Chapter 107 None of Your Business

On the road back to Shaanxi, Liu Chengzong found himself inexplicably thinking of those first few days after returning to Heilong Mountain.

His father had once said that the rebel bandits would eventually enter Pingyang Prefecture in Shanxi. Master Liu could never have dreamed that the first rebel to lead troops into Shanxi would be his own second son.

On the march, they moved like a locust plague. Though the five great leaders were gathered together, their respective lieutenants led the troops scattered across the landscape. Some took the mountain ridges, some the imperial roads, and others trampled across the fields. Everywhere, in every direction, tattered figures trudged with heads bowed; even barren earth became a path once they had passed.

Suddenly noticing him smiling, Gao Yingxiang, who was riding a large donkey, turned and asked, "Little Lion, what are you grinning about?"

"Just thinking of when I returned home from Yuhe Fort in the second month. My father said he wanted to find a proper match for my brother and me, to settle our lifelong affairs. Heh."

Liu Chengzong, also mounted on a mule, swayed gently with the rhythm of his beast. He gestured with his whip toward the barren, bald mountains visible everywhere and laughed, "It wasn't easy to find a 'proper match' back then, but now, I’m afraid you couldn't find one anywhere under heaven."

The Great Ming Code was so thick, yet his entire family had easily broken half of it. While others boasted of generations of loyalty, his family was a household of unmitigated villains.

Gao Yingxiang chuckled, wanting to say something, but in the end, he only squinted into the sunlight, sighed, and shook his head. "The ways of the world are ever-changing."

The ways of the world are indeed ever-changing.

He was thirty-seven this year. If one were to wind back the clock seven or eight years, he never could have imagined his current circumstances.

Growing up on the frontier, even if one didn't enlist, it was hard to keep one's business separate from military affairs. Gao Yingxiang had grown up in just such an environment—skilled with bow and horse, slick and domineering. Wandering inside and outside the Great Wall, he knew what the Mongol tribal leaders liked and how to deal with frontier officers.

Between buying and selling horses, he used the convenience of the saddle to smuggle salt and tea, and sheltered deserters and outlaws from beyond the border to protect himself. That was how the poor boy from Ansai grew his business. At his peak, six of the Gao family's boats hauled cargo along the Yuxi River, and eight four-horse, four-wheeled wagons traveled back and forth between northern and southern Shaanxi. He had traversed the Three Frontiers and Four Garrisons, and had even spent time in county jails.

He had broad connections and many friends. He couldn't help but be generous, and with a modest family business, he had established himself by thirty. He had assumed that was the pinnacle of his life.

But then came the drought. Three seasons of drought in a single year. In the height of summer, wild winds swept through Ansai, pulling up the green shoots from the earth. The people ate the wild grasses until they were gone, then turned to tree bark, and when the bark was finished, they ate stones. They sold their sons and wives, and the remaining useless men threw themselves into cesspits.

People said, "Rather than sit and wait to starve to death, it’s better to become a bandit and be killed."

When people rely on you, it is hard to sit and wait for death.

Since the first month of last year, Gao Yingxiang had sold his property, hired craftsmen to forge weapons, bought grain, and recklessly taken in outlaws. He even recruited a band of Mongol deserters who had fled from the Hetao region into Han territory. By October, he had officially gathered over a hundred men in Ansai to take up the life of a bandit, making a living by raiding homes and looting.

His planning was originally very shrewd. After all, he had been a merchant, and in everything, he calculated the costs. The smaller the force, the less grain it consumed, and the less likely it was to attract the attention of the imperial army—making it safer. At the same time, by maintaining a small scale while keeping only the best men, they could rob more lucrative targets, increasing their returns.

Thus, Gao Yingxiang’s cavalry followed a policy of elite troops. Frontier deserters, local garrison soldiers, bankrupt couriers, and desperate yamen runners—these professional soldiers and trained paramilitary personnel were his main force.

But plans could never keep up with reality. There were too many poor, starving people. Banditry became the most sought-after employment for young men; hunger meant that fear of death was no longer a human weakness. Wherever the bandits passed, they didn't need to raise a cry to have followers flocking to them. Old acquaintances would come to seek refuge, saying, "Brother, save me," and he could not refuse.

The grain he had prepared before taking up arms lasted only a few days, and the wealthy families they raided could not satisfy the hunger of so many refugees and horses. Later, he led men to surround the Saimen Garrison Battalion—a military station in Ansai—expecting to find grain. Who could have known that the officer sitting behind the sturdy walls and cannons would be overjoyed to see him surrounding the fort?

As long as he could guarantee that his brothers in the garrison would get a few full meals, he surrendered.

There was no grain left in Ansai. Not with the wealthy, not with the gentry, and not with the military.

Who wouldn't want to be a carefree mountain king? But among the hundred thousand ridges and ravines of northern Shaanxi, which mountain could actually sustain life?

The truth that the world is ever-changing meant that all previous life experiences were now useless. Those who followed the rules died; those who rebelled lived.

