Chapter 280: Refugees

After Ruhui traveled across one prefecture and four counties with silver and wine jars, everyone throughout Xuzhou praised Zhao Jin for his righteousness, saying he protected the region, kept the people safe, and brought blessings to the countryside.

Beyond that, there were some unexpected effects. For instance, the constables in Dangshan rounded up over a dozen "rebellious" monk-soldiers from Cloud Mountain Monastery, and Xiao County rooted out two managers from the Cloud Mountain Trading House. Before, no one would provoke you, but they also wouldn't lift a finger when trouble came — now things were different.

Next, the Han Well Famous Liquor business expanded across all of Xuzhou. Cloud Mountain Monastery's own shops and the Cloud Mountain Trading House's branches everywhere all began selling Han Well Famous Liquor. The network Zhao Jin's side hadn't managed to put together was restored under Ruhui's hand, and the distillery had to increase production again just to keep up.

But that wasn't the main thing. Ruhui set a rule: shops from every area would come to He Village on a regular schedule to buy wine. Every two or three days, they'd drive their carts over. Coming here wasn't just about buying wine — the men of the Zhao Camp would ask them for news. In this way, information from all over Xuzhou flowed regularly into He Village.

Ruhui also bought sorghum from the country estates of the local gentry everywhere. For those willing to trade sorghum for wine, the distillery did that business too. Though the price was lower than Cloud Mountain Monastery's and the distillery's profit was thinner, the advantage lay in the mutual dealings — they earned money themselves while letting others earn too, building relationships. Just like with the wine buyers, the men delivering sorghum also brought news from all over.

It wasn't only sorghum — all the miscellaneous goods He Village used began to be purchased from across Xuzhou. The significance of this was the same as above.

Once these things were done, talk of "Protector Zhao, whose righteousness reaches the clouds" and "the Purple-Gold Beam of Xuzhou" began spreading everywhere.

What put Zhao Jin and his companions at ease was that Ruhui had established all these connections with crystal-clear accounts. For gift-giving, there was a register; for purchasing, he kept his hands off. He built the relationships and let the appropriate people handle the rest.

In the short term, several thousand taels of silver had been scattered. In the long term, monthly profits would drop by a few hundred taels. But this sum was bearable for Zhao Jin and his group. What it brought was a goodwill environment and an intelligence network blanketing Xuzhou — a value far greater than that silver. According to word coming from all over, people everywhere said the Zhao Camp was a good place to go, that young men sent there wouldn't pick up bad habits and would come back with real skills. This talk made Zhao Jin quite happy.

When the Zhao Camp recruited soldiers, the scope was limited to the prefectural city and its vicinity. Very few came from farther away to join. The reason was simple: the local strongmen and clans everywhere were wary of the Zhao Camp, so they wouldn't let their own young men go enlist. Otherwise, with terms this good, the number of applicants would have been far greater than what showed up at those recruitment sessions. Before the intelligence network was in place, Zhao Jin had thought the turnout back then was already an unprecedented spectacle.

Tea sheds were set up at several crossroads of He Village, offering tea and meals to travelers from all directions. If any figures from the rivers and lakes passed through, the tea sheds would pass the word along. If someone seemed important or unusual, this side would even host them with wine and food, or spend even more.

This seemed like a huge expense, but in reality it cost very little. Yet it brought the Zhao Camp news from the rivers and lakes of every region, even sights and sounds that official channels never saw.

"This one learned this from Runan and the others. Our monastery had this arrangement back in the day — every branch temple had tea sheds at convenient travel points. Later they all grew slack, either just doing business or simply shutting them down." Ruhui spoke very frankly.

As Ruhui got these operations running, Liu Yong among Zhao Jin's companions became extremely busy, vanishing from sight every day. The sharper young men of He Village and the neighboring hamlets, those who wanted to earn a living with the Zhao Camp, all found work to do. Quite a few unfamiliar young men from the city also came to He Village, and every wine shop in every area gained one or two young men from inside Xuzhou city — all introduced by acquaintances.

With Ruhui's operations, Zhao Jin felt his ears and eyes growing sharper by the day. He could now learn of events in Xuzhou and its surroundings in a timely manner.

