Chapter 682: Zhang Jinyan

Wang Zheng.

Liu Chengzong had long admired Wang Zheng from afar.

He had read Wang Zheng's books and knew him to be a highly inventive official with a deep understanding of machinery.

At the same time, when Wang Zheng organized the Loyal Unity Righteous Army in Sanyuan, the red-barbarian cannon casting methods he taught the artisan Shi Chengwo had also greatly aided Liu Chengzong's campaigns.

Only, at present, there was a bit of a problem between the Marshal's Mansion and Sanyuan.

Before the new year, the Personnel Office had sent documents to every prefecture in Shaanxi and Gansu, ordering each county to compile a register of officials living in their home villages, presented scholars, provincial graduates, and licentiates.

Notices were also posted everywhere summoning the worthy, inviting all those with civil or military talent and strength, and those of ambition, to come to Xi'an Prefecture to discuss great affairs together.

The response from most places was quite good — even from Zuo Maodi's Hancheng, there were people willing to come serve in the Marshal's Mansion.

Of course, the one who came from Hancheng was called Xue Xing, a kinsman of the current dynasty's Vice Minister of Rites Xue Guoguan, and the Marshal's Mansion's central staff unanimously agreed that this cross-eyed oddball was a spy.

But aside from Hancheng, the various counties of Xi'an Prefecture all responded poorly when it came to taking office.

It was plainly the region with the most talent, yet absolutely no one came to the Marshal's Mansion to seek an official post.

At first Liu Chengzong thought people were just waiting to see how things developed; only later did he realize that in Xi'an Prefecture, the people of every county had a grudge against him.

A blood feud.

During the Marshal's Army's advance into Xi'an Prefecture, the county authorities had been very weak in their attitude toward the Marshal's Army — most stood by watching from the sidelines, some even in a state of semi-cooperation.

Yet among the common people, in nearly every county the gentry organized militia and launched attacks on his Marshal's Army.

Those militia groups that swarmed up like hornets were, of course, like mantis arms trying to block a chariot when they confronted the Marshal's Army.

The vast majority were easily routed the moment they encountered the Mongol soldiers letting their horses graze on grave mounds; those who could break through this… well, it barely counted as a defensive line — anyway, very few ever managed to actually engage the Marshal's Army in battle.

So to Liu Chengzong, the gentry militia of Xi'an Prefecture were practically beneath notice.

The one militia group that did leave an impression came from Sanyuan.

The Sanyuan militia possessed superb weapons and equipment, a mature organizational structure, and they marched to war hauling heavy red-barbarian cannons, brimming with fervor.

Liu Chengzong was deeply impressed by them, mainly because the commander of this force reminded him of an old acquaintance.

Perhaps it was the confidence people had gained back when Wang Zuoqua attacked Sanyuan and Wang Zheng took the lead in organizing the Loyal Unity armed force to defend the city.

They actually took a loose square formation of poorly trained militia irregulars, dragged along heavy red-barbarian cannons, and in open flatland, proactively launched an assault on a large force of Mongol cavalry.

And were then effortlessly routed by the Mongol cavalry grazing on the grave-grass at Shunling.

That old acquaintance, naturally, was the former Mongol Khan who had once used armored cavalry to charge the Oirat camel-wall — the very Ligdan Khutugtu who had thrown away Coto Taiji's entire fortune in a single wave charge.

At the time, Liu Chengzong hadn't thought much of it, but now, pondering it carefully, the Sanyuan gentry's armed force must have been mauled very badly.

Those capable of organizing militia had to come from backgrounds at least comparable to his own; in a commercially prosperous place like Sanyuan, their backgrounds were probably even better than his.

Licentiates with martial skills loved doing this sort of thing most of all.

Truly, Liu Chengzong thought to himself, if the Sanyuan militia had just brought along a couple of Frankish-style Invincible Great Generals, they wouldn't have been beaten so badly that no one was willing to take office.

But as luck would have it, what they pushed out were red-barbarian cannons.

The red-barbarian cannon is a fine cannon — it has long range and ample power, and is extremely useful in defending or attacking cities; in field battles, it also has remarkable effect against simple fortifications and defensive equipment.

But our Mongol soldiers are all penniless wretches — defensive fortifications? They simply don't have that sort of thing.

