Chapter 1306: On the Grasslands

A force of this size could not have existed for more than five years, and it was only in the last two years or so that this Xuzhou army reached its present scale. In such a short time, how could they have forged such a powerful army? Lu Xiangsheng had seen the backbone battalions of the government troops that had trained for ten years, and compared to the force before him, they were utterly beneath mention.

"... Is this truly the work of mortal men? Could there really be ghosts and spirits..." Lu Xiangsheng muttered, then abruptly caught himself and fell silent. He was a Confucian disciple who kept ghosts and spirits at a respectful distance, and a hero of high martial skill who had never believed in the supernatural. Yet precisely because he was level-headed, precisely because Lu Xiangsheng understood military strategy so well, he felt such shock, found it so inconceivable.

Lu Xiangsheng stood by the roadside, his mind reeling, his face a mask of utter shock. The Internal Guards blended into the crowd saw this and simply ignored him; they had seen too many such stunned expressions these days. It seemed this big fellow was merely tall and sturdy, with nothing else remarkable about him.

Once the shock passed, Lu Xiangsheng began to notice other details. The soldiers of the Zhao army all wore breastplates. According to rumor, these Xuzhou bandits were clad head to toe in iron. Judging by the large packs on their backs, the rest of their armor must be inside. The breastplate alone was enough to leave one speechless. With such a slab of iron hanging on the chest, so long as it was not a bluff of mere sheet metal, it could stop both blade and spear thrust. To pierce that armor, one would likely have to resort to hammers or axes.

There was nothing special to say about the long spears and halberds the Zhao army soldiers carried on their shoulders, but Lu Xiangsheng stared fixedly at the fire lances. Had he been allowed closer, he would have walked right up to examine them, taking in every detail he could. Word had it that the Zhao army's fire lances were supremely lethal, fired in volley after volley, such that even elite government cavalry could not charge through that net of fire. From a distance, the fire lances looked somewhat thicker and heavier than bird guns, with shorter, stouter barrels. Could such a weapon shoot far?

It was said that the Xuzhou bandits' cannons also differed from the government's, firing accurately on the battlefield with astonishing power. Yet no cannons were visible in the marching column before him. The reason for that was understandable — such crude, cumbersome equipment would surely travel more conveniently by canal.

Although the Xuzhou northern expedition force had been halved compared to when it set out, the long column still took a great deal of time to pass. The onlookers had found it novel and interesting at first, but as time wore on and battalion after battalion marched past, they grew bored and weary, dispersing one after another. Lu Xiangsheng had wanted to watch from beginning to end, but he knew that would make him far too conspicuous and out of place, so he could only reluctantly leave with the rest.

In the several counties of western Yanzhou Prefecture now, Xuzhou's agricultural estates were everywhere. Strategic points were garrisoned with army camps, and militia units had been organized. Bandits no longer had any room to survive, and safety was no longer a concern. Travel was not like before, when one had to journey only in broad daylight and find lodging by nightfall.

As Prefect of Daming Prefecture, Lu Xiangsheng had left his post without authorization on this trip, so he naturally could not afford to linger within the borders of Yanzhou Prefecture in Shandong. After watching, he rode off with his trusted aides and guards. Under such circumstances, they could not travel too quickly. Along the way, Lu Xiangsheng spoke in fits and starts, but it was all to himself — likely, after witnessing the martial splendor of the Zhao army, he was so full of emotion he could not help but voice a few thoughts.

"... This is indeed a calamity for the Great Ming. If we do not rouse ourselves and rise up, I fear utter destruction awaits..."

"... The Xuzhou bandits are men, and so are we. If they can train such troops, why can't we..."

After Lu Xiangsheng returned to Daming Prefecture, no one suspected he had left his jurisdiction. For one, his authority was already established, and no one dared to court that misfortune. For another, few people cared about such things now. The post of Daming Prefect was a cursed assignment; they had finally found someone willing to take it who was doing a decent job — would they really want to replace him?

After a few days of silence, Lu Xiangsheng wrote several letters and dispatched trusted family servants to send them to the capital and Jiangnan. His close confidants naturally knew who the recipients were: there were relatives and old friends, some holding no low position in the capital, others enjoying high prestige in Jiangnan. It was only because their master was unwilling to beg for favors that he had been assigned to Daming Prefecture, right on the enemy's border. One of the letters was to a good friend, a seed left behind in the capital after the Donglin purge, a backbone among the remonstrating officials and pure critics, a man of considerable influence.

The steward tasked with sending the letters dared not be negligent and hurriedly arranged their dispatch. Yet privately he wondered: had his master been so frightened by those Xuzhou bandits on his trip to Shandong that he was now seeking help everywhere to get himself transferred? If that were truly the case, they might actually end up in a good place, find some fine postings. But knowing his master's fiery, unyielding temperament, he feared the man was about to do something risky again. At that thought, the steward was so worried he could not sleep for days.

Beyond the frontier in the sixth month, it was the finest time of the year. The green grass was like a carpet, birds sang and flowers gave their fragrance. Walking across the boundless grasslands, gazing at the blue sky and white clouds, and looking further at the herds in the distance, one's entire being felt relaxed and joyful.

This was especially true at the Lower Water Sea. The area around this vast saltwater lake was one of the most lush and fertile grazing lands beyond the frontier. Every year at this time, numerous tribes would drive their cattle and horses here. In this season, everyone was busy breeding and fattening their herds, with no time to attack one another. These were the most peaceful days.