"... The Zhao Camp does things its own way. Strong as it is, it doesn't fit in with its surroundings. In ordinary times that's fine, but if something extraordinary happens, it's easy to be denounced by all and become a public enemy. This subordinate merely moved the guest-reception practices over here, so the Zhao Camp and Xuzhou's high and low could share a smiling face..." Ruhui had done so much, yet he never took credit or grew arrogant. This made everyone warm to him all the more, and the view that he was frivolous vanished like smoke.

Though this network was built, the information was compiled by Liu Yong and Zhou Xuezhi, and they were the ones who reported it. Ruhui never took part, only offering an opinion when Zhao Jin needed one.

Liu Yong was now extraordinarily busy, yet every day he made time to brief his companions on what he knew. Zhao Jin's view was that everyone should listen together, but Liu Yong would always say something in private each time. Zhao Jin didn't object to this.

"I don't know if I should say this or not," Liu Yong said, wiping sweat as he spoke. Spring had felt like early winter, but as soon as summer arrived, it turned stifling hot. After two men collapsed from heatstroke during midday training, the Zhao Camp's noon rest period had been extended.

Hearing Liu Yong's words, Zhao Jin paused, then laughed and cursed, "In front of me, what's there to say or not say?"

Only the two of them were present, so it was no wonder Zhao Jin spoke that way.

Liu Yong cleared his throat and said, "News came at noon today. They say the Wang family's cook let slip that their young master is so pent-up and restless at home he's beside himself with frustration — even smashed things a few days ago. Reckoning the timing, it should be right when word reached him that Mr. Cao had come to our side as an advisor."

Zhao Jin paused again, then a playful smile spread across his face. Shaking his head, he said, "If you're going to study, then study with focus. The provincial exam is in the eighth month — how can you succeed if you can't keep your composure?"

Some things didn't need to be spelled out; everyone understood in their hearts. In the past, matters of advisors and strategy for Zhao Jin's group had all been handled by Wang Zhaojing.

"Don't dig into this kind of thing so much in the future. He's managing the distillery in the city and still has to study for the exams — he's already busy beyond measure. Let's not stand by gawking at the excitement. What have you found out about the refugees everywhere?" Zhao Jin's smile faded as he asked gravely.

"Shandong still hasn't seen rain. So many starved to death there last year — who knows how much worse it'll be this year. Here in the Southern Metropolitan Region, Xuzhou is close to the Yellow River, so the fields never run out of water and can barely hold on. Huai'an Prefecture never had much farmland to begin with, so it's still all right. Fengyang Prefecture has big trouble — not a drop of rain has fallen, and on top of that, the officials in Fengyang are covering up the disaster and not reporting it. The court has offered no relief at all. That's where the imperial family's ancestral tombs are, and the eunuchs say the spirits protect it, that the weather is favorable — so they gloss over any disaster." Liu Yong spoke.

Ever since Zheng Quan came to warn him, Zhao Jin had sent men to gather news from every region, paying special attention to refugee matters. Hearing Liu Yong mention Fengyang Prefecture, Zhao Jin cursed under his breath. The drought had dragged on this long, and they were still covering it up — it was like pouring oil on a fire, making the disaster even worse.

"Big Brother, right now the ruined and destitute commoners are all heading toward the Huai River. There's water there, and the fields can still hold on. But with so many refugees pouring in, the ones who were barely holding on get eaten out and looted, and they can't hold on anymore. Either their families are destroyed and they die, or they turn into refugees too — more and more of them." Liu Yong's tone grew heavy.

"What about Xuzhou?"

"Places close to the Yellow River are better off. Farther away, it's no good. Xiao County is in the best shape. Dangshan, Feng County, and Pei County all have small bands of refugees now, but at most a few hundred — still nothing major." Both Zhao Jin and Liu Yong were more concerned about the refugees within Xuzhou itself.

Zhao Jin nodded and rose from his seat. "Time to go out and train. Xiaoyong, do what you have to do, but don't let your martial training slip. Our skill with blade and spear is our very lifeline."

Liu Yong grinned and thumped his chest. "Don't worry, Big Brother, I've never let it slip."

The two walked out of the room one after the other. In the courtyard, Zhao Jin looked up at the sky and muttered, "Why hasn't it rained yet?" He took a few more steps forward and said to himself, "Where has the tribute grain gone?"

He had come to He Village intending to do this business of trading tribute grain for wine — who would have thought he still hadn't even laid eyes on any tribute grain...

The weather was dry and parched, drought everywhere. As in years past, refugees and bandits were on the rise again. But life still had to be lived, and merchants' carts and horses still appeared on the roads through disaster zones and safe areas alike.

