Chapter 556: Strip You of Your Official Post

On the evening of the eighth day of the second month in the eighth year of Chongzhen, Zhang Yichuan arrived at Lanzhou.

The one who received him was Zhang Xianzhong, who conveyed the Grand Marshal's welcome on his behalf, arranged a meeting for the following day at the Marshal's Mansion yamen, and temporarily settled him in the official quarters of the Office of Transmission.

As the lanterns were first lit, the whole of Lanzhou was festooned with decorations, and the soldiers and civilians on the streets all radiated a jubilant air. Greatly astonished by this bustling scene the city had not seen in many years, Zhang Yichuan leaned against the railing, wine jug in hand, and asked Zhang Xianzhong, "Minister Zhang, is the city this lively every day?"

Zhang Yichuan and Zhang Xianzhong were old acquaintances. Their standing in the Shaanxi greenwood was about the same — both were leading figures among the second-generation chieftains, shared the same surname, and had even joined camps in the past. For over half a year they had called each other brother and been as close as if they shared the same pair of trousers, though they later had a falling out.

Having parted ways up to now, they could still barely be considered friends who could speak to each other, and Zhang Yichuan could be said to be very familiar with Zhang Xianzhong's temperament.

For men whose careers had reached their level, in how they conducted themselves and handled affairs, there were many shared strengths — for instance, being able to shoulder trouble, bear responsibility, be resourceful and full of stratagems, and provide a path to survival for their subordinates.

As for the differences, well, each had his own flaws. Zhang Xianzhong, for example, was rash in temper, crude in speech, sometimes flew into a mad rage, and was also petty. If you were good to him, he always remembered it; if you were bad to him, he always remembered that too.

Zhang Xianzhong had once been a border soldier and nearly died, but was saved by Chen Hongfan, a debt Zhang Xianzhong still muttered about to this day. Whenever it crossed his mind, he would mutter: "Chief Commander Chen gave me life, Chief Commander Chen gave me life."

In short, he was a rather unpolished man, with nothing whatsoever in common with a civil official.

So now that Zhang Xianzhong had become Liu Chengzong's Minister of Rites, the sense of incongruity this official post brought was, for Zhang Yichuan... absolute perfection.

If his own title of Sweeping King and Zhang Xianzhong's Eight Great Kings were merely self-proclaimed, then based on the utterly absurd matter of making Zhang Xianzhong the Minister of Rites alone, Zhang Yichuan was willing to wholeheartedly and sincerely call Liu Chengzong a King of Absurd Stunts.

"Lively every day — how could that be possible."

Zhang Xianzhong, for his part, did not feel there was anything absurd about himself serving as Minister of Rites. What the hell can't this old master do?

He shot Zhang Yichuan a glance and, with a rather complicated state of mind, said: "It's Liangzhou. Two days ago, Liangzhou's Vice Regional Commander Li Hongsi surrendered to the Grand Marshal. The whole of Gansu has changed hands."

Zhang Yichuan's eyebrows shot up sharply: "The Gansu border army — they just surrendered like that?"

This news was simply too shocking for Zhang Yichuan. Since the uprising began, although he could be considered a veteran of many battles and had clashed with the three Regional Commanders who came from the east, as well as Chen Yongfu from Henan and others, he had never once defeated a border army head-on in battle, especially the border armies of the three frontiers and five garrisons of the northwest.

Ultimately, in this period of the eighth year of Chongzhen, the peasant army chieftains still harbored fear and dread toward the powerful Ming army.

A hero cannot withstand a pack of wolves. Eight years ago in Shaanxi, the swarming peasant armies were the pack of wolves, but now, with so many provinces of the Great Ming already mobilized, the Ming army was the pack of wolves.

If they were not afraid, they would not have all crowded together to settle right next door to the Marshal's Mansion.

"What else could they do but surrender? Liangzhou had thought Grand Marshal Liu was determined to take it, so last year they strengthened their defenses and cleared the fields, burning the oasis into a barren white wasteland."

Zhang Xianzhong, after all, was now a man of the Marshal's Mansion and far clearer on the inside details than Zhang Yichuan. Speaking of it, he could not help but sigh with a thousand emotions, shaking his head and wagging his brain: "Nine months. Over ten thousand Gansu border troops were trapped in the city, their army provisions completely exhausted, and they surrendered without firing a single arrow."

