Chapter 503: Restless Anxiety

Liu Chengzong's letter took only four days to reach Xining City, a thousand li away.

But this was not because his messenger had winged feet — it was because he was far too good at keeping his nerve. His father, Liu Laoye, had long been so frantic in Xining Prefecture that he could not sleep night after night. He had specially dispatched over eight hundred men to the southern foothills of the Qilian Mountains to set up temporary relay posts for rapid message delivery, blanketing every mountain pass that could possibly be used to transmit military intelligence.

The forward-most relay posts had even extended to Sunan on the northern foothills of the Qilian Mountains, where the relay soldiers simply moved directly into the encampments of the Yellow Barbarian Five Tribes.

Although the situation in He-Huang had been extremely perilous at one point last month, Liu Xiangyu would not send word to Liu Chengzong unless absolutely necessary. He could only stiffen his neck and bear it alone.

He did not speak of the war situation here, so as not to worry Liu Shizi; he did not ask about the war situation there, because he could not help.

In truth, it was rather strange: Liu Chengzong, leading troops on the eastern campaign, was not flustered by the war; Liu Chengyun, defending He-Huang, was flustered for a while and then more or less stopped being flustered. Only Liu Xiangyu, who could contribute no strength, was frantic beyond measure.

Even though Chengyun repeatedly sent men to reassure him, saying, "Second Uncle, don't panic, the situation is very stable. As long as Lanzhou is safe, the Ming army won't dare strike into He-Huang."

Liu Xiangyu would say every time, "It's nothing, I'm not panicking," then turn around and set up two temporary relay routes. One, with over eight hundred men, stretched from Xincheng all the way to the northern foothills of the Qilian Mountains — practically one man every li.

The other route stretched from Xincheng to Dongguan, three hundred li, with over nine hundred men, every one of them a fine archer. This time they didn't even need to run. The militia from the Five Garrisons were responsible for delivering meals to these men. They stood one every hundred and twenty paces, with an eight-chi-square great arrow target set up beside them. Every day they just stood there, and when a letter came — whoosh — an arrow shot it onward.

Panic was one aspect, but the main thing was that ever since his two sons had marched north on the Gansu campaign, Liu Laoye had done a little accounting and discovered that although Shizi had taken most of the Marshal's headquarters' savings last year, this year alone they had turned their fortunes around.

Under Liu Laoye's management, Xining Prefecture's productivity was extremely strong, and a crowd of people who had fled from northern Shaanxi, ravenous with hunger, were reclaiming farmland at a near-doubling rate.

They had originally possessed six hundred and fifty thousand mu of grain land in He-Huang. In their second year after arriving, they opened up seventy-three thousand mu of military colony fields at Xincheng. After the great He-Huang battle, they reclaimed seventy thousand mu of irrigated military colony fields in the Yaoshui River Valley south of Xincheng. Last year, they also opened up a hundred and forty thousand mu of military colony fields north of Xining and west of Xincheng.

Moreover, the native chieftains living in the He-Huang mountains, influenced by them, were also frantically reclaiming mountain fields... Grain could be exchanged for money, and money could buy everything they desired in this world at the Hundred Works Bureau.

In the past, grain could also be exchanged for money, but the former He-Huang locals all planted oil-producing crops and had no such great demand for grain. Now it was different. No matter how much grain you had, as long as you wanted to buy the Marshal's headquarters' goods, the Marshal's headquarters was willing to accept your grain.

Liu Laoye was originally a man who lived on a tight budget, calculating every penny. Yet this year, when he did the sums, he discovered that the Marshal's headquarters had struck it rich.

Despite being in a drought year, the influence of snowmelt from the mountains meant the impact on the He-Huang harvest was minor. This year, from military colony fields alone, they could secure over a hundred and fifty thousand dan of grain income, and relying on the policy of buying grain through land equalization, they could purchase over three hundred thousand dan more.

This was actually about the same amount of grain they had received last year, not in itself a fortune. But there was one issue this year: the Marshal's headquarters had no one in He-Huang to eat the grain.

When the Xining Prefecture yamen was empty, Liu Xiangyu would think of this and chuckle to himself: all the grain-eaters had gone out to war.

