Chapter 72: Commander Liu Is Truly a Good Man

Because Liu Chengzong, that butterfly, flapped his wings at Yan'an Garrison, a whirlwind gathered.

The day Trial Centurion Yang Yanchang parted ways with Liu Chengzong, it suddenly struck him that he was guarding mountains of gold and silver yet going hungry — this defied all common sense.

The mountains of gold and silver were, of course, the arms and armor.

Truth be told, the buying and selling of military equipment had long become common practice all along the Nine Border Garrisons of the Great Ming; even the beacon towers and forts along the Great Wall had been sold off until there was nothing left to sell.

But at Yan'an Garrison, such activity was still confined to the internal shell game within the garrison itself.

Usually, a commander would scrape together whatever was in the garrison stores, sort out what was usable, and issue it to his household retainers.

The ordinary rank-and-file troops' arms trafficking was limited to garrison supernumeraries selling a few blades, spears, and arrows to commoners for self-defense.

As for large-scale arms smuggling — it wasn't that no one wanted to sell, it was that there was simply no one to buy.

The prefectural seat was the military defense hub of Yan'an Prefecture; within a hundred li around the city there were no large bandit gangs, and even if bandits drifted in, they were swiftly annihilated.

Otherwise, a petty band of a few hundred men like the Ganquan Tiger General, who merely plundered wealthy households, would never have been wiped out in just four days.

And apart from bandits, the gentry who had both the need and the means to purchase large quantities of arms were fully capable of buying or requesting the deployment of military equipment through official channels from the prefectural and county yamens.

What's more, by pulling strings with a commander, one could have a centurion reassigned — fifty or a hundred men stationed right on one's estate, farming in peacetime, with all their weapons and equipment kept right inside the compound.

Not only did you get armed protection, you could also turn a profit.

Smuggling was so pointless — expensive, and you had to shoulder the risk.

That was, until Liu Chengzong sought out Yang Yanchang and opened a door to a whole new world for this destitute Trial Centurion.

Grain was useless to Yang Yanchang, who was planning to desert, but three dan of grain could relieve quite a few of the brothers left behind in the garrison.

And in his eyes, this was a method that could be used for the long haul.

Deserters would raid compounds out in the wild; the rank-and-file troops would desert in batches, smuggling garrison weapons out before they fled, and the grain would relieve the troops.

The cannons smuggled out would strengthen the deserters' forces, letting them raid more compounds and relieve more troops.

This wasn't desertion.

This was building an enterprise!

Yang Yanchang went back, picked and chose, and soon locked onto his target in the armory.

It was a cast-iron Gushing Pearl Cannon, one chi seven cun long, eight cun in circumference, weighing forty-five jin, its barrel reinforced with five iron bands.

It was loaded with eight liang of powder and fired a one-jin-two-liang full-bore large ball along with twenty one-liang balls.

This cannon was cast in the third year of the Wanli reign, barrel serial number two thousand two hundred forty-one; that year the court cast a total of two thousand four hundred cannons of this Gushing Pearl model, intended to equip the war-cart battalions.

In the Shaanxi border forces, this type of cannon was also issued to cavalry units — one piece per fifty-man mounted company.

A small cannon, it supplemented the firepower of bows, crossbows, and firelocks.

The complete cannon consisted of the barrel, a square gun carriage, and an ammunition chest; the whole assembly weighed under two hundred jin and could be carried all over the place on a single packhorse.

"This one's got no carriage. Centurion Yang thinking of taking it out to play?"

The old rank-and-file soldier guarding the armory sat in front of the storehouse door, a worldly-wise look in his eyes that had seen through everything: "No powder or shot coming out of the magazine, though."

Yang Yanchang glared. "How do you fire it without a carriage?"

The Gushing Pearl Cannon's carriage was a solid wooden block three chi long, one chi five cun wide, and one chi high, with grooves on top that mated with the barrel's five iron bands, and four pull-rings on the two sides, using wide leather straps to secure the barrel.

When firing, you had to wedge wooden blocks under the carriage; basically, aiming was a matter of calculation — raise the muzzle one cun and the shot carries so many paces farther.

Without the wooden carriage, the round barrel sitting on the ground was simply impossible to fire.

The old storekeeper was utterly unflappable. "Aiyah, don't you go blaming me for that. Ever since this old fellow took over watching the stores, this old grandpa here has had no carriage.

In the eighteenth year of Wanli, when Lord Ye took overall command of Shaanxi-Gansu military affairs, all the carriages were swapped for three-wheeled light carts.

Later, your family's chiliarch hooked those light carts to a donkey and hauled them home — heaven knows what he wanted with a gun cart.

