Chapter 310: Meeting

They made their own way to the foot of Xuzhou's walls, arriving at the western gate. They intended to enter the city to rest and regroup, but to their surprise, the gate showed no sign of opening.

"Open the gate! The roving bandits have all been driven off. We want to get inside and eat and sleep!" At a moment like this, no one had any patience left, and someone bellowed out a roar.

The top of the wall stayed quiet for a moment before a man called back, his voice awkward with embarrassment: "Heroes and good men all, the Grand Excellency has given orders. He says that with night fallen, to guard against villains sneaking into the city, the gate will not open until tomorrow. You will all be feasted and rewarded tomorrow…"

Before he could finish, the volunteer militiamen below the wall exploded. Someone pointed up at the ramparts and let loose a torrent of abuse: "We fought like mad and rushed here to save you! If it weren't for us… if it weren't for Master Jin leading us all, Xuzhou would have been broken by the roving bandits long ago! And now you burn the bridge after crossing the river!"

"We should've known better than to come! A pack of heartless, ungrateful wretches!"

Filthy curses and every vile insult imaginable poured out. In ordinary times, the militia volunteers who came to the rescue would never have dared such boldness. But today they had come generously to aid, fought a bloody battle, and risked their lives with the best of intentions, only to be met with this treatment — anyone would fly into a rage. There was another reason as well: today, charging in and out of battle alongside the Zhao Camp, they felt their own martial might was invincible. The government troops and officials inside the city, whom they once had to fear and respect, now meant nothing in their eyes. Fortunately, they still retained some sense of restraint; otherwise, cries of "storm the city" would have been shouted as well. Though no one said it aloud at this moment, many were thinking it.

It was not only these volunteer militiamen — even the household troops of the Zhao Camp wore expressions of indignant anger, and quite a few were cursing under their breath.

"All of you, quiet. At this hour on any normal day, the city gate would have long been shut. At a time like this, caution is only proper." Zhao Jin raised his voice and spoke.

His entire body was weary and aching, and he had little strength left, so his voice naturally lacked full vigor. Yet the moment he called out, the scene of seething public outrage instantly fell silent. In the past, they had only heard the tales; today, they had witnessed it with their own eyes. The Zhao Camp and Zhao Jin were indeed brave and fierce beyond compare, and what's more, they had looked after everyone. Had they not been shielded on the battlefield, the rest of them would have died countless times over.

To say nothing else — when the refugees' wooden ladders crashed into the line, the Zhao Camp could have simply fled on their own if they'd wanted to. Had they done so, the men behind them would likely have been left for dead right here.

Before a hero so valiant and so righteous, who would dare harbor a single thought of defiance? One word from Zhao Jin carried more weight than anything else.

"Who can still raise his voice and shout? I'll say a line, and you repeat it." Zhao Jin spoke, and immediately someone stepped forward.

"Our men need food, our horses need fodder. Send out provisions for man and beast from inside the city, and quickly. Also, the ground outside the wall is covered with corpses and filth everywhere — prepare a supply of quicklime for us. For lighting and keeping watch through the night, torches must be provided in full. I have many dead and wounded here. Send physicians out with medicine. Be quick about it." Zhao Jin spoke sentence by sentence, and the man beside him bellowed each one out.

The top of the wall was silent for a moment, then a troubled voice replied: "Master Jin, with the gate closed, we have no way to send these things out."

"Isn't there a ramp right there? If you won't send them out, shall we come in and get them ourselves?" Zhao Jin said coldly.

When the man beside him roared these words, the volunteer militiamen who had quieted down began howling and shouting again. But it was only at this moment that everyone remembered the ramp the refugees had built — there was indeed a passageway leading from the top of the wall down to the ground. As long as that ramp was there, so-called villains and traitors could enter the city just the same. In other words, with that ramp in place, whether the city gate was open or shut hardly mattered anymore.

