Chapter 329: Preparing for Winter

In a side room of the Marshal's mansion, an oil lamp burned the whole night through.

The several painters inside dozed in chairs or lay on the floor in their clothes; Shi Chengwo, lamp in hand, swept his eyes over a table crowded with rulers and compasses.

Spread across the table were sheet after sheet of drawings — the proven and probable locations of gold, silver, copper, iron, and coal deposits within fifty li of Juer Bay, as well as the workshop layouts for blade, spear, armor, cannon, and gunpowder factories.

The designs Liu Chengzong had drawn himself were more of a jumble: not only hoists, windlasses, large and small gears, pulleys, wheel discs, screws, crankshafts, and other mechanical components, but even wooden-rail horse carts and city defense works.

People already called the city where the Juer Bay Marshal's mansion stood the New City. Shi Chengwo knew it better than anyone — this was the Lion Army's first foothold after migrating west.

The Lion Army had settled here precisely because, apart from its superb natural conditions, there was nothing at all.

It had once been a military buffer zone between the Ming army and sea bandits. They built an armory, set up a market, uncovered several unworked mineral deposits, and now had even raised a city; the great irrigation canal being dug from Xining had already reached this far.

But this fell far short of Liu Chengzong's vision. The Grand Marshal demanded that he use the designs on this table to create a heavy military-industrial center with a production capacity rivaling an entire province of Shaanxi.

Shi Chengwo had always been proud — he held the secret to making the era's most powerful weapon: the cannon.

No matter whose favor he won, that unique, peerless skill guaranteed him food and clothing for life. But the favor the Grand Marshal showed him was not merely food and clothing — it was a status that rose in lockstep with the deputy generals, rising as the tide rose.

Deputy general — that was the rank directly below the great generals under the Marshal.

When the highest officer was a battalion commander, Shi Chengwo was a company commander; when the highest officer was a regional commander, Shi Chengwo was a battalion commander.

In this world — whether under the Great Ming Emperor or a provincial governor, whether under the Later Jin Hong Taiji or the Chakhar Khutugtu Khan — where could an artisan stand as an equal to a great general?

Every man, from the common army artisan to Shi Chengwo himself, knew perfectly well that only under the Grand Marshal's command could such generous treatment and regard be found.

Precisely because of this, the artisans were willing to give their lives in service. The Marshal's mansion armory had four times the number of army artisans as a single imperial guard unit, and with management far less formal than the imperial army artisans, sheer zeal alone achieved six times the highest production quota ever recorded for an imperial guard unit.

The court's highest requirement for a guard battalion — set between the Jingtai era and the second year of Hongzhi — was one hundred sixty sets of military equipment per guard per year. From then until now, the guard battalions had always produced at half that rate.

But this time, for a cannon-founder who specialized — and only specialized — in red-barbarian cannons, Shi Chengwo felt the task the Grand Marshal had put him in charge of was a little too difficult.

Even with these mechanical tools, still only on paper, that could give the artisans greater efficiency, it would be very hard to expand their current production capacity another fivefold or more.

Simply demanding more output was easy — they could train more artisans — but the problem was that the court had now blockaded Lanzhou. Materials from Hanzhong could not be brought in, and their own goods could not be shipped out. Even if they trained more artisans, there would not be enough materials.

That meant they needed superior technology. They would have to mine deposits that had been easy to work in the past, and they would have to mine deposits that had been hard to work in the past. They needed more efficient design, technique, management, transport, manufacturing, inspection, and assembly.

Shi Chengwo pushed open half a window, dragged a chair over, and sat before it quietly for a moment, breathing the fresh morning air and gazing at the grey brick and black tile of the Marshal's mansion. Then he rose, exhaled a breath of stale air, and fiercely steeled himself in his heart.

This project would require planning for a long time yet; it had to be refined to the utmost, with not the slightest error tolerated.

Liu Chengzong could not take part in the subsequent planning of the military-industrial center for a while. An enemy had already reached the front gate — only this time the enemy was not men, but Heaven itself.