Anyway, they were never returned. He said to dig out the old carriages from before and make do.

But after all these years, who knows who hauled those wooden frames off to build furniture."

"Who hauled them off to build furniture" — Yang Yanchang figured it was this very old rank-and-file soldier who'd hauled them off to build furniture.

But he didn't say so. Putting on a disgusted face, he grumbled as he walked out: "No carriage, no ammunition — what do I want it for?"

On the surface, disgusted; inside, wild with joy. If he didn't leave now, the old storehouse keeper would surely see through his delight.

With the carriage and ammunition chest, it was near two hundred jin — not easy to smuggle out.

But a lone Gushing Pearl Cannon —

this little forty-five-jin toy, couldn't you just wrap it in a bedsheet and walk right out?

A heaven-sent opportunity!

As for the missing carriage and shot, let Liu Chengzong worry about that. Anyway, the cannon, as agreed, was delivered to him.

Shortly after, the order to dispatch troops from Yan'an Prefecture came down to the garrison officers: Shaanxi was set to divide its forces into three columns and exterminate the bandits on the third day of the sixth month.

The entire Yan'an Garrison was thrown into chaos, allocating arms and men.

Seizing the opportunity, on the night of the first day of the sixth month, Yang Yanchang made his move.

He gave instructions to three rank-and-file soldiers.

One slipped into the armory, wrapped the Gushing Pearl Cannon in a tattered cotton-padded jacket, and tossed it over the compound wall.

Another had been waiting a long time outside the wall; clutching it like a plump baby in his arms, he dodged and hid his way to the third man and handed it over.

This last one was a young fellow named Ren Quan'er, nineteen years old, small in stature, his ancestors seven generations back all military households; from the age of five he'd been running errands and doing chores in the garrison.

He picked up the tattered jacket and headed that very night for Tiger's Waist.

Unfamiliar with the road, and so starved he had night blindness, he ended up hung up in a tree.

Liu Chengzong found him and got him down when he took the men out running in the morning.

He passed on to Liu Chengzong the precautions for the Gushing Pearl Cannon and the carriage specifications that Yang Yanchang had taught him.

Compared to the cannon, Liu Chengzong cared more about the man.

The cannon was already at Tiger's Waist — it wasn't going anywhere.

But whether this grubby little runt Ren carried any infectious disease was hard to say.

A round of questioning followed.

He had no other illness, only an injury on his foot.

Two months ago, at night, he'd been trimming his toenails with a tailor's shears and cut his toe.

Banner troops in the guard station could not be idle.

When the military farm fields could be planted, they had to go down to the fields and work.

When the fields couldn't be planted, they still had to go down to the fields and work.

Digging up seeds that hadn't sprouted — digging all day, just enough to scrape together half a bowl when they got back.

Working like this all the time, his foot got inflamed. It healed, then festered, healed, then festered again. He couldn't run fast.

Now the guard station had no grain. Others could still hold onto the hope of winning merit in battle, but his body didn't meet the requirements for going on campaign, so he'd gotten the idea of deserting.

Liu Chengzong got the full story, turned his head, and waved for Guo Zhashi to tie him up.

Ren Quan'er was so frightened he started wailing.

"What are you yelling for! That foot of yours is hard to say. Zhashi, go get a bucket of water and heat it up. In a bit I'll cut out the rotten flesh for you. Rest for a couple of months and it should heal."

Most border troops knew a bit about treating external injuries, and Liu Chengzong had also dabbled in surgery.

The earliest was during autumn defense, when he'd learned to sew up the dead from a second-rate barber-surgeon by the Great Wall. Later, he'd read a few medical texts like *Orthodox Surgery*.

But without medicine at hand, he had no better method for this wound either.

All he could do was clean it out properly and tell him to rest.

For a moment, Ren Quan'er was stunned.

Not because of the flesh-cutting.

But because he was told to rest for two months.

He pressed Liu Chengzong repeatedly — wouldn't he starve to death resting for two months?

After getting the reply, "Just rest, meals provided," this military household boy, who hadn't rested since he was five, was deeply moved.

For Liu Chengzong, this was learning on the job — the disciplinary insight his elder brother Chengzu had exchanged with him.

When soldiers were injured or ill, if the commander tended them with care, it was the easiest way to win their hearts.

They had only just gotten to the foot-washing step, and Ren Quan'er's face was already streaming with tears.

When the flesh-cutting came, even though the pain made his whole body flush red, he gritted his teeth and held perfectly still.

He absolutely refused to cause Chief Liu any trouble.

After it was done, he clung to Liu Chengzong, weeping bitterly, and kept murmuring over and over: "Chief Liu is so good, Chief Liu is so good!"