Suddenly, Huntian Hou let out a strange laugh. "Another one dead."

The crowd ahead skirted around on the imperial road, and the donkeys and mules walking in parallel also veered to the sides. Liu Chengzong didn't look down. He scooped half a bowl of roasted flour from his saddlebag with a wooden bowl, tilted his head to pour it into his mouth, chewed, and pulled the reins to guide his mule back onto the path.

Some people just died while walking. Just like the starving refugees who joined them while walking—nothing unusual.

Huntian Hou asked, "Buzhan Ni, is this one of your men?"

"You ask me? Who should I ask?" Buzhan Ni didn't look pleased. He looked at the corpse with a bloated stomach on the ground and nudged Shangtian Hou, "The imperial road ahead is your territory, go bury him, won't you?"

"All day long, all you know how to do is order your grandfather around."

Shangtian Hou scratched his head, grumbling, but unlike others, he didn't treat the corpse as if it were none of his business. He hurried forward a few steps, jumped down, and handed his reins to Liu Chengzong. "Master Liu, please hold the horses for a moment, I’m going to bury my brother."

With that, as soon as Liu Chengzong took the reins, Shangtian Hou turned and ran, shouting for men to carry the corpse to the roadside. He found a piece of burlap from somewhere and told people to bring hoes and shovels to dig a pit.

Each of the groups gathered around Gao Yingxiang had plenty of mules and horses, but in terms of warhorses, the Mule Battalion actually had the fewest. Gao Yingxiang had a rule: on the march, no one was allowed to ride a horse except for the scouts screening the main force. Aside from the high-ranking leaders, their lieutenants, and women with bound feet, everyone else had to walk. The mules and donkeys were used only for carrying armor and supplies.

Liu Chengzong held the horses and mules, watching Shangtian Hou’s figure, swinging a hoe, disappear into the crowd behind. He turned to Gao Yingxiang and asked, "Master Gao, is Shangtian Hou always like this?"

Gao Yingxiang knew what he meant. A faint smile appeared on his square face as he nodded. "Don't let the fact that Jiusi is a scoundrel—a dirty gambler—fool you. But as long as someone shows him an ounce of respect, he will repay them with a foot."

"Even if I hadn't said anything, that 'Dirty Monkey' would still have gone down to bury the dead. Even if the man had only called him 'King' once, he wouldn't treat them poorly."

Buzhan Ni, who was leading a warhorse, laughed and leaned over, reaching toward Liu Chengzong. "What are you eating? Give me some, too."

"You’ve never had roasted flour?" Liu Chengzong scooped another bowl and handed it over.

This stuff was a treasure. It wasn't fried noodles, but roasted flour in the literal sense. Various grains—wheat, rice, black beans, and mung beans—were steamed with sesame oil, then ground into flour, salted, and roasted. For flavor, sugar could be added. That was the simple way.

If conditions allowed, one would pour high-proof liquor into it, let it dry, and pour it again, repeating until the liquor could no longer be absorbed. This would keep for a long time. When needed, one could add a little water to mix it, or throw it into a pot, add a piece of vinegar-soaked cloth to make a porridge, or, as now, just grab a handful to eat as a snack.

Liu Chengzong didn't know how long this method had been in use. In this era, it was the emergency ration for the army. It was essential for campaigns, six pounds per man. By military law, it wasn't to be touched unless they were besieged and out of food. Yet another memory told him that this ration would exist for a long time on this land, whether in the past or the future. The Ming army ate it, the Qing army ate it, the Red Army ate it, and even the Volunteers in the Korean War were still eating it.

"It's dry, but it doesn't taste bad—just chokes you." Buzhan Ni stuffed his mouth full. When he opened his mouth to speak, flour sprayed out, and he hurriedly handed the bowl back to look for water. After a few large gulps, he caught his breath and said, "Is this... stuff from the frontier army?"

"Yes, emergency rations. We got a lot of grain, oil, and sugar from raiding the courier stations earlier. Eating too much bloats the stomach."

Actually, according to the standard frontier method, without sugar or oil, it was hard to make it palatable. The year he went beyond the border to Qiufang, Liu Chengzong was still a scout. After a prairie fire, he got separated from the main force and survived for half a month outside the border on six pounds of unsweetened roasted flour.

Buzhan Ni was just trying it out. After a few more gulps of water, he shook his head. "Then I see you eating it all the time."

"Heh, ever since I left Yan'an Prefecture, my mouth hasn't stopped." Liu Chengzong laughed and put the bowl back into his saddlebag. "Who knows, I might run into the imperial army and die tomorrow, so I might as well enjoy the taste while I'm alive. Besides, eating on horseback saves time."

Gao Yingxiang smiled. "You caused such a big stir, I thought you weren't afraid of death. If you hadn't met me, what was your plan?"

What was his plan? Liu Chengzong spread his hands. "I originally wanted to hide in Shanxi for a month or two, but I wasn't familiar with the place. Once I got in, I realized there were passes to the north and south. I wanted to raid a manor, but was blocked by the Lüliang Mountains. If I hadn't met you, I would have returned to Shaanxi, back to Yan'an Prefecture."