Zhou Riqiang hurried over from the naval yamen: "Marshal, Qinghai Lake cannot sustain fifty thousand people through the winter. They must be moved into the Hehuang Valley. Otherwise, I estimate at least ten thousand will die by next spring."

Shortly after, letters from Haixi magistrate Liu Guoneng and Haibei magistrate Chen Qindai were delivered into Liu Chengzong's hands. In them, the two men poured out their woes, pleading on one hand for grain and fodder support, and on the other for permission to move the surplus population into Hehuang.

Haixi originally had just over four thousand residents. The newly established county seat had no granary, and the local people lived mainly by herding. Aside from butter, every household's stored grain consisted of dried noodles and roasted flour bought from Juer Bay by selling hides.

After eight thousand surrendered Mongols were originally settled there, they were already short of grain and clothing. Liu Guoneng had organized men to settle the Mongols by the lakeshore to fish and had also led some in hunting — barely managing to scrape by.

Yet no one expected that after the civilians were settled, a great number of surrendered people would still pour in through the Southern Mountain Pass — all of them the old, the weak, women, and children fleeing the war. They had brought few supplies with them to begin with, and now that the war was over they could not survive the winter. Their only choice was to surrender at Southern Mountain Fort and beg the Marshal's protection.

With Liu Chengzong's precedent of accepting surrenders, those below followed the example of those above. Garrison commander Zhong Hu naturally let the surrendered people through the pass as well.

Haixi's population had now swelled close to the twenty-thousand mark. If Zhong Hu had not brought out half the reserve army rations, the surplus population would have starved to death before even reaching Haibei.

But the situation in Haibei County was worse. The population there was larger than Haixi's, a mix of Tibetans and Mongols living together. Many of the common people had been plundered in turn by the Tümed and by roving bandits for years, and the mountains were thick with the forts and stockades of small clans.

In truth, Chen Qindai was the man in the entire Marshal's mansion most like a tusi chieftain. He had reached agreements with the various stockades, collecting a twenty-percent tribute and requiring military service.

But this tribute grain could neither be kept in store nor sent to Xining, because long before Haibei was made a county, Gansu border troops and Tatar deserters from northern Gansu had already fled into the Qilian Mountains.

Not every deserter was willing to surrender. Many had turned bandit at the foot of the Qilian range, raiding both north and south.

On one hand, Chen Qindai had to coax deserters and Tatar fugitives willing to submit into surrendering; on the other, he had to send punitive expeditions against those who had turned bandit. Over three hundred surrendered troops needed to be fed, the eight-hundred-man allied force raised from local natives to defend the region needed grain and fodder to fight, and the area also had to support a mining team made up of southern prisoners of war. It was already a blessing that he had not asked the Xining prefectural government for money or grain support.

Even so, Liu Chengzong had settled three thousand captives on him. Given the local level of farmland development, the population had already reached its absolute limit.

The burden of the excess population could only be added to the shoulders of Zhou Riqiang at the naval yamen.

Ever since his family had been brought to the naval yamen by the agents of the eunuch Zhang Yuanheng, Zhou Riqiang's heart had truly settled. He had governed two counties and one department, and had more experience in local administration than anyone in the Marshal's mansion.

The number of surrendered soldiers and civilians had exceeded the expectations of army commander Liu Chengzong. Plans could not keep up with changes, forcing him to rush to Juer Bay to learn the situation from his father, which left vast numbers of surrendered soldiers and civilians on the sea with no one in control.

The Xining prefectural government had been built from scratch to begin with. Xining itself was merely a single Ming guard unit, and west of Xining there was no administrative structure whatsoever. The region was even more loosely organized than the feudal era in Kangning Prefecture, which already made governance difficult.

The local ratio of soldiers to civilians was wildly out of proportion, their rations depended largely on trade, and both soldiers and civilians were concentrated in the area from Xining to Juer Bay. Anyone thrown into this would be at a complete loss — let alone now, with tens of thousands of outsiders flooding in.

