Chapter 895: The Cargo Yard Tournament Reappears

Everyone knew that Master Jin handled matters reasonably and never resorted to arbitrary, high-handed measures without cause. This time, however, he was clearly being unreasonable. Still, everyone understood — this was killing a chicken to warn the monkeys, making everyone know fear, making everyone understand how to behave from now on.

Some news had already begun to circulate: the city was going to reorganize the baojia system, this time newly established by Cloud Mountain Firm rather than the authorities. Beyond that, there was other news, this aimed at the jianghu and marketplace folk. Many of their more martial members, either slightly too old or having missed their chance, could not become household retainers, nor were they qualified to serve in the Inner Guard. But now a new opportunity had arisen — it was said that taking it up would be much like becoming an arrest officer or runner in the yamen, a proper status.

This set many hearts aflame. An arrest officer was considered base servitude in the Great Ming, yet in practice they cut an imposing figure, striding through the markets with everyone obliged to address them as "sir." And under the Zhao Camp system, those who served and worked were all people of standing, free even of the official world's degradation. Though the Zhao Camp was not an official authority — its name improper, its claim irregular — a man in the jianghu lived for the day, one happy day at a time. Besides, on Xuzhou ground, it was the authorities who sat unsteady. Master Jin and his people were so young; they could hold out ten, twenty years at least.

But all of this was rumor and trial balloon. No further details could be pried loose. By now everyone was familiar with the Zhao Camp's way of doing things: whenever they were about to implement something, they would often leak word in advance, gauge the reaction, and let everyone prepare so they wouldn't be caught off guard.

A batch of people killed, a batch arrested. What everyone had expected to erupt into a huge storm instead passed with utter discretion. The anticipated tempest never came. After the arrests in Xuzhou City, there were not even any large-scale moves.

Of course, attention high and low was also increasingly absorbed by the approaching tournament. Though Master Jin was a man of rules, every time he set out to do something, there was always a bit of novelty that people found interesting. For the throngs of martial men who had swarmed in with no clear direction, this was even more true.

Looking at the leveled ground marked out in the open outside the city, the wooden platforms erected, everyone assumed they would be sent there to fight, advancing step by step to determine victory and defeat.

No one expected the preliminary selection to be so utterly different from what they had imagined. Twenty plots were marked out beyond the walls, each ten paces square. At each plot stood a brawny man fully encased in bamboo-and-wood protective gear. If you wanted to test with weapons, you had to take up long or short wooden poles and engage these men. The poles were coated in white ash, the bamboo-and-wood armor all lacquered pitch-black — any hit was guaranteed to leave a mark.

If you stepped up to fight, you wore the same gear. Strike a vital point on your opponent, or hold out for the time it takes half an incense stick to burn, and you passed. Otherwise, you had no chance to join the tournament. If you wanted to compete in fist and foot, there were men to accompany you there as well. The rules were much the same, only the protective gear changed from bamboo and wood to padded cotton and leather.

It was a good method. No one got hurt in the contest, yet true skill could be tested. The men serving as opponents were surely elite fighters handpicked by the Zhao Camp.

And it was very hard to cheat. Before any bout, you drew a lot from an earthenware jar. The opponents drew lots too. Only when the lots matched were you paired. A fine method — though no one could figure out why the people of Xuzhou, watching this, all sighed with melancholy emotion, as if recalling some past event.

Beyond the difficulty of rigging the matchups, even the officially designated opponents left you no room for tampering. Everyone could see it: over a hundred sturdy men rotated at set intervals, so your opponent would never be worn down. And every few days, large batches of these sturdy men were rotated out as well.

The only thing people found hard to get used to was that before every bout, someone would shout and holler, soliciting bets. No odds to speak of, just win or lose. Any martial man with a shred of dignity felt he had been reduced to a pair of dice, a plaything for others.

Xuzhou had not selected overly troublesome opponents. These men were all proper, standard martial practitioners — their responses well-practiced, but without exceptional skill or strength. In private, everyone reckoned that Xuzhou's strong hands must be held in reserve. Those sent out now were only the most ordinary household retainers and rank-and-file.

Still, no one had much to complain about. If you couldn't even beat these, what talk of a tournament? What talk of taking on the realm's heroes? That would be a joke.

But no one realized that these household retainers had not been specially chosen. They were rotations from the Personal Guard, the First Regiment, and two large companies. Some militia were also used among them. This combat was, in truth, a training exercise — building each man's experience in single combat. Such opportunities were, after all, rare.

Wave after wave tested, many were winnowed out. Many who had relied on a bit of brute courage, who had thought themselves something special, were eliminated in disgrace. Some simply went home for the New Year. Others wanted to stay and watch the excitement. But losers received no good treatment — no one recruited them, everyone mocked them. It was truly unbearable to stay.

After this wave of testing, fewer than one in five remained. Each received a plaque inscribed with his name and a number. Then came the public drawing of lots. The method struck not only the tournament fighters as novel — even the merchants who had come to watch the bustle found it intriguing.