Well, one couldn't quite say that — at least Cao Wenzhao had fired one arrow, at He Huchen, though he missed.

To Zhang Yichuan's ears, this matter was pure fantasy, and his instinct was to think... it was fake, right?

Not that he thought the border army surrendering to Liu Chengzong was fake, but that the idea of over ten thousand border troops hiding in a city for nine months was fake.

Because he had clashed with Li Hongsi in Shaanxi, three years ago. To some extent, half of the Sweeping King he was today was thanks to Li Hongsi.

Back then, you couldn't even call it a clash — Li Hongsi had simply pounded him into the ground.

With just over a thousand men and some four hundred horses, Li Hongsi had chased his ten-thousand-strong force scrambling and fleeing over mountain ridges and loess plateaus for over half a month, covering more than a thousand li.

It was precisely that battle that made Zhang Yichuan's ten-thousand-strong army flee, scatter, and die, until in the end only a little over a thousand men escaped with their lives. But it was also precisely that battle that forged Zhang Yichuan's peasant army anew, completely eliminating the influence left by absorbing Wang Zuogua's remnants, and transforming over ten thousand rabble into a thousand-plus elite whose legs could outrun mules.

If nothing else, from then on, all of Zhang Yichuan's men were long-distance running aces, and he was always the one leading the government troops on a merry chase.

To this day, Zhang Yichuan had grown a great deal. If he were placed back in that position of years past, even if he still commanded ten thousand rabble, he certainly would not just flee wholeheartedly again — he would run for ten days first, then turn around and strike back.

Though he dared not say he would win for sure, at least he would have a chance at victory.

If he were leading his current subordinates, he would not need ten times the troops — with just three times, he would dare to fight Li Hongsi head-on.

Even so, the matter of over ten thousand Ming troops under Li Hongsi cowering in a city, not daring to come out and fight, and being starved until their grain ran out, was still far too absurd for Zhang Yichuan.

Not just absurd — he even felt enraged.

What happened to that invincible swagger when you were chasing me all over the map? So it turns out when you run into Liu Chengzong you turn meek and submissive, but when you see me, Zhang Yichuan, you bastard, you come out swinging with heavy punches, is that it?

Zhang Xianzhong clearly saw the strange fury in Zhang Yichuan's brows and eyes, but feeling the same way himself, he could easily guess Zhang Yichuan's thoughts. He sighed and said: "You can't blame the Gansu border army for having no confidence. Anyone who faces Grand Marshal Liu in battle has no confidence."

He could not only empathize with Zhang Yichuan regarding the might of the Ming army, but also empathize with the Ming army regarding Liu Chengzong's overbearing strength.

After all, just last year at Zhuanglang Garrison City, his own Western Camp had been forced to surrender with Liu Chengzong pressing down on their heads.

Hearing Zhang Xianzhong speak this way, Zhang Yichuan asked: "Was the Gansu Ming army beaten into submission by the Grand Marshal?"

"You can't quite say that either."

Zhang Xianzhong shook his head very decisively: "If you want to blame someone, blame Hong Chengchou. Li Hongsi did his utmost, but... even if Hong Chengchou hadn't left, they still couldn't have won. Trying to scheme against Liu, trying to scheme against the Grand Marshal, is too difficult."

Zhang Yichuan neither understood nor comprehended these matters, but Zhang Xianzhong now had a very comprehensive grasp of the review of the Gansu campaign. Very crisply, with the air of someone who had been through it all, he explained to Zhang Yichuan: "These days, there's no shortage of good soldiers. War is fought over grain. On the battlefield, the Grand Marshal launched a surprise raid on Jiayu Pass, and the Ming army in western Gansu suffered defeat after defeat, retreating step by step eastward. By the time they reached Ganzhou, the outcome was already decided — they could not win on the battlefield."

"Hong Chengchou, coming from a background as a grain supply intendant, followed the momentum and schemed against the Grand Marshal's army provisions. On one hand, he threatened Hehuang from the Zhuanglang River; on the other, he strengthened defenses and cleared the fields in Liangzhou, and even fed the Marshal's Mansion the mouths of two guards. Just calculate it — that many people over nine months, starvation alone should have been enough to starve the Grand Marshal's expeditionary force that crossed the Qilian Mountains to death."

