Chapter 539: The Locust Plague Strangling

Zhang Xianzhong.

Minister of Rites.

These two things — in Liu Chengzong's mind, they were instinctively antonyms.

Even if Chengyun nominated Wei Qian'er, whose foul mouth was legendary, as the Grand Marshal's Mansion's Rites Office director, Liu Chengzong would still find that more plausible than Zhang Xianzhong.

But thinking it over carefully, the Western Battalion's five or six thousand ferocious cutthroats — their eating, drinking, shitting, sleeping, fighting, and marching were all kept in perfect order by Zhang Xianzhong. A mere Rites Office director handling schools, sacrifices, vassals, and death-and-injury grants might even be overkill, using a butcher's cleaver to kill a chicken.

Liu Chengzong felt that under the current circumstances, Zhang Xianzhong taking this post was very fitting, because he needed to bring Gao Yingxiang, Li Zicheng, He Yilong, and those others over for talks.

Back in Lanzhou, Liu Shizi told Zhang Xianzhong this idea. Old Zhang seemed a bit awkward.

Zhang Xianzhong had previously thought he understood Liu Chengzong quite well, but now he was a little baffled by how Liu Chengzong's brain worked... making me Minister of Rites — what was he thinking?

The reason he thought he understood was actually that ever since surrendering to the Marshal's Mansion, Zhang Xianzhong had grasped exactly what Liu Chengzong's personnel arrangements meant.

He too had absorbed other small bands. When absorbing a group, what worried you most? Worrying that the men beneath you wouldn't obey, that they weren't of one heart with you.

So what do you do then?

First pull in a bunch, then elevate a few, and finally grab one man and stomp him to death.

The ones you pull in are those willing to obey. Once men surrender, you first give them benefits. When universal benefits are given, some inside the group feel grateful, some don't. Internal division and disintegration — they lose the strength to unite against outsiders.

Western Battalion leaders all promoted one or even two ranks, soldiers all issued pay, grain, and clothing — that was the pulling in.

The ones you elevate are those with ability but wavering loyalties. In an army, the capable ones are junior officers like Liu Tichun, Bai Wenxuan, and Feng Shuangli. There's no need to distinguish who has ability and who doesn't.

They're different from the government troops. By this stage of the Great Ming's armies, military households' descendants were everywhere. Those men were certainly very capable, but social skills made up a huge part of their overall strength. In the rebel system, by contrast — especially a small rebel band like the Western Battalion that hadn't established a regime — anyone who made it to junior leader was a desperado. Without real ability, they'd never have survived this long.

Zhang Xianzhong knew that in the future, Liu Chengzong would send these men to do jobs that looked very hard but were actually very simple. Succeed, and they'd get all kinds of praise.

Like sending Feng Shuangli to Ü-Tsang, or Bai Wenxuan to the northern desert.

Advancing into Ü-Tsang — truly quite hard, but the difficulty wasn't in fighting, it was in the march. How the army got to Ü-Tsang was the problem. Once they got to Ü-Tsang, how to fight was no problem at all. Zhang Xianzhong thought to himself: never mind those chieftains' little forts — that donkey-balled Feng Shuangli had followed me in smashing cities and plundering counties more times than he could count. As long as the troops reached the walls, the fighting itself was nothing.

That shepherd boy Bai Wenxuan heading off to the northern desert — sounded terrifying too, but it was actually the same situation. He still had Yang Qi and that bunch above him. If they lost, that was their problem; no blame would fall on Bai Wenxuan, who'd only taken five hundred men. Even if he lost the fight, as long as he could bring his troops back, wouldn't he still get a round of praise?

As for the one to stomp on — Zhang Xianzhong knew perfectly well that was him, the leader with great prestige in the Western Battalion. He wouldn't have to do anything, just sit on a cold bench.

Once his old subordinates each ran their own show, and damn it, all ran it well — when others could only be a squad commander under him but became a colonel under Liu Chengzong — his own past prestige as the old leader would naturally fall away.