These months were likewise a fine season for the Shanxi merchants. They came bearing great quantities of goods, trading for the gold, silver, and spoils of war held by Mongol nobles, trading for the livestock and savings of the herdsmen, earning double or even several times their investment in profit. Since the start of the Tianqi reign, this business had grown easier and easier. That Ligdan Khan had driven off Altan's grandson and seized Kökeqota for himself. This Chahar tribe, the so-called direct line of the grasslands, was desperately short of everything. They were willing to pay high prices for iron pots, for cotton cloth, for everything the grasslands lacked. And of course, what they most wanted to buy was liquor — that strong spirit produced in Xuzhou, clear and crisp in flavor, burning like fire down the throat.

Ligdan Khan wanted everything, and the Great Ming's demand was also insatiably strong. Xuzhou, a place no one had even noticed ten years ago, had now become a monster. It needed vast quantities of cattle and horses, vast quantities of leather, vast quantities of alkali, vast quantities of riders. Whatever the grasslands had, Xuzhou needed. They paid market price, but that market price was already enough to make everyone rich. Not to mention, after selling in Xuzhou, one could buy cotton cloth, iron pots, liquor, and everything else the grasslands needed right there on the spot. The round trip brought colossal profit.

The one man the Shanxi merchants now hated most was Wang Ziyang. This once inconspicuous little horse trader was now wealthy beyond compare. Ninety percent of the Han Well Famous Liquor transported to the grasslands was monopolized by his supply, with the remaining ten percent coming out of Northern Zhili.

That so-called Han Well Famous Liquor was not vastly superior to several famous Shanxi brands. What made it special was that clear, crisp, mellow mouthfeel, and then there was its output. Famous liquors were famous precisely because of their exquisite ingredients and complex craftsmanship, consuming time and materials to produce something fine, at a correspondingly high cost. But this Xuzhou liquor was different. Its output was simply too vast. From that volume alone, one could deduce that Han Well Famous Liquor's cost was not high. There was simply no way to fight a price war against it. Besides, everyone was in this to get rich. Behind that liquor stood a monster that had routed even the imperial court's several hundred thousand troops. Why seek death?

Not wanting trouble did not mean they did not grumble in their hearts. This Xuzhou liquor was simply too perfect for frontier trade, practically tailor-made for those Mongols. As the ancients knew, "Camels love willows, Mongols love liquor." In the bitter cold of winter, these Mongols needed a mouthful of liquor to warm their bodies. This potent, full-bodied spirit was exactly to their taste. Now on these grasslands, even herdsmen who could not speak Chinese could say "Han Well Famous Liquor" in the Han tongue.

On the grasslands, those who could afford unadulterated Han Well Famous Liquor were all nobles — men who at the very least had their own residences within Kökeqota and could speak a word in Ligdan Khan's presence. As for the rest, they could only drink watered-down liquor. Those with money and livestock got it watered down less; those without got it watered down more. Yet even so, the Mongols were willing to buy. This liquor was far better than their sour, weak kumiss. In summer it was fine, but in the cold of autumn and winter, one jar of undiluted liquor could trade for a woman. Five jars of undiluted could trade for a fine horse!

Anyone with a bit of business acumen kept their accounts without an abacus. The immense profit of Xuzhou liquor, just how much Wang Ziyang was raking in — everyone knew it in their hearts. But there was truly nothing to be done. Some had offered huge sums to poach master brewers from the distillery, but Xuzhou kept an extremely tight watch. Distilleries were only set up near Xuzhou itself and around Zhao army encampments. It was not that no brewer had ever been tempted, but they dropped dead before even leaving Xuzhou territory. The man who tried to poach them never returned either, so no one dared reach out again.

Every time Xuzhou went to war with the imperial court, the cloth merchants of Songjiang Prefecture took the lead, echoed by the great merchants of Jiangnan, and they were always the ones who jumped highest. But the Shanxi merchants were watching just as hungrily. Every time war broke out, there were merchants waiting in Kaifeng Prefecture with their men and silver. If the court won, they would rush in to sweep up people and goods. Yet each time they returned disappointed, and they grew increasingly afraid to make any reckless moves. Even the court's joint encirclement campaigns had been defeated, so never mind the Shanxi merchants — the frontier garrison generals backing them had also pulled back, endlessly urging caution, caution.

The hardest thing was watching wealth before your eyes with no way to earn it. With the Great Ming's military officers unwilling to help, some began to think of crooked schemes, planning to make a move out on the grasslands. If you could make a man lose both his goods and his men a few times, he would not dare keep it all to himself. There were far too many horse bandits on the grasslands, and no few of them were cavalry from the major tribes in disguise. So long as the silver and benefits were sufficient, killing and plundering was far simpler than it was in the Great Ming.

They tried several times and each time came back battered and bleeding. Every time Wang Ziyang went beyond the frontier, his trade caravan was always a force of over a thousand men, and the fighting strength of those thousand-odd men was certainly not low. Small bands of horse bandits who lacked sense would simply be devoured. A large band of horse bandits would need at least two thousand riders to have any confidence. A man who could command two thousand riders on these grasslands had to be at least of Golden Tent Noyan rank. And indeed, lured by the liquor and heavy gold, Wang Ziyang's caravan did once face a siege of over two thousand riders.

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