For so many years, ever since his son had risen in revolt, the moment Liu Laoye opened his eyes each day, his mind was filled with arithmetic problems. How many people needed to eat how much grain? How long would the grain on hand last? Where would next month's, the month after's, next year's grain come from?

Only this year — Lanzhou had Lanzhou's grain, Gansu had Gansu's grain, and all the grain-eaters of Xining had gone out to war. At one stroke, they could store up three to four hundred thousand dan of grain.

He was happy, far too happy.

So happy that Liu Xiangyu brought Yang Dingrui and mobilized the original team that had built Xining's granaries to plan yet another great granary west of Xining City... The grain couldn't be eaten fast enough; they had to find a place to store it.

With this economic foundation, Liu Laoye felt not the slightest pang of regret in setting up two express relay routes. Yet, as it happened, just then his son's letter arrived, and at a single glance, Liu Laoye closed his eyes, half joy and half worry.

The joy was that the war in the north was going smoothly. A map of Gansu hung in the Xining Prefecture office, and he studied it three times a day. As long as a place was on that map, as long as a location was mentioned in the letter, Liu Laoye knew exactly where it was the moment he closed his eyes.

Counting from the day the great army reached beyond Jiayu Pass, in three months they had taken one pass, four cities, and forty-six fortresses and strongholds. Through annihilation, rout, and incorporation, they had stripped the Ming army of eight battalions' worth of strength. The progress of this campaign could no longer be described as merely smooth.

Liu Xiangyu was certain that Hong Chengchou at the Zhuanglang River would, in all likelihood, soon launch a frenzied counterattack toward He-Huang. Otherwise, his army could only retreat toward Ningxia, because as news of this great victory spread throughout Hexi, the total withdrawal of Ming forces from Longxi had become inevitable.

This was because, for the Ming army, Longxi now had no defensible terrain, no grain to supply them, and no troops to use. To expect the twenty-some thousand men in Hong Chengchou's hands to confront the Marshal's headquarters' seventy thousand troops from both Gansu and Lanzhou at the Zhuanglang River was utter nonsense.

To be precise, eighty thousand, because now encamped and fortifying on the north bank of the Yellow River and the west bank of the Zhuanglang River, facing off against the Ming army, were also two battalions of the Western Camp's Eight Great Kings.

Cao Wenzhao had tried playing the reckless brute and had very easily driven Xie Erhu back into He-Huang.

Xie Erhu knew this notorious barbarian and simply refused to fight him. If you dared enter He-Huang, I dared to retreat. And he wouldn't bother with any kind of organized withdrawal — we Mongols just routed outright, running like the wind. If you had the guts, scatter your formation and chase me.

Cao Wenzhao had suffered a loss once and did not dare break his army's formation, so his pursuit was relatively slow. When he pursued to Dongguan Town and saw the five star-fort bastions Liu Chengzong had built, a chill ran down his spine. He dared not advance further. When he turned his head back, he found no one behind him and hurriedly struck camp and ran back.

Chai Shihua, Bai Guang'en, and Ding Shaoyin's three battalions behind him had all been firmly pinned down. Had he delayed his retreat by a single shichen, Wang Wenxiu would have successfully mobilized heavy troops to encircle him, trapping him to his death between Dongguan and Hekou.

But because Cao Wenzhao fled, the Marshal's army suffered a minor loss in that battle. The main issue was that there were Ming spies within Shi Xiang's Lintao Brigade. When troops were being maneuvered, He Renlong got wind of it. That fellow seized the chance to give Shi Xiang a beating, and over three hundred men died.

However, apart from the personnel, the loss was not great, because no sooner had the battle ended than He Renlong's baggage train was seized by the Yan'an God of War, Yang Yanchang.

Ren Quan'er wrote He Renlong a letter of apology — "So sorry, General He, our family's God of War has had poor eyesight lately and mistook your convoy for roving bandits" — while simultaneously having his men tidy up the spoils of war and send them back to Lanzhou City.

Zhang Xianzhong spent this month as if it were New Year. Never in his life had he felt such an immense sense of security. Never mind that the Ming army was close at hand — they absolutely did not dare advance. Ever since the Marshal's headquarters abandoned Zhuanglang Garrison, the battle line at the Zhuanglang River had stalemated right there. The Marshal's army occupied the west, south, and east sides of the Zhuanglang River. The moment the Ming army came down from the Zhuanglang River, they entered a pocket formation and got beaten from three sides.

