk nicely. They had tried — the single city of Hami was taken and lost four times before they seized it, and Suzhou, though right before their eyes, seemed as far away as the edge of the sky.

Calling someone 'Daddy' was shameful, but it worked.

After all, Anxi was no longer the Anxi of old that could produce a regional power with a million bowstrings; the bitter cold tormented every inch of its land.

But for the envoy, this task was utterly miserable. If Shili had to sum up this mission in a phrase, it would be three simple words: play the grandson.

Because the Great Ming did not permit his Great Khan, Abd al-Rashid, to offer tribute.

Actually, there was no such thing as a khanate to begin with. From their own perspective, the country's name was not Yarkand, and often not Chagatai either — it was simply Mughalistan.

To put it simply, on the former lands of the Four Garrisons of Anxi, the truth that this was a chaotic, divided collection of tribes masquerading on the surface as one vast khanate had long been known to the Great Ming.

Because at first the Great Ming had also treated them as a single state, but Muhammad's five brothers each occupied their own territory, each sent envoys to offer tribute, and each claimed to be the Great Khan.

The Wanli Emperor was furious. He thought, you bunch of separatist regimes think you're worthy of calling me 'Daddy'? He sent all the others packing and permitted only Muhammad alone to offer tribute.

In this era, the Western Regions were in a state where nobody's grandmother or grandfather cared for them.

Even Akbar of the Mughals, who shared the same Mughal ancestry, had no interest in this place — he even wanted to use them as a conduit to offer tribute to the Great Ming.

The former lands of Anxi had been separated from the Central Plains dynasties for six hundred years. The Great Ming had only security needs here, no emotional attachment.

And in terms of security needs, a Great Khan in the desert who had five sons, all of whom declared themselves kings and warred against each other — such a separatist regime could, at best, play the role of desert bandit beyond Jiayu Pass. It did not have the qualifications to make the Great Ming uneasy.

The Gobi and great desert beyond Jiayu Pass were enough to sever all connections of governance. Dispatching the imperial army westward would almost be tantamount to shaping, with their own hands, a separatist regime of equal military technology.

Shili bore two heavy responsibilities: one, play the grandson; two, get money.

He had to play the grandson before the court's garrison commander at Jiayu Pass. Whether the Great Ming allowed him to go offer tribute was unimportant, and before setting out he knew that the Jiayu Pass garrison commander would most likely not let him go to the Golden Palace to kowtow.

The key point of this mission was only one: no matter whether through verbal deference or gifts of real gold and silver, he had to exhaust every trick to make the Jiayu Pass garrison commander believe the fact that Turpan remained submissive.

Apart from that, he was to contact Turpan people settled in the Great Ming along the northern Gansu frontier, conduct some trade through smuggling, and get some money to offset the expenses of bribing the generals.

In recent years, the national situation in Mughalistan had grown increasingly chaotic. The Great Khan was enthroned and deposed back and forth by the Emirs, the military governors who held real power everywhere. The enthroned Great Khan would try every means to limit the Emirs' power, introducing religious Khojas to create checks and balances.

The weakened Emirs would kill the Great Khan and enthrone someone else, and the introduced Khojas would also join the power struggle.

The momentum of Emirs usurping power and Khojas meddling in politics, however, was like ten thousand miles of rolling sand and dust, utterly unstoppable. The Khan's court finally became a foul, murky place.

War between the five princelings could break out at any moment. His Great Khan was the ruler of Turpan and Hami and needed to seize the moment to attack westward with full force.

At a time like this, they absolutely could not afford to let those poor, fierce Daimi soldiers at Jiayu Pass run west and turn into horse bandits.

Originally, everything had been developing according to the script they had set — this was supposed to be a mission that lost all face but gained real benefits.

Until he learned from the Turpan people settled in northern Gansu that the Han people had opened a new border market east of Qinghai Lake, and many Chuodan Mongols had gone there to trade. The goods were cheap and the workmanship exquisite.

This set him irrevocably on a road of no return.

When he arrived at Ju'erwan and met Old Master Liu, and later met Liu Chengzu, he was still holding the tribute letter from Turpan to the Great Ming Emperor, swearing how loyal his Khan was to the Great Ming Emperor.

But as they traveled all the way from Xining Prefecture, through the Qinghai Tumed tribes, and into Kangning Prefecture, he finally realized that the Grand Marshal of this Qinghai Marshal's Office was a rebel army from the Great Ming's northern frontier.

Their feelings toward the Great Ming were extremely complicated — you couldn't say they were like fire and water, they just simply wanted to send each other to heaven.

He had traveled a thousand miles to the right temple, but bowed to the wrong Buddha. One careless slip and his little life would be hard to keep.

Shili just wanted to slap himself hard across the face. Why the hell had he come to this place when he was so full he had nothing better to do? If he died, the Great Khan of Turpan wouldn't even know where his own envoy had perished.