At dusk, the official road at the border of Xuzhou and Pizhou was already desolate. No matter how hard you pushed at this hour, you couldn't reach a city gate. Though the times were still relatively peaceful, bandits still existed. Travelers and merchants sought lodging early, before the sun had even set. A single oxcart trundled slowly along, its load of hemp sacks and straw bags piled half-full — no telling what was inside. The carter sat on the cart, listless, nodding off again and again.

The sun had already set, but the stifling heat hadn't eased — as if the heat was only now seeping up from the earth. Darkness wasn't far off. There were no inns nearby, and the nearest village was several li away. Who knew where this oxcart was heading? But everyone had their own troubles, and no one paid it any mind.

Once the oxcart entered Xuzhou territory, the carter dozing against the load roused a little. He glanced left and right, yawned, and closed his eyes again, as if he had finally fallen asleep.

After another li or so, two farmhands sat by the roadside, a wheelbarrow beside them. The oxcart passed right in front of them. The two farmhands went on chatting among themselves. One of them stared at the cart shaft for a moment, coughed, and said, "Big Brother, got any water? Let me borrow a drink!"

The oxcart driver, who had seemed asleep, snapped his eyes open. He halted the cart, pulled a leather waterskin from beside him, and said irritably, "If you want a drink, just drink. What's this 'borrow'? How are you going to return it?"

No telling what kind of hide the waterskin was made of — it had a cork stopper and even bore a design, a tiny lotus flower. The light was already dim, so making it out wasn't easy. The man asking for water stared hard at it for a few glances, then spoke: "Big Brother, your water smells so fragrant."

At this, the carter's expression turned serious. He said, "You've come with two men. Are you from the same place, or two different places?"

"Same place!"

"Then take seven bags. Move them quickly." As soon as the carter finished, the two farmhands stepped forward and shifted seven of the hemp and straw bags from the cart onto the wheelbarrow.

"One bag is for your own household. Store the rest well — do not touch them. Otherwise, the hall will be convened and punishment meted out." The carter gave the stern warning.

"We understand. Having this one bag is already a blessing. We'll definitely keep a close watch on the rest." The two farmhands answered solemnly. The carter nodded, climbed onto the cart, flicked the whip, and drove the oxcart onward.

The two farmhands secured the seven hemp and straw bags onto the wheelbarrow. The younger one reached a hand inside one, grabbed a handful, held it to his nose and inhaled deeply, then reluctantly put it back. "Uncle, pure white rice — even the smell is fragrant."

"Don't you go messing with it. Our family's one bag has to be rationed carefully. The rest must be kept safe," the older one said hastily.

"Uncle, I know. I heard not many families in our Xuzhou teaching handle this errand? I've been looking around these past few days — the brothers in the teaching don't seem to know anything." The young man asked with keen interest.

The older farmhand immediately grew anxious. "Did you tell anyone? Did any word leak out? That's the kind of thing that gets your tongue torn out and a lightning bolt through you!"

"I'm not a child anymore. If I blabbed, may lightning strike me, may I never enter that whatever homeland..." The young man grew agitated too, swearing oaths and vows on the spot.

Seeing this, the one called Uncle finally relaxed a good deal. He let out a breath and said, "The True Void Homeland. I've told you so many times and you still can't remember — how will you ever amount to anything?"

"Uncle, if we do this job well this time, will the higher-ups reward us?"

"Serving the teaching is accumulating merit and virtue — what's this talk of rewards? Aren't you afraid the Buddha will hear?" The one called Uncle scolded, but a smile spread across his face. Then he went on, beaming: "All the incense halls across Xuzhou have been seized by demons and monsters. They'll get their retribution sooner or later. When that happens, your uncle here might even become a Chuantou, and maybe you could follow along as a junior Chuantou..."

"If we really had that kind of fortune — Chuantou Zhou has bedded quite a few widows and young wives." Uncle and nephew chattered on as they pushed the cart into the distance.

For farming households in Xuzhou, getting one sack of rice meant careful budgeting, and with some wild greens thrown in, they could scrape by. But across Shandong, apart from a few key towns along the canal and the cities where the princes of the blood lived, the rest was a hell on earth. Never mind grain — even wild greens and tree roots had been stripped bare. The human tragedy of people eating people no longer shocked anyone.