The moment battle starts they scatter in every direction; their defense relies entirely on positioning and the speed of four hooves. Firing red-barbarian cannons at them is just like using a cannon to swat mosquitoes.

Militia infantry lack good formation training; let cavalry charge at them with raised blades a couple of times and their formation breaks apart out of fear. Even if there are a few student-warriors skilled in bow and horse among them, once the formation scatters, a single tree cannot prop up a collapsing house.

After that, it was a one-sided slaughter.

This was equivalent to him organizing the able-bodied commoners, getting them killed, and then having someone else come to their homes and ask their elder brothers, their aging fathers, and their village elders whether they would be willing to take office.

The answer required no consideration.

Who could ignore a blood feud and the contempt of their neighbors to rush eagerly into office?

Liu Chengzong did not hurriedly send someone to Sanyuan to invite Wang Zheng to serve; instead, he summoned the Administration Commission's Registrar, Zhang Jinyan.

This was a surrendered official, who had been the Sanyuan County Magistrate at the time of his surrender.

To reward his merit in surrendering, he had been promoted to the Shaanxi Administration Commission, serving as Registrar.

Liu Chengzong paid close attention to him.

Zhang Jinyan's record was clean — a man of Weihui Prefecture in Henan, a presented scholar of the fourth year of Chongzhen.

Just after Liu Chengzong left Yan'an Prefecture, he had filled the vacancy at Qingjian and assumed the post of county magistrate.

The Feathered Forest Cavalry investigated his past, and to their surprise, this man had done a rather decent job at his Qingjian post.

Of course, his performance wasn't outstanding — outside of work, he fed cats and raised rabbits, wrote poetry and painted, and traveled to enjoy the mountains and waters.

This was the most miraculous part: this fellow, a Great Ming official, could actually travel freely and enjoy the scenery in northern Shaanxi with perfect ease.

Liu Chengzong found it hard to judge — to say he was just coasting along, he certainly was, but in the Qingjian of those years, simply managing to coast along was already impressive.

The peasant army bands roaming the area not only didn't kill him, they let him go out and enjoy himself, and even provided protection.

The reason was that this fellow Zhang Jinyan, relying on his presented scholar credentials, acted as a teacher to the peasant army leaders and their children, and also distributed land to the peasant army, organizing the common people to dig irrigation canals and plant trees.

He had a glib tongue, telling the local village elders that no matter the times, one must study — if the Great Ming didn't fall and the harvests improved, they could send out a few provincial graduates and presented scholars.

And if the Great Ming did fall, a new dynasty would still need educated men — what future was there in roving bandits and settled bandits killing and plundering?

He seemed a very dutiful father-and-mother official, didn't he?

No, this was merely Zhang Jinyan's method of reporting achievements to the imperial court — at the time, Yang He was still in Shaanxi overseeing pacification efforts.

He claimed to have amnestied and recruited several thousand peasant soldiers, all settled in Qingjian. After only a year and a half at his Qingjian post, he was promoted to be the county magistrate of Sanyuan.

Although both were county magistrate posts, Qingjian was a minor county, while Sanyuan was a major county; according to the regulations of the Hongwu era, the Sanyuan county magistrate outranked the Qingjian county magistrate.

As soon as the transfer order arrived, Zhang Jinyan slapped his backside and left on the spot, without even bidding his students farewell.

To this day, the village elders over in Qingjian still want to settle accounts with him — he talked a splendid game, they had all paid his tuition fees, and he just up and left.

Damn you, at least take a few of our kids with you to study!

Screw your ancestors — give us our money back!

He really did retreat.

And not after the whole county surrendered to Liu Chengzong.

Liu Chengzong had just led his troops to Xianyang, the battle on the plateau had just ended, when Zhang Jinyan sent someone to Qingjian to meet with the elders, explaining that he had left in a hurry back then, and after taking up his post at Sanyuan County he had sent letters back, but they were blocked by landmines on the road, and only now could he get in touch with his students.

He took fifteen young students back to Sanyuan on the spot.

At the same time, Zhang Jinyan did two other things.

First, he intercepted that year's tax revenue from Sanyuan and sent the actual collection figures to both Xi'an Prefecture and Shanxi.