Moreover, his military burden was not heavy. Zhang Xianzhong was, after all, an independent leader. Even with their agreement, his first priority was preserving his own strength. Against someone like Cao Wenzhao, who looked hard to fight, he was not about to stick his neck out.

Zhang Xianzhong actually did not place great weight on promises. It was simply that the Marshal's headquarters was like a great mountain, and the only great mountain he could rely on — therefore, the promise had to be taken seriously.

In his view, however, taking out Cao Wenzhao alone would cost too much. He much preferred to coordinate with the other Marshal's headquarters armies and eliminate this fellow with a plan and tactics.

He desperately needed a stable rear area. In truth, he had thought a great deal over these past two years. Gaining a firm foothold in the Central Plains heartland was far too difficult.

Especially after Liu Chengzong ran off to Qinghai, he was the first among the Shaanxi warlords to lead his troops westward. He had wanted to enter Sichuan, but found that while he could fight Zuo Liangyu to a standstill, he truly could not defeat Qin Liangyu, and had no choice but to withdraw again.

In particular, when he first saw the troops Wang Wenxiu had transferred over in an attempt to encircle Cao Wenzhao, the army under Wang Wenxiu's command was already completely different from those of the other Shaanxi leaders. Their weapons and equipment were entirely self-supplied. That was when Zhang Xianzhong desperately wanted to go west — to the west of Liu Chengzong's territory.

Liu Chengzong had proven that a man could live very well after going out to the frontier. Hadn't he just taken ten or twenty thousand men and run off to Qinghai? And after these few years, hadn't he made quite a decent showing of it?

Zhang Xianzhong was far too fond of Liu Chengyun. He knew Chengyun could not fight a battle, but he did not admire men who could fight battles either. Who couldn't fight a battle? I, your old man, am the best in the world at fighting battles. As long as this pack of little bastards under my command all listen to me, we are certain to win.

What he lacked was a man like Chengyun — someone who could keep the rear area in perfect order, who, even though he clearly could not fight and had only a bunch of Mongols who would collapse at the first touch under his command, still dared not to transfer the Lanzhou army into He-Huang, ensuring the strategy of this present pocket formation. In the grand scheme, his courage and judgment were extraordinary.

He had courage when courage was needed, and talent when talent was needed — a man of ability!

Zhang Xianzhong respected men of ability above all. In his two battalions, apart from elite soldiers, there were only strategists. All other idle personnel were dismissed without exception. What was a strategist? A learned man.

Whether a certified student or a licentiate, even a storyteller who could read and write — whether you were willing or not, if our Eight Great Kings laid eyes on you, he would truss you up and make you a strategist. The whole camp's soldiers ate sorghum flour and millet rice, but not the strategists. Even if he had to rob, Zhang Xianzhong would give them white rice and white flour at every meal. Silks and satins, gold, silver, pearls, and jewels — whatever they wanted, he gave.

For the sake of learning.

Zhang Xianzhong had no chance to study when he was young. Working as a constable, he often came into contact with learned men and understood very clearly the importance of learning. Now that he had the means, every day he had the army's strategists lecture him. Many things that sounded soporific to others, he listened to with rapt fascination.

Because the same material, which held no practical significance for others, he could fully apply in his life. He not only studied himself, but also made his trusted generals and adopted sons study with him.

These things could not be kept to oneself. For example, the Book of Rites speaks of remonstrance: "The ritual for a minister is not to remonstrate openly. If he remonstrates thrice and is not heeded, then he departs."

It made great sense. If your remonstrance was ignored three times, it showed that ruler and minister saw things differently. One of the two must be a great fool, but it was not yet clear which one was the great fool. So they should part ways and observe further.

Therefore, when Zhang Xianzhong discovered a talent like Liu Chengyun, and since he could not kidnap him, he specially sent several of his adopted sons to Liu Chengyun, telling them to follow behind this uncle, serve him tea and water, and study hard.

Only later did he learn that the territory Commander Liu had seized was even farther than the limits of his own knowledge of the world.

That was far too far — farewell!

So lately, Zhang Xianzhong kept sidling up to Chengyun. Sidling up, he would ask, "Third General, give me an honest answer — how exactly do things stand between the Grand Marshal and those three Tartar brothers who went into Tibet?"