All of them were warlords who'd slaughtered enough to fill the fields. Who was some pious devotee? You think you're the only one with schemes, Liu Chengzong — is our Eighth Great King just a big fool?

Basic tactics, that's all. Old Zhang here is just playing dumb and not quibbling, going along with your act for now. I've got real ability — sooner or later, you'll need it!

Of course, Zhang Xianzhong's unwillingness to tangle with Liu Chengzong was one side of it. The other side... he'd been living in Lanzhou city for over ten days now, and these days hadn't been easy. He truly had no energy to tangle.

Over four years — it had been over four years since Zhang Xianzhong rose in revolt. The days he'd slept in a city, in a house, on a wooden bed could be counted on one hand. Now, with food and clothing worry-free, every day eating the finest grains and the choicest cuts, washed clean and lying in soft bedding, he'd initially always sleep deeply. Yet the utterly silent nights somehow never let him rest properly.

Every night, in those dreams that flashed back to the peace and calm of his youth, they'd always be shattered to pieces by suddenly erupting gunfire and the shouts of slaughter. Every midnight waking, drenched in sweat and soaked through, Zhang Xianzhong would gaze out the window at the pitch-black, pin-drop-silent Lanzhou city — still as if a large force of government troops lay in ambush, everywhere radiating omens of danger and peril.

This life was unlivable. Night after night without sleep — he was going mad.

Only yesterday had he finally gotten a godson back from Chengyun, named Zhang Kewang. A child raised in war had seen little of anything, so everything seemed normal to him. The bloody, brutal life of a roving bandit was normal in their eyes; the peaceful, harmonious Marshal's Mansion was nothing strange to them either.

Death, even more so, was something so commonplace it had become numb. Zhang Kewang wasn't like his adoptive father — outwardly reckless, secretly terrified of death. Zhang Kewang didn't fear death. Lying on that big soft bed, comfortable for as long as it lasted, his snoring shook the heavens.

With Zhang Kewang put to sleep in the outer servant's room of the bedchamber, Zhang Xianzhong in the inner room finally got a solid, full night's sleep.

He'd just barely solved one problem, and here came another — Zhang Xianzhong wanted to know what Liu Chengzong was really up to.

Old Zhang here had already steeled himself to sit on a cold bench for a year or half a year. It had only been a handful of days — why had you, Grand Marshal Liu, suddenly changed the script, setting up a Minister of Rites for me to fill? What are you after?

Zhang Xianzhong's eyes darted — he understood. Elevate him high, but actually assign him work he's not good at, the exact reverse of his own subordinates, increasing the effect of suppressing his prestige.

Liu Chengzong was rather puzzled. Why, after telling Zhang Xianzhong this, had the man been silent for ages, a dry smile on his face with only his eyes darting around? Growing impatient, Liu Chengzong spoke: "Elder Brother, if you have misgivings about this matter, speak plainly."

"Grand Marshal, it's not that I have misgivings."

Zhang Xianzhong came back to himself and smiled. "The Marshal's Mansion brims with talent. Even if there's no ready-made official, finding a presented scholar to serve as Minister of Rites — no, Rites Office director — would that be so hard? Your humble subordinate is just a coarse man. Marching and fighting, I'd never refuse; but this great matter of the Rites Office..."

At this, Zhang Xianzhong leaned forward slightly and said with a mysterious air: "Could it be, Grand Marshal, that you want your humble subordinate to go as an envoy to the court and hack that pig emperor to death with one axe in the Golden Throne Hall?"

"Hahaha, would you dare go?"

Liu Chengzong clapped and laughed heartily, but in his heart, he was clear as a mirror. Though Zhang Xianzhong hadn't read many books yet and his personal conduct and quality weren't high, he was definitely no coarse man.

A coarse man couldn't have said that.

Having laughed, Liu Chengzong didn't wait for Zhang Xianzhong to awkwardly think up a fitting reply. He waved his hand and said seriously: "No need at all. The Rites Office's affairs are indeed heavy, but not so heavy that the director needs to go assassinate the emperor in Beijing. The Marshal's Mansion is newly founded and has fought year after year — even now, the six offices aren't fully established. While we're in Lanzhou, I need you to help me set up the framework of the Rites Office."