Second, he sent word to his family in Weihui Prefecture, Henan, telling them to relocate to Hancheng as soon as possible.

Hancheng — what impeccable timing, what a perfect location.

Zuo Maodi refused to surrender, and Liu Chengzong announced a tax exemption.

Then the magistrate of Sanyuan moved his family over.

By nature, Liu the Lion never much liked people who were so half-hearted about surrendering.

Giving Zhang Jinyan a promotion was, for him, like holding his nose and promoting him to Administrative Clerk in the Provincial Administration Commission — a higher rank, but honestly, the post was worse than no promotion at all.

Because the Marshal's headquarters' Shaanxi Provincial Administration Commission office had no one in it.

When Chen Qiyu opened the city gates and surrendered, the Administration Commissioner, the Grain Supervisor, and the Records Supervisor had all been let go; the Defense and Military Supply Circuit intendants hadn't been in the city to begin with, and the Clerk and Record Keeper posts were vacant — the entire office was basically empty.

Only the Granary Commissioner hadn't run off, and besides him, there were four gatekeepers.

The four gatekeepers were all young distant relatives of Chen Qiyu, men with families to support. When they first entered the city they couldn't feed their families, so Chen Qiyu had just arranged these jobs for them.

After all, Chen Qiyu was now our own River Transport Governor, and he'd already lost enough face. Liu the Lion saw no need to slap his face over something like this, so he didn't dismiss them and let them stay on to watch the gates.

Zhang Jinyan became the second official in the Shaanxi Provincial Administration Commission.

An Administrative Clerk actually just handles document transfers — in the absence of an Administration Commissioner, his job was to forward the official dispatches sent by the various counties to the Provincial Administration Commission on to wherever they were supposed to go.

This post assignment made it abundantly clear: Liu Chengzong did not like him.

Zhang Jinyan knew it himself. So this former county magistrate, now a petty clerk in the mailroom, voiced no complaints. He buried himself in work every day and actually managed to make the job flourish.

Even though the office had six people and one donkey in total, and not much work to do.

Zhang Jinyan kept his daily schedule packed to the brim.

At first light, he would draw water and wash up, grooming himself immaculately, then sort through years of documents, military dispatches, and official correspondence in the office.

Once he'd done about enough, in the afternoon he'd busy himself in the garden behind the office, transplanting the bamboo grove to either side of the front courtyard's long corridor, and even had the gatekeepers help move eight pine trees.

As dusk fell, he'd send a gatekeeper to buy wine — never much, just a couple of cups, and then he'd write poetry.

He made the empty, deserted office feel surprisingly full of life.

Of course, on his third day in office, while taking inventory of the storehouse, he discovered that the Granary Commissioner who hadn't run off had been embezzling, and had him thrown in jail. Zhang Jinyan then concurrently took on the role of unranked Prison Warden of the Provincial Administration Commission, and had his student deliver meals to the Granary Commissioner every day.

After just two days of meal deliveries, on the sixth day Liu Chengzong arranged for that storehouse keeper to hit the road.

He wasn't killed.

The man had embezzled from the Great Ming's Xi'an Prefecture storehouse, not from his Provincial Administration Commission storehouse, and besides, the crime didn't warrant death. By law, he'd have to sit in jail until next autumn for trial.

Liu the Lion thought, why go to all that trouble? They'd have to feed him for nothing either way, so he simply sentenced him on the spot to exile three thousand li away, conscripted into the Taimeng Garrison.

He had him escorted to Lanzhou, to join up with the other Tianshan tour groups when Chuhuer returned home, and be sent off together to see Zhou Riqiang.

Liu Chengzong had read the poems Zhang Jinyan wrote.

Those four gatekeepers at the Provincial Administration Commission were sharp as tacks.

Whatever Zhang Jinyan did or wrote each day, that very night Chen Qiyu's family members would go to the Prince of Qin's mansion to tip off the court gentlemen.

There was one poem called "The Great Drought," written quite shrewdly — he didn't write about Shaanxi, but about both banks of the Yellow River.

South of the river, too much rain rots the grain leaves; north of the river, not a drop wets the roadside soil. On the road, tax carts hurry and rumble; by the roadside, the dwellers' cooking pots are cold. The thin wheat is not enough to ease an old man's hunger; at the door, the clerks and runners shout — such fury. One outburst from the clerks and runners ruins a home, while in noble mansions everywhere, song and dance clamor.

