Chapter 458: The Purple-Gold Beam

The frozen ice on White Ridge turned into a waterfall, plunging from the peak to crash into a river below, surging mightily toward the endless desert and gobi.

Between the sunlit snowy mountains and the magnificent red cliffs and danxia formations, on the Bazidun Grassland southwest of Zhangye, the Liyuan River meanders eastward, and on its bank stands a Ming army fortress — it is called Liyuan Fort.

This fortress was built in the first year of the Chongzhen reign and served as the central hub for the Gansu Garrison's border troops to administer the five Yellow Fan tribes of Bazidun.

The Yellow Fan were formerly the Yellow-headed Uighurs of the Hexi Corridor; they migrated eastward into the passes during the Zhengde and Jiajing reigns, and for a long time the court called them Western Fan or Subject Yi, making no distinction between them and the local Fan people.

It was not until the late Wanli reign, when the Mongols rose to power in the northwest and the Huoluochi tribe raided into Qinghai to dominate the region, that the court began calling them Shuda, in order to differentiate the Subject Yi north and south of the Qilian Mountains from the sea bandits.

At this stage, in the eyes of the northwestern court, there was actually little obvious difference between the Fan people and the Mongols — those farming in the mountains were called Fan, those herding sheep on the grasslands were called Da, and with differences in clothing came a host of labels, such as Red-Hat Fan and Yellow-Headed Fan.

Shuda meant obedient herder tribes.

However, because Bazidun was located on the northern stretch of the high mountain pass connecting the north and south sides of the Qilian Mountains, they were destined to suffer pressure from both the court and the sea bandits.

Living here, they naturally had to deliver horses and grain every year to the Mobile Corps Commander stationed at Liyuan Fort; in the past, Little Lhatsun had also set up several tax collectors on the northern slopes, demanding ten percent in tribute from them each year.

Though the five tribal chieftains suffered unbearably, they had no other choice — the Gansu border troops could not afford to provoke the sea bandits, and the sea bandits could not afford to provoke the Gansu border troops, but both Gansu and the sea bandits could bully them.

Later, after the Marshal's Manor drove out Little Lhatsun, the five Yellow Fan tribes enjoyed a comfortable period, but soon the routed Huoluochi troops who fled into the mountains and the deserters from the Gansu Garrison were crisscrossing the Qilian Mountains again; the Gansu border troops could not be bothered to scour the mountains, and the five Yellow Fan tribes could barely hold them off.

It was not until Magistrate Chen Qindai of Haixi County led his bandit-suppression troops into the mountains that they became completely unable to resist.

Because Magistrate Chen Qindai's bandit-suppression troops had not come to do good deeds — Haixi County had clear boundary markers, with the highest pass of the Qilian Mountains as the border; north of the pass was Gansu Garrison territory, and Chen Qindai dared not cross that line by a single step.

So whenever the deserters and bandits in the mountains crossed the snowy peaks into Gansu, Chen Qindai would stop pursuing.

The banditry here did not ease somewhat until the Three Tribulations Society spread into Gansu.

Wang Ziyong's career was complex — his footprints were everywhere along the Great Wall; he had raised troops and rebelled in Yan'an Prefecture and Ningxia, entered the capital to relieve the siege as a military officer, crossed blades with the Eastern Brigands beneath the walls of Luanzhou, pulled eight battalions out right under the emperor's nose to burn incense and worship Buddha, was the most zealous bandit-suppression commander in Shanxi, and then with a quick change of identity in Gansu became Chief Wang of the Three Tribulations Society.

The vast majority of the bandits on the northern slopes of the Qilian Mountains were deserters who had returned from the capital relief campaign; these men were deeply impressed by Superintendent Wang, who had led White Lotus followers in chanting "good times are near," and many, upon hearing Wang Ziyong's name, came to join him out of admiration — the banditry thus resolved itself naturally.

From that time on, Wang Ziyong was the best friend of the five Yellow Fan tribes of Bazidun; the warhorses, donkeys, and mules the Three Tribulations Society acquired were all kept and grazed on the Bazidun Grassland.

