Chapter 283: They Have Come

As the crowds passed through, it was like a swarm of locusts crossing the land. Never mind grain — even edible wild herbs and grass roots, field mice and wild hares were all swept clean. How could there possibly be any grain left?

But people waiting to die in despair only want hope. Give them a single straw and they will clutch at it, let alone the guidance of a true sage, let alone actually finding grain. They had grown used to listening to those pillars of strength. With all these reasons combined, the moment a call went out, they instinctively followed and flocked to it like shadows.

Every day some grain would be found to the south. The amount was small — what they found, boiled into gruel, could sustain them for one meal or even a whole day. Those who found none still starved to death. People kept dying, and people kept joining, but the column, sustained by this sliver of hope, kept moving southward. The villages they passed along the way fortified their walls and held fast. Some endured; others were broken through. Those who survived joined the refugee column. The cities and towns along the route all braced as if facing a great foe, but to their surprise, the famine victims and refugees merely passed through.

Few noticed that sturdy, able-bodied men had begun to infiltrate the refugee column. They wore tattered clothes and their faces were smeared with filth, but a careful observer could always see that their complexion was off. Yet in such circumstances, how many careful observers could there be to notice?

The great host of refugees was not necessarily of one heart and mind. Some wanted to leave, to go back and see if conditions in their hometowns had eased. Others, by sheer luck, had snatched up a fair amount of grain and thought of taking it elsewhere. Still others sensed something was wrong — where were they heading, marching south like this day after day? All such people died. And no one really noticed their deaths. Dying was the most normal thing in the world, especially in a column like this.

What happened in the Huai River basin in Fengyang Prefecture was somewhat different. The Fengyang garrison had orders to disperse the refugees. Several Mobile Corps commanders, who normally had little heart for battle, were for some reason brimming with courage and drove their troops forward. The refugees numbered over a hundred thousand, yet they were no match for the armed, organized, and trained regular Ming army. They were scattered at the first clash. It was said the Huai River ran red. Most fled in all directions, while some, lured by grain, slowly drifted northward.

The harvests in Fengyang Prefecture had actually been decent these past few years. Once the famine struck, the victims were lost and helpless. There was no need for the tricks of sages or immortals — just lure them with grain, just have a few pillars of strength who seemed to care about everyone step forward, and the crowd would follow. Likewise, many able-bodied men who were not famine victims also mixed themselves in.

Fengyang also enforced a scorched-earth policy everywhere, but the authorities, from the Fengyang Central Capital Garrison Commander down to the Grand Coordinator, issued strict orders forbidding any alarm or reports to higher levels. Because the moment these refugees appeared, it was tantamount to proclaiming the famine to the world. Once they left Fengyang, it would be none of their concern.

No matter how the officials sealed off the news, the common folk always had channels to learn of it. Xuzhou bordered Fengyang, and word of the great mass of refugees moving north was quickly known. The entire city of Xuzhou was instantly on edge.

But what no one expected was that these refugees went to Huai'an Prefecture, ultimately heading toward the Pizhou area.

Huai'an Prefecture was dense with waterways, and the regions bordering Fengyang Prefecture were all fairly prosperous. The refugees could always find some replenishment there. However, Huai'an Prefecture produced Huai salt, a major source of tax revenue, and also contained the Grand Canal, the very lifeline of the empire. The refugees could not be allowed to wreak havoc there. Nanjing, with no time to blame Fengyang Prefecture, immediately began mobilizing troops to suppress and pursue them. But the response was, after all, a bit slow, and nearly ten thousand refugees still pressed close to the Pizhou area.

The movement of the famine victims and refugees was nothing like a military march. They moved extremely slowly. It was around the seventeenth day of the fifth month that the Pizhou area began to take precautions.

Xuzhou naturally knew of the news from over there, but everyone in the city, high and low, spoke of it with schadenfreude. This was true even within the government offices. The six bureaus of the prefectural yamen were all in high spirits, and the constables' office was no different. The constables sat, the runners and temporary aides stood, all debating with spittle flying.

"Serves them right! Pizhou stole our Xuzhou's canal transport, making our prosperity fade day by day. Retribution has come!" one constable shouted. A chorus of agreement rose from below.

"Once that gang of starving rebels lays waste to Pizhou, maybe the grain ships will have to use our canal route again. Then the good days will be back for everyone!" another yelled at the top of his lungs. A roar of approval erupted.