Chengyun knew exactly what Zhang Xianzhong was thinking and quickly waved his hand. "That place is too high. Even my brother didn't dare go up from Chamdo. Bingzhong, brother, just stay put in Hezhou Garrison. Who knows how many men would die climbing up to that place."

Zhang Xianzhong froze at these words, staring at Chengyun with his large, manic eyes, like a tiger choosing its prey.

He had originally been a taciturn constable. These years, escaping death by a hair and campaigning across the realm, every day felt like the last day of his life. He hadn't even slept soundly for more than a few days. Often, just after making camp and dousing the fires to sleep, he would suddenly spring up and order the camp struck to keep marching.

A life severely lacking in security had made his temperament restless and volatile — and it wasn't just him. Nearly all the adopted sons and commanders around him had the same condition. That sort of thing is forged by experience; blood ties have little to do with it.

It was just that Zhang Xianzhong liked Cheng Yun far too much. He actually stared at Liu Chengyun and forcibly adjusted his own volatility back down. His expression shifted abruptly, and he laughed: "Haha, I don't know where Chamdo is, but I've been fighting wars for so many years, I've long wanted a rest. If I drop dead, so be it!"

Cheng Yun kept a smiling face. He was all too familiar with that neurotic, manic feeling Zhang Xianzhong carried. When the Lion Battalion was campaigning across northern Shaanxi, he had been in charge of the wounded, and many of them looked just like this. The person with the most obvious symptoms was his second brother, Liu Chengzong.

Sometimes he was bursting with energy, going without sleep, talkative and restless, easily distracted, his thoughts leaping about — often saying one thing and suddenly thinking of something else. Other times, it was as if his brain had rusted solid: he wouldn't speak, wouldn't move, wouldn't eat, wouldn't sleep, his mood utterly sunken.

But his second brother was not the most severe case. Quite a few people, beyond those less-than-normal behaviors, also suffered more terrifying rages and self-destructive urges. At the slightest frustration, they would lash out at others with blows or curses, or display a strong tendency toward self-harm. For example, when their General Feng Rang was hungry, some trivial matter could make him not want to live anymore.

Cheng Yun had once believed this was an illness, something tied to the mental pressure a person bore. But he didn't know how to treat it. He only knew that the condition flared up most when the pressure was too great, and if the pressure could be released, the symptoms would ease.

Take his second brother, for instance. If he lifted stone locks every day and worked up a sweat, his mood would improve a little. Fight and win a battle, leaving corpses strewn across the field, and he'd immediately revert to the normal version of the compassionate Scholar Liu.

Yet it seemed that even his second brother at his worst was far milder than Zhang Xianzhong in his normal state.

To Cheng Yun, why provoke a man like that, right? He smiled and said: "Since Bingzhong, brother, you want to find a place, then first settle the troops at Hezhou Garrison. When my second brother returns, I'll go talk to him. Rest assured, with all the people under heaven, my brother values Shaanxi compatriots the most. As long as they're compatriots, everything can be discussed. There's nothing that can't be discussed."

Zhang Xianzhong was delighted too, rubbing his hands eagerly: "Third General can also rest assured. Whoever the Grand Marshal wants me to kill, I can kill. There's no one who can't be killed!"

Just as Cheng Yun and Zhang Xianzhong were reaching a basic agreement, at the other end of Hehuang, Liu Laoye was writing furiously with a face full of displeasure. He had finally managed to scrape together a bit of family savings in Hehuang this year, and then a letter from his second son arrived. Happy times are always so fleeting!

Resettlement — resettlement meant feeding people again.

But regarding Liu Chengzong's request, Liu Laoye was just like Liu Chengzong reading Bai Yiqing's long letter bitterly detailing Gansu's accumulated abuses: "In the past, population was Hehuang's biggest problem, but now that problem no longer exists. Just tell me how many people you need. Don't say ten thousand households — whether it's ten thousand households of twenty thousand mouths, or ten thousand households of thirty thousand mouths, I can resettle them all for you!"

Good morning!

The Deer-Snatching Marquis, bringing Zhang Xianzhong along, wishes the esteemed readers a happy new year — kowtow!

Wishing everyone good health and success in all things for the year ahead!