The great chieftain of the five Yellow Fan tribes was called Tahe Zhike, a name that meant Tiger Cub; the Yellow Fan tribesmen often called him Anzhang, because people believed that every generation's great chieftain was a descendant of the Northern Yuan's Prince of Anding or Yanzhang, the founder of the Handong Left Guard.

He had a face full of yellow whiskers, was a big red-faced man, wore amber prayer beads around his neck, and always had large silver earrings that glittered in the sunlight.

At this time every year, Tahe Zhike would lead his tribesmen in offering tribute to the mountain god, praying for lush water and grass, bountiful harvests, and many male births for the tribe.

Whenever the offerings were presented, flocks of white-headed vultures would circle overhead; the elders of the tribe said that the vultures were messengers sent by the mountain god to receive the offerings, and the more vultures that came, the safer and healthier the people and livestock would be that year.

But in the seventh year of the Chongzhen reign, in the Sunan Bazidun, there were no vultures in the sky.

Tahe Zhike tilted his red face upward until his neck grew stiff and sore, yet still could not see vultures circling in the sky; all that filled his vision were low white clouds and the harsh sun forming rings of halo, along with his braids blown askew by the slanting west wind of Bazidun.

The people's expressions shifted from joy to piety, from piety to terror, and finally from terror to despair.

Until someone came running swiftly along the mountain ridge and whispered in his ear: "Anzhang, Officer Wang has come!"

Tahe Zhike's face still bore the worry of the absent vultures; he turned his head, paused in a daze, then shook his head and said: "Do not bring him into the tribe — take him to the deer ground."

The deer ground was Tahe Zhike's hunting preserve, a place sparsely populated.

Not long after, Tahe Zhike, seated on a saddle polished from elm wood and riding his horse, appeared at the deer ground like a deity.

Amid a forest of stumps left behind after widespread felling, he saw Wang Ziyong, travel-worn and weary, sitting on a stump.

He swung down from his horse, raised his riding whip, and said: "Chief Wang, you still dare come to me? Some time ago, government troops entered Bazidun and ordered us to kill you on sight."

Wang Ziyong smiled, not taking it seriously, and merely gestured toward a nearby stump with an inviting hand, laughing: "All my horses are with you — how could I not come?"

Tahe Zhike also sat on a stump and spoke to himself: "There are no vultures in the sky. The lama says this is an omen of war. You are also an enlightened eminent monk — what do you make of it?"

Hearing the title "enlightened eminent monk," Wang Ziyong smiled and touched his hair bun, saying: "You know that in northern Shaanxi, although some called me Monk Wang in the early years, far more people called me the Purple-Gold Beam. The Purple-Gold Beam is a Daoist crown, so I am no enlightened eminent monk."

"But as for whether war is coming — yes, war is coming. I am about to raise troops."

Wang Ziyong looked at the big red-faced man before him and said: "This time I've come to invite you. People say your ancestor was Yanzhang of the Handong Left Guard. Rise up with me."

"I already told you — government troops have entered Bazidun and ordered me to kill you on sight."

Wang Ziyong was full of confidence: "Then do you intend to kill me?"

Tahe Zhike shook his head and said: "You have nine hundred and seventy horses in my keeping — that is more than the warhorses of all five of our tribes combined. Those horses are very fine, but the grass has grown poorly this year, and they have grown much thinner."

"If you killed me, all these horses would be yours."

Tahe Zhike stubbornly shook his head: "You are a friend who has helped us. The bond of friendship is worth more than a thousand horses. I will not harm you for these external things. You may take them away at any time... How did you come to be pursued by the imperial court?"

Wang Ziyong sighed: "The business of smuggling warhorses and arms out of the military forts — it was exposed."

He shook his head: "It would have been fine otherwise. With superiors deceiving and subordinates concealing, no one would have spoken of it. But then the Supreme Commander of the Three Borders sent Bai Guang'en."