"As for your talk of finding a presented scholar — prime ministers rise from the provinces, fierce generals come from the ranks. Those who've read many books may not accomplish things; those who accomplish things can always read more books." Liu Chengzong said, "Elder Brother has led the Western Battalion very well. Managing the Rites Office should be well within your ability."

Though Liu Chengzong's words were earnest and serious, Zhang Xianzhong was still full of suspicion. He asked: "Then Grand Marshal, the successor as Western Brigade commander?"

To his surprise — Zhang Xianzhong had originally thought this would be the crux of their dispute — Liu Chengzong answered naturally and easily: "You can hold it concurrently. Being a brigade commander won't hinder you from being Rites Office director. In our Northwest, nothing can be separated from military affairs, and the Rites Office is no different."

Liu Chengzong didn't care.

The post of Western Brigade commander itself was just Liu Shizi doing Zhang Xianzhong a favor — meaning you're not surrendered generals, this is allegiance, establishing a high-status treatment. But as for real power, how many men did the Western Brigade even have left?

Moreover, the Marshal's Mansion itself was a regime with an exceptionally strong military foundation. Zhang Xianzhong wasn't family like his father Liu Xiangyu, his teacher Yang Dingrui, or his younger brother Liu Chengyun. Without a military title on him, even if he served as Rites Office director, doing things in Hehuang would inevitably invite scorn.

In truth, you couldn't blame Zhang Xianzhong for being suspicious. From the very start, he'd felt Liu Chengzong treated him strangely.

Those regional commanders who daily managed the food, drink, and logistics of tens of thousands of Ming troops — they surrendered and that was that, kept in Hehuang and fed, deployed when the time came, not a worry at all. Other leaders — that Flying Sky Monkey Liu Jiusi, whose momentum back in the day far outstripped his own — merged camps just like that, and now sent to serve in Kangning Prefecture, he was wielded like an arm or a finger.

When it came to Zhang Xianzhong — our troops weren't many, our battle record wasn't strong — why such wariness? The only thing we could really put forward was sacking a few cities and playing the rogue with a bit of cunning. But speaking of that... Lanzhou, Zhangye, Jiayuguan — who under heaven had taken more mighty passes and great cities than you, Liu Chengzong?

The regard was very strange, as if it was absolutely certain that he, Zhang Bingzhong, was a man who would do great things — well, that would just be the Grand Marshal's keen eye spotting talent. But this feeling of Cao Cao guarding against Liu Bei — where did this strange desire to conquer mixed with wariness come from?

This feeling of being valued, treated with intimacy, yet guarded against — it wasn't very pleasant.

Had Zhang Xianzhong known earlier that submitting to the Marshal's Mansion would be like this, he should have told Liu Chengzong then: cut the Western Battalion's six thousand down to three thousand, let him just be a colonel, assign him a garrison post, and be done with it.

Liu Chengzong had left him no excuse to refuse. He had no choice but to be forced onto the stage, accept the post, and ask: "Then Grand Marshal, what sort of framework do you need your humble subordinate to build?"

"I've already found a three-courtyard compound in the city. It was formerly the residence of a Bulwark General of the Su Principality, sitting empty and unoccupied. Assign it as the Rites Office headquarters. I know you have many advisors, and quite a few scholars around you."

Having said this, Liu Chengzong raised his fingers and counted: "The Rites Office will have a structure of one hall, two bureaus, and four sections."

"The hall is the Administrative Hall, in charge of receiving documents from all regions, presenting them to the office and distributing them to the sections. Its chief officers will be transferred from two Breaker of Formations Commandants."

This Administrative Hall was a structure all six ministries of the court had, similar to a general office. Breaker of Formations Commandant was the lowest of the Marshal's Mansion's three grades and nine ranks of commandant ranks, usually held by squad leaders in the Tiger Guard Battalion — in the old system, unit commanders, and when posted externally, centurions.