Trembling with fear, living in constant dread, Shili finally received a summons from Liu Chengzong, but the order was for him to pack his luggage and follow as they set out for another place.

Elite warriors formed over twenty cavalry squads, arrayed in a grand formation, winding their way toward the eastern grasslands.

In truth, this army numbered only a little over a thousand men — it was all the mobile troops Liu Chengzong had left after dispersing his forces for the southern campaign.

The Lion Army had twelve hundred troops stationed each at Haixi and Nangqian; nearly two thousand township officers and garrison troops were spread across seven counties; Luo Rucai was maintaining order in Lincong; Li Laochai was garrisoned at Luhuo; Zhang Tianlin was defending Markam. Liu Chengzong did not have many troops left.

It was not that there were no men available — A Liu's Yongning Battalion was also encamped west of Luhuo.

There were also Daiqing and Xie Erhu, who had contributed considerable effort in the war, but those men could not move now. The plateau's winter was far too cold, and they had all hidden away to look after their livestock.

Comparatively, the Lion Army had a great advantage in keeping warm. After all, they were the Grand Marshal's personal troops, had exerted the greatest effort in the southern campaign, and had received the most spoils and rewards.

Earlier, Cao Yao had calculated the accounts: when they subdued a small noble estate, on average, a noble family of fewer than ten people yielded enough cold-weather clothing for one hundred and twenty-two of their men.

Not counting women's clothing, and not counting garments made of strange furs.

Actually, the main reason was that they had seized so many clothes, quilts, cloth, felt rugs, and fur robes that the soldiers had the power to choose. If it were back when they had just raised their army, even women's padded jackets would have been better than nothing.

The Lion Army had rules and habits about turning in seized goods. Liu Chengzong had a strong preference when distributing spoils — practical items, like cold-weather quilts, fur robes, food, and drink, were given to the Lion Army first.

The remainder was distributed to the accompanying Mongol troops and slaves — things like noblewomen's dresses, and also jackets made of rat skin.

Liu Chengzong had seen several such fur jackets. One short jacket was particularly well made, using over four hundred rat skins inside and out, the whole garment a pattern of black and white. In the end, it was bestowed upon Basang.

Last were the precious fabrics woven with gold and silver thread, dzi beads and gemstones, corundum and gold and silver, turquoise and ivory, as well as the valuable artifacts the court had bestowed upon regional nobles since the Yuan dynasty.

Some had historical significance and were kept by him — for instance, the porcelain bestowed by the Yongle Emperor. More of the valuable objects were split, half kept as military funds to exchange for supplies, and the other half distributed to soldiers and officers of all ranks.

Of course, if there was a special request — for example, Wailiangzi just wanted to bring back two padded jackets and some jewelry for his Mongol wife — Liu Chengzong would approve it without exception.

In any case, after the final distribution, no one was particularly well-off, but everyone had a few items they could present with pride.

Therefore, in Shili's eyes, the Qinghai Grand Marshal's army was absurdly luxurious in its outfitting. All of them had warhorses and spare horses — that was not too exaggerated for the northwest — but they even had spare donkeys and spare mules.

The most absurd thing was that many men's warhorses, donkeys, and mules also wore clothes.

Well, what else could they do? The Lion soldiers were all very frugal people. Some had old clothes they'd changed out of and couldn't bear to throw away; some had new clothes they'd been rewarded with and had nowhere to store them. In the end, they just draped them all over their donkeys and mules.

They soon entered the grasslands at the edge of the Lincong territory. The troops would advance southeast along the Ni River, with the final goal of reaching Luhuo County before the new year.

Liu Chengzong chose this route also to come see Luo Rucai and urge him not to abandon his troops this winter to find a cozy den for himself, because the fighting in Lincong was not yet fully settled.

Although this land nominally belonged to Liu Chengzong, after the enemy's main force was routed, no one knew where they had fled. Winter was also not conducive to sending the army out in all directions to search, so it might drag on until the next year before there was a result.

But after drilling at the training camp, Luo Rucai had already greatly improved in leading troops — at least his conduct now resembled that of a junior officer.

The unit was encamped on a vast grassy flatland. Early in the morning, the unit's herd soldiers drove the mules and horses out to scratch for grass in the snow, while Liu Chengzong took his guards out to hunt.

Wherever they camped, they would send out hunting parties. Because the land was vast and sparsely populated, they could often bring back a catch. Liu Chengzong would occasionally join in, using the opportunity to hone his skills.

When it came to hunting, Liu Chengzong was still the foremost expert in the army.

Leading his horse, he trudged step by step through the world of ice and snow. In the distance he spotted two sika deer, one male and one female, their coats molted to a smoky brown like thatch. Liu Chengzong quickly nocked an arrow, crouched low, and crept closer over the snow. He loosed three arrows in rapid succession and brought the buck down.