Most critically, the Xining–Juer Bay corridor had its hands tied by the huge population sent over by Lhazang, leaving no capacity to look west.

That a disaster had brewed on the sea was almost a matter of course.

Liu Chengzong set down the letter and asked, "How many tens of thousands need to be moved into the Hehuang Valley right now?"

"Fortunately, General Zhang trusted me, and with his support I was able to temporarily settle the surrendered people." Zhou Riqiang looked exceptionally weary. He pulled out the Qinghai Lake map he carried with him and laid out the situation for Liu Chengzong: "Haibei has currently been organized into three provisional battalions — fishing, hunting, and logistics, each with its own duties — settling ten thousand eight hundred surrendered people."

That said, Zhou Riqiang took out his little notebook, glanced at it, and continued: "Another thirteen thousand eight hundred thirty-two people need to be moved into the valley for settlement. Moreover, the Marshal's mansion must send five thousand four hundred thirty-six dan of dried noodles and roasted flour to the sea, just to feed the surrendered people on the sea until the fourth month of next year."

"Additionally, after sorting the spoils of war the Marshal captured, two thousand four hundred twenty felt tents of various sizes and six thousand six hundred thirty-one winter coats of various types can be sent to the Marshal's mansion."

Liu Chengzong wiped his face and looked at Zhou Riqiang. "They can only be sent into the valley. These ten-thousand-odd people truly cannot be settled on the sea?"

As Zhou Riqiang nodded, Liu Chengzong rose. "Then send them this way. As for grain, I'll send it that way first — no, it'll all have to be sent over. Let me think."

The unique geography between the Hehuang Valley and Haibei made long-distance winter transport far too wasteful. The grain had to be moved over now, all of it. Otherwise, if they waited until the snows came, it would be far more than a matter of five thousand dan.

The Xining prefectural government could produce this grain, but Liu Chengzong was truly reluctant to part with it… it was not that he was stingy. Roasting five thousand dan of roasted flour consumed far more raw grain than just five thousand dan.

He had discussed Xining Prefecture's grain reserves with his father. They were very well-off — because the hardest times had not yet arrived.

This plenty would gradually change as winter progressed. Come next year when sowing began, they would still have to reclaim a great deal of land. If they sowed, the grain would run out; if they did not sow, they would starve by the autumn of next year.

So this grain reserve put Liu Chengzong in a very awkward position. If they had a little more grain, they would not need to worry about sowing; if they had a little less grain, they would not need to consider sowing at all.

But awkward or not, Zhou Riqiang was highly capable, and Liu Chengzong had to show his appreciation. He first rose and cupped his fists. "It is all thanks to Brother Zhou's planning on the sea. Otherwise, this would have been far more difficult to handle."

Only after saying this did he ask, "Can we use salt to trade for grain with the Haibei natives?"

Salt cost them nothing. The Chaka Salt Lake alone was enough for both their own use and trade; they could not even spare the hands to work the Keke Salt Lake beneath Ulan Mountain further west.

Liu Chengzong's "Brother Zhou" made Zhou Riqiang's heart thump wildly; he nearly blurted out that his two sons had no intention of entering official service.

Only when he heard the part about trading salt for grain with the natives did Zhou Riqiang relax and say, "It can be done, but it would be a mere drop in the bucket — unless we organize a merchant caravan to sell salt in Gansu. But for one, grain prices in Gansu are exorbitant, and the long journey would cost a great deal; for another, we likely have no connections and would struggle to pass the border checkpoints."

"That is an approach. I can think on it." Liu Chengzong asked, "Then in Brother Zhou's opinion, how should the grain predicament in Xining Prefecture be resolved?"

Zhou Riqiang opened his mouth to speak, then stopped.

Faced with a situation where the population outside Xining Prefecture had doubled, and in places like Haibei and Haixi had exploded several times over, no matter how great his learning or talent, Zhou Riqiang could not conjure grain out of thin air.