"Do you know why the rebels don't dare come to our Xuzhou? It's because Xuzhou has so many heroes and gallants. If they came, there'd be no need for the government troops to step in — Young Master Zhao and Young Master Chen would wipe them out flat." Someone said this with a grin, and everyone cheered. Chief Constable Chen Wu and Zhao Zhentang were both worth flattering.

After these words, everyone looked toward the corner where Chen Wu and Zhao Zhentang sat. The two old brothers were drinking tea there and had heard the remark, their faces all smiles.

Just then, the sound of urgent hoofbeats came from outside the constables' office. The constables and runners all fell silent. The office was on the outer side of the yamen and could hear the commotion. A horse arriving at such a frantic pace was certainly no small matter.

The hoofbeats stopped, and someone came running in with hurried steps. Perhaps someone moved to block him, for the man, panting heavily, shouted, "Urgent report! Urgent report! A hundred thousand refugees have already left Shandong and are now at Miaodaokou, still heading south along the Si River..."

Mid-sentence, whoever was blocking the way must have stepped aside, for the man ran deeper inside, still shouting as he went.

The constables' office had fallen dead silent. Only after a moment did it erupt into an uproar. Everyone was talking at once, everyone stunned by the news.

"... a hundred thousand refugees... a full hundred thousand... how many people does our Xuzhou even have..."

"Those big estates around Yutai, aren't they the property of that Kong Tiger? Could it be he's been swept away too..."

"Miaodaokou — there's a patrol inspector stationed there. Looks like it was the inspector who sent someone with the warning."

"... what the hell is there to worry about? Can those starving wretches cross the Yellow River or what? Never mind a hundred thousand — even a million would all drown..."

The debate raged, everyone talking over each other, and the more they talked, the more plausible they sounded.

"There's probably nothing to fear. The refugees on the Huai number in the hundreds of thousands, and Fengyang sent out less than ten thousand troops at most. We've got a Regional Commander right here in Xuzhou, with nearly a thousand cavalry under his command alone. What rebels can't he pacify?"

"What about Zhao Jin?" The speaker couldn't help lowering his voice as he said this.

"That won't do. On the battlefield, you still have to rely on the imperial army. That Zhao boy's skills are for village brawls — they don't count for anything in a situation like this." Those who heard this all nodded silently in approval. It made sense. The imperial troops, no matter how rotten, were still the regular army — surely they'd be useful. These private troops of local strongmen, no matter what, were only first-rate in the world of rivers and lakes. In a real large-scale battle, they'd be useless.

Chen Wu and Zhao Zhentang, who had been sitting there drinking tea, had already risen from their seats. Their expressions were grim — not because they had heard others say their sons were no good, but because the arrival of a hundred thousand refugees was a great calamity for Xuzhou. As natives of Xuzhou, how could they possibly be happy?

Just then, a constable came back in from outside. Once inside, he grumbled and cursed, "This weather is too damn dry. Even right by the Yellow River, you can't feel a trace of moisture."

Only after saying this did he sense the atmosphere in the room was off. The constable couldn't help being taken aback, but then said, not paying it much mind, "Have you all heard? Things have blown up over in Pizhou. Quite a few grain barges have been burned, and the canal transport is cut off too."

Everyone already knew this as well. Many nodded and went back to their discussions. Seeing that no one paid him much attention, the constable added, "Cutting off the canal transport is a heaven-shaking matter. Just now on the street, I saw Commander Zhou leaving the city. They say he's taking his personal guard to the encampment east of the city first, to muster the troops and go to Xuzhou to suppress the chaos. Tsk tsk, the Commander going in person — what a grand affair."

He had merely been showing off a piece of news, starting a conversation. But before his words had even faded, the constables' office had gone dead silent.

They just stared at each other in continued silence, and then suddenly, it exploded. Everyone was talking at once, all heading outside without a care for anything else.

"Go home and move the family!"

"Got to find a place to hide!"

"A great calamity is upon us!"

"All of you motherfuckers, stop right there!" A roar from Chen Wu silenced everyone in the room. Zhao Zhentang, his face cold, said, "Where are you going? Are there city walls outside to shield you? Is there a moat? Leaving the city is courting death! Have you lost your minds?"

These rapid-fire questions stunned the already somewhat panicked crowd. Then their faces showed sudden realization. Several slapped themselves hard across the face and muttered curses: "Scared out of our wits."