"Bai Guang'en? He is the one who entered Bazidun."

"Yes. He is a rebel-turned-traitor from northern Shaanxi who surrendered to the court, and he throws himself into his work more zealously than anyone. The officers handed him the account books, but he wouldn't look at them — he insisted on barging into the mess to see what the soldiers were eating."

Wang Ziyong shook his head. Against someone like Bai Guang'en, he had no tricks at all.

Originally, the members of the Three Tribulations Society were scattered among the various forts and guard posts; riding the momentum of resisting the Marshal's Manor, garrison officers and battalion commanders everywhere were ordered to drill their troops rigorously. Battalion drills were few — at most once every three days — and the main focus was on low-ranking officers and even soldiers honing their skills on their own.

With this setup, for a squad commander or unit leader bringing troops, it was perfectly normal to report two extra quivers of arrows damaged last month, two suits of armor scrapped this month, and two horses run to death next month.

Even the senior officers were pleased to see such reports, as they created the illusion that the soldiers were diligently training.

But Bai Guang'en did not buy any of this. He barged into the mess, took one look at the gruel the army was cooking for the soldiers — thinner than the congee he had drunk during his days squatting in jail right after surrendering — and understood everything.

Fed like rabbits, the men could not even draw their bows to full strength — it was utterly impossible for them to break bows or smash arrows. Warhorses dropping dead was somewhat more plausible, given the inherent superiority of cavalry; starving soldiers would find ways to kill the warhorses.

At this stage of events, Wang Ziyong was still safe. Unfortunately, in order to coordinate with the Marshal's Manor's advance, the Three Tribulations Society had also recruited followers widely in a short time, drawing in quite a few mid-ranking officers and wealthy households.

The Three Tribulations Society had little hold over these people; many had joined only because the soldiers, tenant farmers, and villagers under them had entered the Society, and they donated some money to buy a status so they would not be sidelined.

As long as the Three Tribulations Society did not rise up, it benefited them — they were the Society's landlords. But sensing that the Society was about to rise up, they would naturally sell out the Society to earn merit and rewards.

Wang Ziyong himself had only wanted to take a risk — it was just a matter of these few days; if nothing went wrong, once Zhang Tianlin attacked, they would raise their banners in rebellion. By then, these people could jump all they wanted and it would be useless, and he could quickly raise funds for the uprising.

Unfortunately, the matter was detected early, and Bai Guang'en's interference forced him to rise up ahead of schedule.

Thinking of this, Wang Ziyong could only look up at the sky with regret. Life could not always go as one wished; in the end, human schemes were no match for heaven's design. The soul of the Great Virtuous Teacher was watching him from the heavens.

"Then what about rising up? Rise up with me, and the Grand Marshal can give you a higher office than your ancestor's rank of Commander of the Handong Guard."

"We will not help you."

Tahe Zhike refused just as firmly. He looked at Wang Ziyong and said: "My ancestors lived for generations in lands far beyond the passes. Windstorms killed the livestock, yellow sands buried the tents. They passed the Thousand Buddha Caves, crossed the Ten Thousand Buddha Gorge, and entered the land where the Han people have dwelled for generations. The Great Ming Emperor is also our benefactor. I cannot lead my people to rise up with you for the sake of wealth and rank."

Though refused, Wang Ziyong was not surprised. He simply nodded, rose, and said, "Since that's the case, I'll take the horses. If an army from the south comes through later, tell them you're an old friend of mine — they won't make trouble for you."

Tahe Zhike nodded in agreement and likewise urged, "Be careful. They've conscripted the Black and Yellow Barbarians from the High Terrace — Tiger Wolf Brother has marched."

"Understood."

Wang Ziyong knew that Tiger Wolf Brother was a headman of a Black and Yellow Barbarian tribe over by the High Terrace, but he paid it no mind, because in the Ming dynasty, none of the submitted barbarians, Mongols, or Tatars who had come inside the borders ever possessed any real strength. What he truly had to watch out for was still the Ming army in Gansu.