"Master Jin, do not be angry. This humble one will go report to the Grand Excellency at once." The man on the wall shouted a reply and hurried off.

"Dasheng! Are you all right? Are you well?" As soon as that man left the gate area, another loud shout came from the top of the wall — it was the voice of Chief Constable Chen Wu.

A low ripple of snickering rose. Chen Sheng was a little embarrassed, but he still stepped forward and shouted back in answer: "Father, your son is unharmed. Were you all right defending the wall?"

"Your old man didn't even get a scratch! Only your Uncle Zhao got stabbed in the shoulder by a traitor from within, but it's nothing serious now. Is Little Jin all right? I'll bring word back to Old Zhao!"

"Uncle Chen, your nephew is fine. Is my father's injury serious or not? Since your nephew cannot enter the city tonight, I must trouble you to take good care of him." The moment Zhao Jin heard his father had been hurt, anxiety seized him. A vicious battle outside the walls, and fighting inside the city as well? It had to be those insane, depraved sect followers.

"Not serious, not serious! If it were really bad, I'd have told you to climb right up that ramp!" Chen Wu answered with a booming laugh.

Both below the wall and atop it were quiet; everyone's voices carried clearly.

The response from inside Xuzhou was faster than expected. After roughly half a shichen, people began coming out of the city down the ramp. About another half a shichen later, the western gate itself swung open, and all manner of supplies were sent out.

Coming out together with these supplies was Wang Zhaojing. Wang Zhaojing brought over a hundred men with him and came straight out to help.

By this time, the large carts that had been parked in the distance had also arrived. The battlefield had been given a rough once-over as well, and the wounded and the bodies of the dead from the Zhao Camp and the volunteer militias had all been recovered.

No one wanted to go to any more trouble; they all wished to clear a patch of ground right beneath the wall and rest there directly. Zhao Jin, however, was unwilling to do this. There were too many dead beneath the wall, and the weather was so hot — spending a night there would make it all too easy to contract a plague. Better to move farther away. With one word from him, everyone naturally obeyed.

They used the large carts to form a camp perimeter far back, set up entrances and exits, and mounted cavalrymen rode in and out continuously, going out to stand sentry and scout. Others went back to deliver news, spreading word of this great victory. The volunteer militiamen, however, showed no sign of leaving, even though many of their homes were quite close by. Having won such a tremendous battle, there ought to be some response from inside the city. No one was willing to go back without bringing some reward with them.

Wang Zhaojing had come out bringing food as a reward. The magistrate's yamen had, for once, acted with rare efficiency. Clerks from the Six Offices led the runners, carrying ready cash, and went knocking door to door. Many households had spent this day in terror and only began cooking their evening meals upon hearing the news that the roving bandits had lifted the siege. Their meals were just ready at this moment. The runners bought them outright with cash, and in this way, the evening meal for the defending troops both inside and outside the city was scraped together. Of course, pigs and sheep had to be slaughtered as well. There was no time for elaborate cooking; they were simply taken out and boiled in great cauldrons. Twenty jars of wine were also bought at a high price from the wine shops and sent out together.

As for the other supplies, the government storehouses and the various shops and great households shared the burden. In a time of crisis, everyone was willing to contribute money and effort, but now that the siege was lifted, they might not be so willing to make contributions for nothing. The yamen provided a solution: the Revenue Office issued promissory notes on the spot. These would certainly be offset against the autumn grain tax levies. In the end, no one would suffer a loss.

As for medicine and physicians, the great households were actually willing to pay to hire people. This matter, at the very least, could build a good karmic connection with the Zhao family. Even now, the city of Xuzhou still did not know quite how to treat Zhao Jin. Before, he had already been a great magnate of the region; now, the title "great magnate of the region" probably no longer sufficed. This was a man who had saved the people of Xuzhou from calamity. Moreover, the strength and rallying power Zhao Jin had displayed this time shocked and awed everyone. Yet not knowing how to treat him simply meant not knowing how many kowtows to make, not knowing whether to call him "sir" or "grandsire." Fawning and currying favor were unavoidable.