But then they grew agitated again. "We need to send word to our relatives outside the city, tell them to come inside and take shelter." "Good heavens, my wife just took the kids to visit her parents."

Chen Wu and Zhao Zhentang exchanged a glance. Zhao Zhentang turned and called over one of his men, fixing his gaze on him as he said, "Xiaowu, ride out of the city to He Village right now. Tell Xiao Jin and the others about this. Go, quickly!"

The young runner nodded, called two companions, and pushed through the chaotic crowd in the constables' office, heading out. He had just stepped out the door when he saw Magistrate Wang's personal secretary, Master Wang, hurrying over at a run, holding up the hem of his long gown. Master Wang's expression was terrible, and the sight of the chaos in the constables' office made him frown even more. He called out from the doorway, "Old Chen, pick ten men who can ride and twenty who are fleet of foot. Have them bring weapons and escort His Excellency the Magistrate out of the city."

"Damn, even His Excellency is running?" The constables were all local power-brokers, and with Zhao Jin's rise, they only acknowledged Chen Wu and Zhao Zhentang, thinking little of the magistrate. Hearing this, they couldn't help blurting it out.

Master Wang had no time for refinement now. He cursed furiously, "Bullshit! His Excellency is going after Commander Zhou, to get him to defend Xuzhou! A city this big — you think we can rely on you lords?"

Chief Constable Chen Wu and Zhao Zhentang shouted a few curses, silencing the crowd, then began calling out names. Able-bodied men, fast riders, and runners with some martial skill were quickly assembled. Hearing that the magistrate was doing this, they had no real complaints and hurriedly followed him out.

The constables and runners either said a quick word or slipped away quietly. It wasn't that they wanted to leave the city — they were all rushing back to make arrangements. In a situation like this, the household at the very least needed to stockpile more grain.

The magistrate's yamen had always been a sieve; there was no such thing as secrecy. The clerks and minor functionaries of the six bureaus moved just as fast. With everyone scattering like this, how could the news possibly be contained? By the time several dozen runners were escorting the magistrate's sedan chair out of the city, even the skeptics had no choice but to believe.

The entire city instantly exploded. Grain merchants quick to get the news immediately raised their prices. Even so, grain was still bought up in a frenzy. That Commander Zhou had led his troops to Pizhou was no secret either. Once everyone realized this, the panic in the city intensified. No one knew what to do.

The gentry and powerful families in the city had learned the news even earlier than the common folk, but they had no better way to respond. Everyone knew about the refugees in Fengyang Prefecture, and about the refugees over in Pizhou. They also knew a great mass of refugees was coming from Shandong, and that Henan was not peaceful either. Moreover, fleeing at this point offered no guarantee of safety on the road. There were small bands of refugees active throughout Xuzhou as well. The only option was to stay inside the city, where it was safe.

Wang Zhaojing, who spent his days overseeing the goods yard while studying, received the news at almost the same time as the yamen. Upon learning it, he immediately ordered the distillery to halt production, commanded the household guards and the able-bodied distillery workers to stand ready, and then summoned his stewards and foremen.

"Thank heaven and earth, the master is truly a man of fortune. He left for Nanjing to visit friends half a month ago." The Wang family butler pressed his palms together and murmured.

After saying this, the butler added, "Young master, your provincial examination is in the eighth month. What if it's delayed? But no place is safe to go now — the roads are full of rebels."

"For now, we can only stay inside the city. Besides, the Yellow River is a natural barrier. It will be very difficult for the refugees from Shandong to cross. There's no need to worry too much. However, Brother Zhao's side is in trouble. Their terrain is slightly higher, flat and open. If a large band of refugees comes, there will be no natural defenses to hold!" Wang Zhaojing analyzed calmly, though he was also very worried.

"Young master, with the provincial examination this year, you should have gone to Nanjing to stay long ago..." The old butler wanted to keep rambling, but Wang Zhaojing ignored him and turned to Uncle He. "Uncle He, take a few men to He Village. Tell Brother Zhao about this, and also tell them that I've stopped the distillery's liquor production. I will sell the sorghum stockpiled in the city at a price ten percent below the market rate."

Uncle He was taken aback. "Young master, is that appropriate?" he asked.

"The city is in a panic. Everyone wants to hoard grain. If we continue to use grain to produce liquor, we will certainly draw public wrath. Better to sell this grain off. We barely spent any money to buy it in the first place, anyway." Wang Zhaojing replied.