Listening to Zhang Xianzhong's account, Zhang Yichuan nodded his head like a pestle pounding garlic. There was nothing more terrifying than having one's grain supply cut off.

The peasant armies could endure a grain cutoff better than the government troops, but to a large extent, that was actually an illusion.

They did not possess the endurance of the government troops; it was simply that the government troops were originally an army with an extremely high degree of control. Once grain was cut off, the officers would lose that control. Whereas these rebels of theirs were already in a state of having their grain cut off from the start, so there was no control to lose in the first place. The chieftains who were elected did not need anyone to appoint them — the one principle for being a chieftain was just one thing: being able to secure grain.

But now, Zhang Yichuan had no way out either. Just this winter, his forces had grown larger and larger, swelling to three battalions, and he absolutely had to fight his way into Henan.

Yet it was precisely men like Zuo Liangyu who were blocking the way ahead, which was what gave him the idea of wanting to fight their way out together with the Marshal's Mansion. However, hearing Zhang Xianzhong speak of the Marshal's Mansion's vast and miraculous abilities made him feel that being completely absorbed by the Grand Marshal might not be such a bad thing after all.

Thinking of this, Zhang Yichuan recalled those days of catching locusts in the Qinling Mountains and could not help but ask in puzzlement: "Then, given all that, how did the Grand Marshal's army stubbornly hold out for nine months and still manage to accept the surrender of the Gansu government troops?"

"At first I was puzzled too, thinking it was because Hong Chengchou ran off to Ningxia and affected the army's morale. But later, after calculating it over and over, I realized that even if Hong Chengchou hadn't run, he still couldn't have won."

Zhang Xianzhong scratched his temple beneath his headscarf: "The Grand Marshal is not only the Grand Marshal, but also the Great Khan. We all thought Gansu, Qinghai — those were the far corners of the world, and beyond Jiayu Pass was a barbaric wilderness with nothing at all. But that is also the Grand Marshal's territory. The Grand Marshal's supply train was the Oirat Tatars."

"Ah?"

Zhang Xianzhong nodded very seriously — this was also something deeply shocking to him: "Not counting other livestock, just lambs alone numbered fifty thousand."

"Ah?"

Zhang Yichuan was utterly dumbfounded.

To be honest, this news shook him far more profoundly than Liu Chengzong taking the whole of Gansu.

As a man of northern Shaanxi, Mongols were no strangers to him. In fact, after Liu Chengzong relocated to Qinghai, the northern Shaanxi peasant armies, briefly led by the Shen brothers, had reached a rather deep level of cooperation with the Mongol soldiers beyond the passes, undergoing large-scale northern barbarization.

Among the subordinates Zhang Yichuan relied on more heavily now, two had taken part in that alliance back then, both had shaved their heads, and even now their hair was still relatively short as it grew back.

Precisely because of this, Zhang Yichuan understood even better what state the Mongols were in these days. Borrowing troops from the Tatars was very simple — as long as you had a bit of prestige in the interior, you sent someone to talk with the noble chieftains north of the border wall. Agree to attack some city together, decide how many men you'd send and how many they'd send, and after taking the city, split the wealth and goods evenly while the people go to you. It would be settled immediately.

As for the fact that several hundred lives would be lost in the fighting — no one cared. They were so desperately poor, no one cared at all.

You could even go directly to Mongol nobles and ask for men — pull together a thousand troops, smash open a city, and as long as there's wealth, livestock, coin and grain, you don't even have to return the soldiers.

But trying to borrow grain from the Tatars? Impossible. They're on the verge of starving to death themselves — where would they get grain to give you?

Zhang Yichuan swallowed hard. "The Grand Marshal's Great Khan title… is it real?"

They had heard about this long ago, but their attitude was much the same as the imperial court's — no one believed it, figuring it was just some little tribe in Qinghai fooling around. After all, to people south of the Great Wall, all those Mongol Great Khans north of the Wall were just fooling around too — today this one's Great Khan, tomorrow that one's Great Khan, none of them submitting to anyone, none of them listening to anyone.

The weight of the title was about the same as Zhang Yichuan's "Sweeping King" — technically a king, but no one took it seriously.