Though this man seemed quite calm and quite normal,

Liu Chengzong was certain: this guy was at it again, just like when he was magistrate of Qingjian — putting on a persona.

But it didn't matter.

Liu the Lion had already realized from Zhang Jinyan's resume that the man's intelligence and ability were indeed top-notch.

In two official postings, he had some fraudulently obtained achievements, but no major problems.

And when it came to switching banners, he was exceedingly smooth.

The man was remarkably steady, handling such things with effortless ease.

But his character was poor.

Forget baggage — the man had no morals whatsoever.

For the sake of his own promotion, he could fool anyone, deceive anyone. Apart from his personal prospects, everything — court, sovereign, master-disciple bonds — was all external and disposable.

Liu Chengzong was not the least bit on guard against Zhang Jinyan.

There was no need to be on guard against this kind of person. As long as the Marshal's headquarters was not in decline and he had opportunities to show his talents, he would be utterly loyal.

If the Marshal's headquarters did start to decline, Liu Chengzong would have far too many people to worry about, and Zhang Jinyan, a mere civil official, wouldn't even make the list.

Zhang Jinyan, in his early thirties, dressed in a sable-trimmed marten fur robe, impeccably groomed, entered the main hall of the military headquarters.

Liu Chengzong looked at his marten robe and smiled. "Winter clothing has been distributed?"

Zhang Jinyan lowered his head and stroked the fur robe, responding with pure delight: "Yes, the Rites Office distributed it three days ago. Your humble servant thanks the Grand Marshal for his grace."

The Marshal's headquarters had no special material for official robes, only the dark-gold blade-pattern fabric used for battle gowns.

What Zhang Jinyan was wearing had been hauled over from Lanzhou along with the Marshal's army's winter clothing.

It was just that at different ranks, the fur robe materials differed somewhat.

For instance, on the one Zhang Jinyan wore, only the collar trim was sable; the rest was wolf fur.

A full sable fur robe was a privilege reserved for the rank of Regional Commander or Prefect.

As for the level of Commander-in-Chief, Chief Regional Commander, or Governor-General, they all got lynx fur robes, warm and lightweight.

But truth be told, whether sable fur coats or lynx fur coats, such things were hardly scarce in the Marshal's mansion — the demand was, in any case, very small relative to the Oirat supply.

As for the common soldiers' winter uniforms, they came in three types.

The first was the newly manufactured iron armor and helmets from the Juerwan Arsenal. Thanks to the enormous stockpile of pelts, fur was used wherever suitable — for instance, the helmet neck-guards, the cloth facing of the brigandine, and the lining of the boots.

The second type was the cotton-padded jackets and trousers from the Lanzhou Armory. The textile industry and craftsmen there were plentiful; it had earlier been the Marshal's mansion's most prosperous territory, so it supplied the front lines with large quantities of the old-style cotton-padded jackets and trousers.

Namely, the kind of earth-yellow, leather-trimmed cotton jackets Liu Chengzong had made earlier when there was no dye.

The style was rather old, but the cotton filling was ample.

The three brigades stationed at Xi'an Prefecture were mainly supplied with the above two types.

The third type was more fashionable: sleeveless short jackets of lambskin.

They came from Cao Yao. He had been eating far too many lambs, so he shipped the skins to Assistant Commissioner-in-Chief Hu Zhishen, who mobilized the Gansu military craftsmen and their wives to make a batch of lambskin pelts.

The standards were just three: one-size-fits-all, sleeveless, and short jacket.

So they were made in all sorts of styles — round collars, cross collars, even high collars — which led to colors both dark and light.

But the three standards meant anyone could wear them, and they could be layered over the mandarin-duck battle jacket. They were extremely warm. Gansu issued them to the Yanqing and Longxi brigades, but the supply wasn't yet complete — only three-quarters had been distributed.

Liu Chengzong asked Cao Yao why the winter clothes made by the Gansu military craftsmen weren't given priority to the two Gansu brigades.

Cao Yao said they were too ugly; the men didn't like wearing them.

Gansu had some veterans of the Marshal's army, and quite a few were former Ming border troops. Stationed close to home, they were relatively well-supplied with clothing and armor — to the point that they had even developed aesthetic preferences.