In a very short time, everything inside the city had been arranged properly. Those who did not understand the inner workings all praised Magistrate Tong Huaizu for his brilliance, saying he had held the city and handled the aftermath with swiftness and thorough care. But those who understood knew it was because Adviser Wang and the clerks of the Six Offices had worked diligently and with meticulous attention. There were also some rumors circulating: it was said that when a runner went to the yamen to report the victory and announce that the roving bandits had been driven off, he did not see Magistrate Tong at the yamen. When he went to the rear residence, he saw several large carts, their trunks and cases all tied up, and caught sight of a middle-aged man dressed in commoners' clothes who looked very much like Magistrate Tong…

Wang Zhaojing was still dressed in a martial artist's soft armor and short robe, a long sword hung at his waist. There was a wound on his cheek, now smeared with medicinal salve. The maids and serving women of his household had wept with heartache over it. Wang Zhaojing had a face like crowned jade, a first-rate talent of outstanding handsomeness, but this time his looks had been marred. He, however, did not seem to care much.

Walking through this camp, observing the Zhao Camp as it reorganized itself in good order, Wang Zhaojing looked carefully, but his expression remained very calm. Not far away was where Zhao Jin was. Torches were lit there, and on the ground lay door planks seized as spoils of war. The wounded lay on these planks, and Zhao Jin along with several other companions were gathered around them.

"Master Jin, this man's ribs are broken, and his internal organs are injured. I fear he will not last the night, and he will suffer greatly before the end. This humble one is incompetent and truly cannot save him…" A physician said, terrified and trembling.

"Go tend to the others. There is nothing more for you to do here." Zhao Jin waved him away. There was no anger on his face.

In the slaughter of the battlefield, spears and blades show no mercy. And in the chaos of a melee, the wounded are rarely able to receive timely treatment. Those lightly wounded would flee on their own or keep fighting; by the time the battle ended, those gravely wounded were often already beyond saving.

Not counting the lightly wounded who were not seriously affected, the Zhao Camp had fifteen dead and wounded. One man would be left with a permanent disability — his right arm was shattered — but even he was considered fortunate. Of the rest, eleven were dead, and three more were gravely wounded and already beyond hope.

The man lying on the door plank coughed from time to time, and with each cough, a spray of bloody froth burst from his mouth. Zhao Jin crouched beside him. Seeing Wang Zhaojing approach, he merely raised his head in acknowledgment, then lowered it again and asked: "Liu Jinqin, do you have any final wishes? Speak them all."

The wounded man's coughing grew violent for a moment, and then subsided. The look of agony on his face faded, replaced by a profound calm. His eyes stared blankly at the night sky; it was impossible to tell whether he could still see anything now.

"…I had many brothers and sisters… in ordinary times, all I hoped for was to eat my fill, but I never could… at home we usually ate just one meal a day… only when a great household held a wedding or a funeral could I follow along and eat until I was full… now I…" The words came in fits and starts, as if answering, and yet as if he were merely talking to himself. Only, toward the end, his voice faded away, and his breath was gone.

"Xiaoyong, remember to look after his family. Whatever help we can give, we must give." Zhao Jin's voice was somewhat hoarse, and his expression was heavy with grief.

Liu Yong sniffled and nodded his agreement. As Zhao Jin stood up, he heard someone behind him say: "Lu Gen is gone…"

These words were choked with tears. Wang Zhaojing felt a sharp sting in his nose. He remembered Lu Gen — a household trooper who had come from the Yellow River ferry crossing. The man had been very sharp. When Wang Zhaojing was on rotation duty inside the city, he had sent Lu Gen on several errands, and the man had handled them all perfectly. He had even been thinking of mentioning to his brothers that this man was worth promoting.