The refugees who had somehow survived gathered into bands, roaming everywhere in search of survival. The great households and powerful families in the Shandong countryside all fortified their stockades for self-defense. Many stockades and enclosures were broken open by the refugees — the stores of these great households were devoured to the last grain, and entire families joined the refugee ranks. Others had enough able-bodied men, passable equipment, high walls, and deep moats; after killing enough refugees, they barely survived.

The refugees dared not go north, for great armies were stationed there, and the north was no better off than the disaster-stricken areas. Everyone headed south. They all said Jiangnan was a land of fish and rice. They all said Yangzhou was a place of unrivaled splendor. Everyone believed that if they could just get there, they could escape this sea of suffering.

But hunger not only sapped a person's strength — it also took their lives. Many starved to death before they could even leave their homeland. Yet the disaster area was so vast, the number of refugees so immense, that many, many still made it out. Around Yanzhou Prefecture in Shandong, which could still barely sustain itself, the refugees grew more and more numerous.

Jining Subprefecture was fabulously wealthy, with countless stores of tribute grain, but the refugees here dared not go there, because it was garrisoned by heavy troops, and there were also militia and village braves organized by the local gentry, who would not only block the refugees from entering, but would even take the initiative to strike out, slaughter, and suppress them. Moreover, close to Jining Subprefecture were Ziyang, where the Prince of Lu resided, and Qufu, where the Duke of Yansheng resided — both places had dense garrisons of guard posts and numerous militia and village braves. Everyone, seeking to live and not to die, steered clear of them on their own.

Coming to Yanzhou Prefecture, the three places of Jining Subprefecture, Ziyang County, and Qufu County lay like a sluice gate across eastern Yanzhou, blocking the main body of refugees who wanted to pass through. So the refugees could only stop in the tiny triangle of Yuncheng County, Juye County, and Jiaxiang County.

When the refugees first arrived, the magistrates and gentry of each county had also shown compassion and organized relief. But they soon realized something was wrong — if this went on, not only would the relief never be enough, they might even drag themselves down into it. By the fourth month, the gates of each county seat opened for only one two-hour period a day, allowing grain and supplies to be brought in; the rest of the time they were tightly shut.

Yuncheng County was slightly better off, because nearby there was a great marsh — Liangshan Marsh — with relatively abundant produce, and its fields had not suffered much disaster. But the closing of the gates of the two neighboring counties was tantamount to driving the refugees over here. On the twenty-fifth day of the third month, more than ten days later than the other two counties, Yuncheng County also began to close its city gates.

Because of that produce-rich marsh, and because the surrounding countryside could still be somewhat maintained, the refugees here in Yuncheng County still had a sliver of hope for survival — though, of course, that hope was growing smaller by the day.

For the wailing refugees outside the city, the only way out to stay alive right now was to get into the city. Once inside, even picking through garbage could keep you alive. Outside the city, there was only a dead end. As more and more people starved to death, pestilence also began to spread. Outside the city was already a vision of hell.

Yuncheng County originally had a garrison of several hundred soldiers, and nearly a thousand village braves were organized within the county. Only thus could they barely stabilize the situation. Every time the city gates opened, any refugees who tried to rush in were cut down without the slightest mercy.

The prettiest girls and the handsomest young men among the refugees were either bought up by human traffickers and taken elsewhere, or taken in by the great households inside the city. The healthy, quick-witted children were also valuable commodities — the people inside the city needed them, and the human traffickers rushing over from elsewhere needed them too. By now, all these people were gone. The rest, it seemed, could only wait to die.

In truth, it was like this everywhere. After the refugees' value had been squeezed dry, they would die in despair, scatter in despair — and after scattering, they would die on the road. Under such circumstances, the crisis would be resolved. There were also occasional cases where a city wall was breached, and the calamity would continue for a time.

But Yuncheng was somewhat different from other places. Every day at noon, when the city gates opened, there was always a benefactor who came out of the city to give relief. He never bought anyone, nor did he want anything from the refugees. All he required was that everyone chant in praise, "My Buddha is merciful."

And so, outside the walls of Yuncheng during the third and fourth months, at every noon, the cry of "My Buddha is merciful" shook heaven and earth.

"The Perfected One has come out!" "The Perfected One has come out!" Cries of surprise and delight rose one after another. The refugees outside the walls of Yuncheng surged like waves, all gathering and pressing toward a single direction.