Just as he was about to leave, Tahe Zhike suddenly called him back. He turned to see Tahe Zhike remove the prayer beads she had worn her entire life, kiss them, and place them around his neck.

"All the merit of a lifetime chanting Buddha's name is in these. I hope they can protect you — keep you alive."

Wang Ziyong had meant to dodge at first, but hearing these words he obediently stretched out his neck and let Tahe Zhike hang the beads on him. Only then did he clasp his fists heavily, say "Take care," and laugh freely. "Don't worry. Though I've never won a battle against government troops in my life, I've also never died when they chased me."

Watching Wang Ziyong's departing figure, Tahe Zhike seemed suddenly to have aged many years. She slowly sat back down on the tree stump, waited in silence a long while, then raised her head to gaze at the sky. At last, disappointed, she let out a long sigh. "Even the vultures are dead. War is coming."

Within days of Wang Ziyong leaving Bazidun, Liyuan Fort on the banks of the Liyuan River fell in a mutiny.

That morning, the Liyuan Battalion had been scheduled to hold drill exercises as planned, but the troops had barely left the fort when someone began clamoring for back pay on the march, and the unrest steadily escalated.

Garrison Commander Ma Pin, who was leading the troops out of the fort, was killed on the spot by the mutinous soldiers demanding pay. The rebels then raised torches high and charged toward Liyuan Fort. Assistant Commander Wei Yinglin ordered the gates shut and the fort held to the death, but he never imagined this was a premeditated revolt — gunpowder had been planted in advance beneath the fort's western wall.

With a sudden thunderous boom the fort wall collapsed in a roar. The starving soldiers raised their torches and darted through the smoke and dust; guns and cannons roared in unison. In the blink of an eye raging flames engulfed the government offices and barracks, black smoke surging straight into the clouds.

When word reached Ganzhou City, Regional Commander Yang Jiamo flew into a towering rage. He immediately mustered a battalion of troops, led by Mobile Corps Commander Li Yun, to join forces with Bai Guang'en and march against the rebels.

Bai Guang'en advanced by the book. Mobile Corps Commander Li Yun, impatient for quick results, left over a thousand infantry lagging behind and raced ahead toward Liyuan Fort with only three hundred cavalry. Who could have known that very day, barely fifty li from the city, they would be ambushed by Wang Ziyong personally leading over a thousand mounted troops. The cavalry were scattered and hunted down; Mobile Corps Commander Li Yun was likewise trapped in the fray and killed.

Wang Ziyong's plan was simple. The government troops in the north were originally configured at three horse to seven foot. Gansu was a region rich in warhorses, but with him stirring up trouble here, the government troops would struggle even to field two horse to eight foot.

His plan was to use the Liyuan Fort mutiny to draw the Gansu government troops out of the city, wipe out their mounted units, and then in the battles to come they would hold the mobility advantage — everything would be far easier.

Learning that he had taken down a Mobile Corps General left Wang Ziyong utterly elated.

This uprising leader, who had risen in the second year of Chongzhen, had fought all his victorious battles in Shanxi — chasing down Shanxi bandits to help the court suppress rebellion, to keep them from being killed by Cao Wenzhao coming up behind. Apart from that, he had never once won against government troops.

This time, with a win under his belt, his blood ran hot. He immediately decided to lead his troops north and keep challenging the government forces — and ran straight into Bai Guang'en, whose troops were crack, supplies ample, and horses fat and sleek.

For all his seniority in rebellion, he had only a thousand men. Bai Guang'en had originally commanded a full-strength battalion and had also temporarily taken over the thousand-plus infantry that had marched out of Ganzhou — over four thousand troops bearing down on him in a mighty wave. Terrified, Wang Ziyong fled south as though he had laid eyes on his natural predator.

Right at this critical juncture, Zhang Tianlin, shivering as he led three thousand light infantry, finally crossed the Qilian Mountains. Cradling his big rocket, he turned curious eyes toward a Gansu written all over with unknowns.