Seeing the strange look on his face, as if hope had flickered there, Liu Chengzong clasped his fists and said, "Brother Zhou, if you have any solution at all, I beg you to speak plainly."

Zhou Riqiang thought for a moment, then said, "This humble one does not know if the Grand Marshal has heard — there are those in the army who wish to look east."

Look east?

Liu Chengzong paused, then nodded. "Where did Brother Zhou hear this?"

Of course he knew. His father, Liu Xiangyu, had never taken the grain shortage before next autumn's harvest seriously; in his father's eyes, the problem was very easy to solve.

After all, they had no other path left. The chieftains east of Xining had each held their lands for centuries; the wealthy households of the Hehuang Valley owned fertile fields measured in the hundreds of acres; there were even the princely estates of Lanzhou and the great supply camps of the border army.

Push the battle line to the river mouth at Lanzhou, and that would always solve their problem.

Zhou Riqiang's expression was extremely grave. "This humble one heard it from Magistrate Liu of Haixi. But I still beg the Grand Marshal to hear me out — I believe we are far from a dead end yet. To open war to the east, is the Marshal's headquarters truly prepared?"

Liu Chengzong did not answer whether he was prepared to go to war with the imperial court. He simply countered, "A grain shortage is far from a dead end?"

Whether to go to war had nothing to do with whether he was prepared. Even if he was not prepared, what else could be done when the grain ran out? During the great drought in northern Shaanxi, how many people ate guanyin earth? Did they not know that eating too much guanyin earth would kill them?

Everyone knew. And everyone knew even better that if you survived it, you lived.

Zhou Riqiang lowered his head and thought. "It is not that we have not reached a dead end. I merely feel... Grand Marshal, the common people will run out of grain, but the army's grain is sufficient. There is no need to go to war over this."

"So you mean to watch them starve." Liu Chengzong's brows furrowed. He pointed at Zhou Riqiang. "Then why did you come running to me saying the people would starve if they were not moved into the valley? People just can't die on your hands, is that it?"

"You are the one who wants to save them!"

Zhou Riqiang gritted his teeth. "If I were in charge, I would never have let them into Haixi. If people must die, I would rather it be the Mongols and Tibetans beyond the sea who starve, not that the Marshal's headquarters raises a great army and brings death to the people of the Hehuang Valley and Lanzhou."

Liu Chengzong was silent for a long moment. The anger in his heart gradually subsided. At last, his tone softened. "They are no longer Mongols and Tibetans beyond the sea. They are the people under my rule. Of course I must save them. Until the very last moment, when there is no other way, I will not raise troops either."

"Buy grain."

Zhou Riqiang suddenly said, "Buy grain from the east. The chieftains and wealthy houses — even at a high price, you can buy a great deal of grain."

"The grain price in Xining is already high. Further east, who knows how high it will climb..."

Liu Chengzong slowly shook his head and let out a long breath. "That is my army's pay."

He had always wanted to issue pay to the army, but even now he had yet to save up three years' worth of military pay. Just as he was on the verge of being able to issue it, to throw his silver like a fool into the east to buy high-priced grain — he would far rather issue the pay to his men, then march east and string up the landlords and gentry to loot them.

"Even if we are to buy grain, we must first push the troops to the river mouth at Lanzhou, bring the Hehuang Valley into our grasp, and only then speak of buying grain."

"I will consider the matter of the eastern campaign further." Having said this, Liu Chengzong turned to Zhou Riqiang. "Brother Zhou, please return. The rations needed for the sea will be sent over very soon."

Zhou Riqiang said no more. He cupped his hands and offered one last word of counsel. "Grand Marshal, you are no eastern brigand, still less a western brigand. If you can only endure this trial, thousands of qing of land — thousands of qing of fertile land — will be enough to sustain your army. There is no need to run rampant with savagery and violence. Show a little benevolence and righteousness, and the Hehuang region will yield its heart at once."