"The two bureaus — one Seal-Casting Bureau, one Robes and Caps Bureau. The former manages casting official seals, the latter manages making official robes. This work isn't complicated. Transfer two Galloping Cavalry officers as chiefs, and that will do."

"Four departments: Ceremonial Regulations, Sacrificial Rites, Guest Reception, and Fine Provisions — these are the Ministry of Rites' main functions. They require four first-rank Stalwart Army Commandants as chief officers, and four second-rank Martial Integrity Commandants as deputies. As for the clerks handling affairs, that depends on how many you need — submit a written report to me."

Zhang Xianzhong noted down each requirement, thinking to himself that this was not as difficult as he had imagined. At least Liu Chengzong's demands were clear, and he knew the departmental structure, which saved him from having to go back and ask further.

Only then did he hear Liu Chengzong say: "The Rites Office's first mission is to send men to contact the leaders of every faction, invite them to Lanzhou to gather with me and conclude an alliance pact, and decide the direction of military offensives going forward, so as to avoid internal strife. The guest reception matters will be yours to arrange."

Zhang Xianzhong accepted with great composure. This mission was both easy and difficult.

South of the Qinling Mountains, the land was now crawling with rebel kings — every Tom, Dick, and Harry had presumptuously declared himself king, rising and falling in the blink of an eye. Some titles had even been reincarnated, split into multiple personas, shed like a cicada's shell, or resurrected from the dead. No one could possibly recognize every single leader.

But on the other hand, the names of the great leaders were gilded signboards. He only needed to find a few men, and this mission would be half accomplished.

Zhang Xianzhong moved quickly. Within a few days, he had dispatched men to contact the various rebel army leaders on one hand, while completing the establishment of the Rites Office in Lanzhou on the other, arranging everything in perfect order.

Liu Chengzong's days grew even fuller. He spent them busily planning the locations of the Personnel, Revenue, and War offices, as well as constructing an armory bureau and several storage yards outside Lanzhou. He dispatched Tiger Guard troops to survey mines across Lintao Prefecture and establish ironworks and lead works.

Lintao Prefecture far surpassed Qinghai in both development and population density. Once the rail lines linked Xining and Lanzhou into a single entity, they could harness the countless tributaries of the Yellow River, build water conservancy projects, and unite the whole of Longxi into one — forging a drought-resistant war machine.

But further east it would not work. In Liu the Lion's old home, the Yellow River might run dry at any moment without warning.

On the third day of the ninth month, in order to prepare military supplies for the Marshal's headquarters army to march north and attack Liangzhou, all manner of equipment, firearms, cannons, gunpowder, army rations, and jar after jar of oil were transported from Qinghai and Gansu to Lanzhou. Everything was proceeding according to plan.

Liu Chengzong was reviewing drills on Fulong Ridge outside Lanzhou. Vast military formations were arrayed across the southern bank of the Yellow River when suddenly a Feathered Forest rider came to report: "Marshal! Someone has broken into the drill field!"

The intruder collapsed to the ground, sitting slumped. He wore a Ming army cavalry surcoat, his hair disheveled, his helmet lost to who knows where. Though he had no horse, one could see beneath his armored skirt that both legs had been rubbed raw and bloody by a saddle.

At this disturbance, the formations drilling below Fulong Ridge halted, the martial music ceased. The Feathered Forest riders made a brief inquiry, then returned and said: "Marshal, it is a soldier from the Lintao Brigade stationed at Chankou. By order of Assistant Regional Commander Zhang Yunqi, he reports a locust plague in Shaanxi to the Marshal's headquarters."

"Locust plague?" Liu Chengzong rose and asked, "How far has it reached… Never mind."

He had just stood up when his ears caught the sound of wind in the distance, indistinct and strange. He raised his head and felt the light before his eyes dim. Countless tiny black shadows at the horizon merged into a single mass, like a moving black cloud, or a vast black net unfurled, blotting out the midday sun. Then, blotting out sky and earth, they descended upon Lanzhou. In a single instant, they filled every trench and moat outside the city to the brim.