A large wooden barrel. Paper slips with numbers written on them were tossed inside, then the barrel was sealed, placed on a rack, and spun to mix them. The barrel had a small opening. The person drawing the slips was not on the platform. Instead, they used the toss-a-beanbag method — throwing it blindly backward. Whoever it hit went up on stage to draw a lot.

Though the procedures were tedious, a moment's thought made the reason clear: to set everyone at ease, to show that those running the tournament were not tampering. And it was novel and amusing to watch. Many even thought it could be applied in business. This trip was not just for the spectacle; other aspects were deeply enlightening as well.

Some inquired: who had devised all these clever, amusing methods? The answer came back unanimous: our Master Jin thought them up.

Not many believed it, though. They thought, Zhao Jin is a mere martial man — how would he understand such ingenious contrivances? Others thought, a man of Zhao Jin's grand vision and great talent — how would he have the attention to spare for such trivial details?

Beyond all this, some noticed something else. In the daily bouts, vast sums of gambling money flowed into the Zhao Camp's pockets. They had assumed beforehand that the Zhao Camp had organized this tournament to plot some great undertaking — slaughtering the realm's heroes, displaying might to the four directions, that sort of thing. Now it looked more like a grand business venture to make a fortune.

The weather was cold, and everyone's form in the bouts was poor. But the cold could not dampen the enthusiasm of visitors from every direction. Men came especially from Qingjiangpu and Yangzhou; wealthy men of Jiangnan were also numerous. Only places of such flourishing prosperity could produce so many idle men, men who found the New Year season dull and came seeking novelty and excitement.

Ma Chonghao, who had been running the Xuzhou council hall, had stepped to the fore but now had no choice but to withdraw behind the scenes. For one, there were matters concerning the capital to manage. For another, too many familiar faces had come from Jiangnan. Nanjing nobles, disguised as wealthy merchants, had already arrived under the protection of the Brocade Guard.

This put the already tense and vigilant Zhao Camp even more on guard. But after observing them, they found these men were simply here to watch the excitement and gamble. Only then did they breathe a little easier.

To ensure absolute safety, a full three hundred household retainers, eight hundred militia, and all of the Xuzhou Volunteers had been stationed in Xuzhou City — a force of over two thousand men available to mobilize at any moment. Together with the already powerful families like the Chengs and the Jiangs, they held an overwhelming advantage over the tournament crowd.

That said, many of the Xuzhou Volunteers and the sons of Xuzhou's various families had already entered the tournament themselves, passed the screening, and were already fighting in the second and third rounds.

Within the Zhao Camp's inner circle, there was only one man who beamed with delight every day at this time. Chen Hong, who managed the treasury, simply could not contain his joy at the sight of the huge sums flowing in daily.

First, most were eliminated by the Zhao Camp's household retainers. Then came the drawing of lots and paired combat. Soon fewer than a hundred remained. Those left were no nameless men — either they had made a name for themselves roaming the regions, or their martial skill was exceptional. The bouts on the platform had become thrilling to watch.

According to the rumors beforehand, whether to display the Zhao Camp's might or to catch all the realm's heroes in one net, by this point the Zhao Camp's strong hands should have appeared. Yet now there was not the slightest stir. This left everyone deeply puzzled.

Before, when people were in other parts, they had only heard the names of Xuzhou's young masters resounding, without knowing the details. Only after arriving did they learn of feats like eight men routing over a hundred bandits. Such martial valor would surely be invincible on the arena platform. And there was Zhao Jin's bodyguard, Niu Jinbao, with his body tempered to invulnerability, impervious to blade and spear — it was said the tournament had been set up just for him. Yet none of these men had come to participate. This left people utterly baffled.

Within the city of Weihui Prefecture in Henan, the Prince of Lu's royal residence occupied nearly half the total area. Outside the front gate, back gate, and side gates, shops of every description lined the streets, all doing business with the people of the princely establishment.

What no one would have expected was that there were even pawnshops near the princely residence — and more than one. Certain things were understood without being spoken aloud. If an official or eunuch of the residence smuggled out something valuable, he could exchange it for silver directly at a pawnshop. If there was something inconvenient to handle in person, the pawnshop could be asked for help. This was one of the common businesses under heaven. It was not only the clerks and servants of the princely residence — even noble scions like the heir or commandery princes would bring things out to trade for silver.

The outer court of the Prince of Lu's residence had an accounts office with three managers who handled the flow of gold and silver from the entire estate's lands and properties. Low in rank but heavy in authority, they were men of standing. They certainly had no lack of silver. Yet the third manager, Li Zhennan, was always running to one particular pawnshop. There were whispered, mocking rumors: Manager Li kept too many mistresses, his expenses were too great, and at the end of every month he was short of funds, so he went to the pawnshop to tide himself over.

"That's all I've been able to find out. The Prince of Lu's residence still doesn't know your master was assassinated. I'm probably the first to know — no one else has gotten word yet."

Thanks to the Qidian veterans "Yuan Heng Li Zhen," "Gu Wuzhao," and "User Light in the Darkness," and the Qidian friend "Zui Hou Wen Kai Hong" for their tips. Thank you all for your subscriptions and monthly tickets. Another update this afternoon. Please cast your end-of-month monthly tickets for Great Ming Warrior!