The doe, carrying a fawn, bolted and ran. Liu Chengzong did not pursue. Several guards immediately stepped forward, flipped the buck over, and dragged it to a clean spot. They bled it, opened it up, skinned it, and butchered the meat.

Back at camp, Luo Rucai was busy at work.

The night before, he had gotten hold of many fat, large ducks. Early in the morning, he set up a big pot in front of Liu Chengzong's command tent. Seven or eight ducks, each weighing four or five catties, were plucked and cleaned, blanched thoroughly in water, then scooped out and chilled in snowmelt. He stuffed great handfuls of cordyceps into their bellies until the ducks were bulging and packed tight.

Then he placed a large basin over the fire to steam them. From a big sack, he poured at least four or five catties of cordyceps into the basin, covering the entire bottom thickly. He doused it with liquor and clear broth, sprinkled in scallion sections and ginger slices, and sealed the pot. Only when it was all done did Luo Rucai smile and say, "In two hours, this will be ready. The Grand Marshal must have a taste."

Watching the way he dumped cordyceps into the pot, Liu Chengzong felt the bastard was trying to supplement him to death.

He asked, "Isn't this cordyceps a medicine? Who eats it like this?"

"It is a medicine. The merchants at Dajianlu buy it sometimes, forty or fifty cash a catty — a bit pricier than meat, not cheap." Luo Rucai went on, "But rest assured, Grand Marshal, this stuff is everywhere on these grassy flatlands, along with white mushrooms. All good things to eat. Adding a few extra catties is fine. I've eaten it this way before — no problem."

Liu Chengzong laughed. "I called you here to fight a war, and all you think about is food?"

"The Grand Marshal doesn't know. When your subordinate advanced into Nangqên on campaign, the war situation was exceptionally treacherous. It wasn't a matter of fighting battles. They're like loaches, timid as mice, not daring to do battle with the Heavenly Army. They use the terrain to hide among the high mountains and great rivers, trying to drag me to death."

Luo Rucai raised a hand and swept it around them, looking at Liu Chengzong. "This area, three or four hundred li in every direction, is desolate and uninhabited. The common folk number thirty or forty thousand at most. They wanted to cut off my provisions in this region. In this godforsaken place, you could dig three feet into the ground and still not find army rations."

Luo Rucai leaned forward as he spoke, jabbing a thumb at his own chest with exceptional pride. "I, Luo Cao Cao, fought my way out of drought-stricken northern Shaanxi at the Grand Marshal's side. Compared to that, what is this? This is called abundant natural resources. They wanted to starve me to death? Hah!"

"I can live on wild game and cordyceps all the way to the eighty-eighth year of Chongzhen!"

"That's about enough. Even bragging has its limits." Liu Chengzong waved a hand. "Why not live to the thousandth year of Chongzhen?"

Luo Rucai tilted his face up. "I'm not keeping him company as a turtle!"

Liu Chengzong burst out laughing. After Luo Cao Cao tidied up and wiped his hands clean, he finally looked at Shili behind Liu Chengzong and asked, "Grand Marshal, where did you pick up this Tartar now?"

Liu Chengzong glanced back and said, "An envoy from Turpan, Shili. He wants to do business at Juerwan and brought a tribute letter addressed to Chongzhen all the way to Nangqên."

This time it was Luo Rucai's turn to roar with laughter. He raised a hand and pointed at Shili. "You've got nerve, bringing a tribute letter for Chongzhen to the Grand Marshal. You've got promise. You'll have to drink a few extra cups of wine later."

As an envoy, Shili could understand what they were saying. His face was covered with an embarrassed, apologetic smile, but in his heart he was cursing up a storm.

He hadn't wanted to bring Chongzhen's tribute letter to Liu Chengzong either. It was just that the Turpan people in northern Gansu hadn't explained things clearly. They had only said the Han people had opened a border market at Juerwan — how was he supposed to know it was opened by rebels!

While waiting for the ducks to steam, Liu Chengzong questioned Luo Rucai and the officers around him about the military affairs in Nangqên, then offered a few words of exhortation and encouragement. He did not, in fact, press him much about the fighting dragging into the next year.

He knew very well that in campaigning in Kangning Prefecture, the greatest difficulty was finding the enemy's main force.

Find the main force and crush it in one blow, and it would be a great victory; fail to find it, and the war would drag on.

At least for now, Luo Rucai was doing well enough. He understood that ensuring the troops' supplies was the top priority. As long as the soldiers had food, Nangqên would remain stable.

Once the local civil administration was on the right track and the common people were won over to their side, even without fighting, the enemy could be made to surrender without a battle.

The aroma of the steaming ducks had already begun to waft from the pot. Liu Chengzong, seated on a tiger skin, sniffed, then turned his head and said to Shili with a smile, "Tell me about your journey from Turpan — everything you saw and heard along the way."