Now, over in Gansu, they were making new ones.

Meanwhile, at the military headquarters, Zhang Jinyan visibly perked up upon learning that Liu Chengzong had the idea of recruiting Wang Zheng.

He realized that his chance to demonstrate his talents had arrived!

He said on the spot, "Marshal, this humble one believes that, due to the local customs of the Sanyuan and Jingyang area, the gentry are mostly unwilling to serve in the Marshal's mansion. If high officials of the mansion were to approach them, it might backfire."

Liu Chengzong frowned. "You mean if I went to invite him personally, I still couldn't bring him here?"

He did indeed have that intention — to visit Wang Zheng's home and see for himself.

Because Shi Chengwo had told him the old man was already very advanced in years. Rather than entrusting a task that might not succeed to someone else, he thought it better to go see for himself.

But hearing this, Zhang Jinyan hastily volunteered, "Why should the Grand Marshal stoop so low? Besides, in the Sanyuan and Jingyang area, men of talent are hardly limited to Wang Zheng alone."

"If the Marshal could write a handwritten order, and ask the Sanyuan Magistrate Ye to assist, within a month at most, this humble one will surely bring Wang Zheng to you."

"And not just him — also the former Datong Governor Jiao Yuanpu, who is now living in retirement at home."

Liu Chengzong raised his eyebrows.

This Zhang Jinyan was indeed clever. The most interesting part of his volunteering was actually the request for help from the Sanyuan County Magistrate, Ye Ding.

Liu Chengzong knew perfectly well that Ye Ding couldn't do much — he was just a seventeen-year-old kid.

Ye Ding came from a Hehuang chieftain family, his background the exact opposite of Zhang Jinyan's.

When Liu Chengzong attacked Hehuang, Ye Ding's father, Ye Guoqi, raised a banner of resistance in the small town at the Binggou Horse Farm. His uncle, Ye Bingqian, had initially been with Liu Chengzong but was sent back to deliver an ultimatum.

The two brothers repeatedly refused to surrender. When Mo Yujing defected, they ordered Ye Ding to acknowledge Mo Yujing as his adoptive father, thus entrusting the chieftain's heir to the Marshal's mansion.

Later, when the city fell, the two brothers achieved their wish. They donned armor and took up swords in the government office, charged the Marshal's army's heavy musket squad, and died amid the gun smoke.

Liu Chengzong admired the brothers' loyalty and righteousness. He personally arranged their burial ground and wrote their epitaphs — and then promptly struck the Ye chieftain family of Hehuang from the registers.

Ye Ding had been raised from childhood to be a chieftain. He possessed both literary talent and martial skill, and he had studied for two more years at the Juerwan Academy.

His adoptive father, Mo Yujing, took great care of him. This year, along with Mo Yujing's nephew Mo Fuli, who held a licentiate degree, he was recommended through the back door into the Feathered Forest Guard.

Liu Chengzong had a mind to test Ye Ding's abilities, and he was also not keen on placing a young man whose father and uncle had both died by his own hand right at the gate of his own palace.

Taking the opportunity of Zhang Jinyan's promotion, when the post of Sanyuan County Magistrate fell vacant, he appointed Ye Ding to fill it.

But in the end, he was still young. Liu Shizi's attitude was: let him do the job for now; if he can't handle it, we'll replace him.

Liu Chengzong's attitude toward Ye Ding was complicated.

But in Zhang Jinyan's eyes, Ye Ding's age and record clearly showed he enjoyed the Grand Marshal Liu's personal favor — he was absolutely a trusted favorite within the Marshal's mansion's inner circle.

That was why he proposed having Ye Ding cooperate. The implication was: if I succeed in this task, I absolutely must share the credit with Magistrate Ye.

Liu Shizi saw through this little calculation with perfect clarity.

Still, it seemed Zhang Jinyan genuinely believed he could make this happen.

If this fellow truly had a knack for recruiting men of talent, Liu Chengzong was naturally happy to take it easy. He smiled and asked, "Do you mean that?"

And to Zhang Jinyan, this was nothing less than an opportunity to prove himself.

The former county magistrate, earnest and excited, immediately clasped his fists and bowed. "I would not dare speak falsely!"