Zhang Xianzhong nodded very seriously. "It's real. The Khan's court is at Beiting — the Beiting from the Tang Dynasty's Beiting Protectorate. You know where that is? Never mind, one look at you and I can tell you don't."

Zhang Yichuan was already getting confused listening to this. He really didn't know where Beiting was, but he wasn't about to let Zhang Xianzhong look down on him. He stiffened his neck and said, "Who says I don't know? It's far off!"

"My apologies, my apologies — the Sweeping King actually knows about Beiting?"

If not for his earlier curiosity about the Oirat Tatars, Zhang Xianzhong honestly wouldn't have known either. He smiled. "The Grand Marshal's Beiting Khan's court is recruiting. Since the Sweeping King knows Beiting, how about going to take a look? Go there and they'll give you armor and warhorses, there's mutton to eat, and battles to fight."

This was Zhang Xianzhong's real purpose in steering the conversation toward the Oirat today.

As long as Zhang Yichuan went to the Tianshan Mountains, he'd be gone at least two or three years — and those two or three years would be time for this old man here to lead troops and dig up the ancestral tombs at Fengyang.

Zhang Yichuan nearly agreed right then.

Truth be told, if it really was as Zhang Xianzhong described — with ample logistics and supplies — not just Zhang Yichuan, even his big brother Gao Yingxiang would be willing to go. The terms were too good, so good they were hard to believe.

What truly made Zhang Yichuan hesitate wasn't how far Beiting was. He asked, puzzled, "That's the Grand Marshal's Khan's court — you'd really feel at ease sending us there?"

Zhang Xianzhong saw that the fool had just been on the verge of agreeing, only to change his tune at the last moment. He hurriedly said, "What's there not to feel at ease about? That's the Khan's court. The Grand Marshal wants to be emperor, so his focus will definitely be the Central Plains. But it really is a good life over there — it's just that the tribes to the west are fighting. Tatars, you know, always fighting each other. Han people who go there are solidly one of their own."

"In the whole Marshal's headquarters, no one but me, Old Zhang, would tell you about a good deal like this. The Grand Marshal's own elder brother was sent over there, and they've set up a training garrison in Qinghai — planning to drill for a year before heading over. Your Sweeping King's troops are all veterans, no training needed at all. Bring them over in the summer and you can march right out."

Zhang Xianzhong patted Zhang Yichuan on the shoulder. "Your soldiers are thin and weak. Go over there and eat mutton for a couple of years, then march back into the Central Plains — your troops will be strong and your horses sturdy. A brigade commander's post won't slip past you then."

"Stay here now, and what rank can the Grand Marshal give you? A colonel like that Feng Shuangli under me? Or a civil post like mine, coming over to be a Vice Minister of Rites?"

That one sentence snapped Zhang Yichuan back to his senses fast.

Zhang Xianzhong's name carried weight, but among the peasant armies it was mostly infamy. Back when he surrendered to the Marshal's headquarters, he'd had only two battalions — and in the end he became Minister of Rites.

Zhang Xianzhong knew his own situation — he knew he'd been stripped of power. But to Zhang Yichuan… Zhang Xianzhong still concurrently held the post of Western Camp brigade commander. If the Sweeping King now pledged allegiance to the Grand Marshal, then shouldn't Zhang Xianzhong, that Minister of Rites, step aside for a worthier man?

The Sweeping King's reputation among the peasant armies was far better than the Eight Great Kings'!

Though his reasoning was completely wrong, Zhang Yichuan arrived at a correct conclusion: Zhang Xianzhong wanted to trick him into going to Beiting!

Zhang Yichuan narrowed his eyes. "Eight Great Kings, you're afraid that if I join the Marshal's headquarters, I'll snatch your post as Minister of Rites, aren't you?"

"Hiss—!"

Zhang Xianzhong sucked in a deep breath, eyes bulging wide, and for a long moment couldn't get a word out. "You, you…"

The more he acted like this, the more Zhang Yichuan felt he'd guessed Zhang Xianzhong's true worry. He simply got up and walked out the door, then turned back at the entrance and said to Zhang Xianzhong, "Just you wait and see — I'm going to pledge allegiance to the Grand Marshal right now and snatch that Minister of Rites post from you!"

Good afternoon!

(End of chapter)