Uncle He nodded in agreement and hurried back to ready the horses and leave the city. As Uncle He and his companions rode out, they happened to see the magistrate's sedan chair also leaving the city.

Zhao Jin learned the news slightly earlier than the city, but only by less than two hours. Because the refugees were passing through, the trade routes were cut off. The merchants and peddlers who came and went were either in hiding or holed up inside the city, afraid to come out. Who would be there to pass on word? So everyone learned the news at roughly the same time.

"Kong Tiger's words really are no different from farting. He said we wouldn't interfere with each other, but he's let this many refugees through. If there were really going to be a fight, how could they just come over like this, and without even a word of news?" Ji Xiang cursed bitterly.

The refugees entered Xuzhou territory from the Yutai side, right past the Kong family estate along Paoheyan. The estate had plenty of grain, so naturally the refugees would loot it. A powerful house like the Kongs obviously wouldn't sit by and watch — the two sides were bound to clash. Once they fought, it would certainly alarm everyone around, and word would naturally spread. But the situation right now showed that the refugees had met with no conflict at all around Paoheyan, and had even received aid. Otherwise, they couldn't possibly have moved this fast.

Don't think that just because Kong Jiuying could only send two hundred-some cavalry to Xuzhou, he was weak. On his own estate at Paoheyan, he could easily mobilize four to five hundred mounted young men and several thousand foot-militia village braves. An organized gentry militia like that, facing a scattered mob of refugees, would have a strong chance of winning. There would inevitably have been a bitter fight. But the situation right now clearly showed there had been no real fighting — they had simply passed through without incident.

Chen Sheng stared at the drilling on the open ground and said sullenly, "The borderlands between Shandong and Xuzhou have been thrown into chaos by the refugees, and news is cut off. It's only natural we wouldn't know. Still, judging by the fragmentary reports we do have, the refugees shouldn't have come this fast — over ten days faster than we thought. There are estates and towns they should have stopped at, but they didn't stop. It's as if they came straight for Xuzhou the whole way."

Starving refugees are like locusts. When they pass through, they strip clean everything edible. Every place they reach, they sweep bare. That takes time. Zhao Jin and the others had long ago learned from merchants and jianghu wanderers that a large band of refugees was active in Shandong. At the time, they had considered the possibility of them coming to Xuzhou and calculated the journey. Going through all those towns and villages along the way, one after another, it would take at least half a month to reach Xuzhou territory — and that was assuming they even came this way. No one expected them to arrive so fast.

Ruhui, standing behind Zhao Jin, glanced at Liu Yong, then spoke: "Right now, no one from any side can get through to the refugees. We don't know any more than anyone else. But this subordinate feels we needn't worry too much. Though the Yellow River is drought-starved and low, to those refugees it is still a natural moat. They can't cross."

Zhao Jin did not speak. He simply folded his arms and watched the square formation on the open ground. The formation was now a four-hundred-man square, twenty across and twenty deep. The recruits' footsteps were growing more and more uniform. And now, no one needed to call the cadence. On the right side of the formation, one household retainer was somewhat clumsily beating a flat drum the size of a washbasin, while another retainer followed behind him holding a suona. The drumbeat struck, and the retainer suddenly blew the suona. The formation halted, and the long spears leveled forward, row by row, starting from the first.

During that night battle at He Village, Zhao Jin had nearly ruined his throat shouting commands. After that, he found drummers and turned the footstep cadence into drumbeats, having the retainers learn to beat the drum. The formation advanced to the sound of the drum. He also had men learn the suona, using its sound to issue orders. They trained single-mindedly, and by now it already looked quite impressive.

Zhao Jin remained silent. At his side, Liu Yong hesitated, then said, "Big Brother, Zheng Quan's side can no longer control the sect heads. Some people in the city are moving about furtively, and those outside the city have completely stopped obeying orders. The news he can pass on is limited, and nothing useful."

"I've heard people say that whenever there's famine and refugees, the White Lotus and such sects stir up trouble among them, trying to profit from the chaos. Looking at the movements of the Smelling Incense Sect inside the city, this band of refugees likely has no small involvement from them," Zhao Jin said calmly.

After saying this, Zhao Jin raised his arm and swept it forward. The drumbeat paused, then quickened slightly. The halted square formation immediately raised their long spears and began advancing at a jog. Dust rose from the open ground. Zhao Jin narrowed his eyes, watching, and said, "The front is orderly, the rear is scattered. But the overall look is already decent. What do you all think we should do to respond?"