"To enter Shanxi, you have to go through Hancheng; that leads straight to Pingyang Prefecture. We would have gone there sooner or later... but it's best not to provoke the Shanxi troops yet." Liu Chengzong didn't know if Gao Yingxiang was speaking of his own plans or Wang Jiayin’s arrangements. "Hengtian Wang is in the north, we are moving south. Once we leave Yanchuan, we have to split up. Huntian Hou will go to Luochuan to find Wang Hu and Black Yaksha."

As he spoke, Gao Yingxiang pointed behind him. "Shangtian Hou is going to Yichuan to find Flying Mountain Tiger and Big Red Wolf. Buzhan Ni is going to Yijun and Zhongbu. Each will gather refugees, the starving, and bandit deserters, raid for grain and horses, and try to occupy the county seats."

Liu Chengzong frowned at the plan. "Occupy the county seats?"

"Yes. We won't just attack the county seats. We will surround Fuzhou from all sides in Yan'an Prefecture, waiting for the chance to seize the road west of the river. There, the fields on both banks of the Luo River can be cultivated. To the north is Yan'an City, to the south is Jinsuo Pass, and to the east and west are great mountains. We can retreat to guard the west of the river, and advance to enter the Guanzhong region. What do you think?"

Surrounding Fuzhou and raiding the wealthy families on both banks would be profitable, and destroying the courier stations north, south, and west would cut off the connection between Xi'an and Yulin. But hearing Gao Yingxiang, he seemed to want to occupy the road west of the river from Yan'an to Jinsuo Pass for a long time. Such a separatist regime was unrealistic.

Constantly moving in the wild relied on luck—dodging the imperial army or luckily defeating them—and ultimately there was hope of victory.

"Master Gao, field battles rely on luck, but siege warfare relies on strength. Ten thousand men sounds like a lot, but how many wouldn't run away at the sound of a cannon?" Liu Chengzong shook his head and raised one finger on the mule’s back. "At most two thousand. Those who can stand their ground against cannonballs and lead shot—at most, one thousand two hundred."

And those twelve hundred were counting half of the Mule Battalion. Occupying these places was easy, but relying on this handful of men to hold the north at Yan'an City, the Xi'an direction at Jinsuo Pass, and the Guyuan and Qingyang directions at the Ziwu Ridge was nothing but a pipe dream.

He didn't want to build a base, but without the strength to fight a counter-encirclement campaign, trying to establish a separatist regime would not only be useless, it would trap them to their deaths.

Gao Yingxiang thought Liu Chengzong was too pessimistic. He shook his head. "You can't say that. Those Jurchen in Liaodong were just barbarians who ate raw meat and blood. At first, they had fewer men than us, but didn't they trade blows with the Imperial Court and hold out until now?"

Liu Chengzong sneered. "Master Gao, if you could make the Imperial Court close its eyes and wait until all of Shaanxi is conquered before sending troops to suppress us, keeping the imperial army east of Tong Pass, I wouldn't have a word to say about you declaring yourself King. We could even fight a Battle of Sarhu in Henan."

He clapped his hands together. "That’s not the situation now. Any regional commander who shows up will shatter our formation upon contact. If we can't fight in the open, we can't hold the fortresses. If we can't hold the key positions, the west of the river will be lost. It's just a matter of holding out for a few months."

Gao Yingxiang wasn't stubborn, nor did he think it was a loss of face to be refuted. On the contrary, he threw his head back and laughed, pointing at Buzhan Ni and Huntian Hou. "I brought you here for exactly this reason... They all think this plan is great, so do you have a better way?"

Huntian Hou stroked his beard and chuckled sheepishly. "I really do think attacking the county offices and sitting in the magistrate's chair is good. Having city walls for protection, isn't that better than being out here in the wind and sun? Not just me, 'Dirty Monkey' thinks so too."

"Attack, yes; raid, yes; stay there, yes." The men rode their horses closer. Liu Chengzong’s tone shifted. "But when the imperial army comes, we can't hold. When the Xi'an army comes, we can try to hold Jinsuo Pass with three or five hundred men, then the main force will retreat north."

"The north is now barren land. There won't be any large imperial forces attacking north of Yan'an in the short term. A force of two or three hundred can hold for a while."

"The key point is Ziwu Ridge. Guyuan is where the Three Frontiers Governor-General resides, and there's the Qingyang imperial army. They can easily assemble a large force to attack. When they come, we must leave. We will exchange information—south of Fuzhou, we enter the Huanglong Mountains; north, we head toward Yanchuan. Finally, we can converge in the Yanchuan and Suide area."

As Liu Chengzong spoke, a cunning smile appeared on his face. "The imperial army has always traveled with three days of grain. As long as we don't let them resupply, the seven hundred li from Qingyang to Yanchuan, or the five hundred li from Jinsuo Pass to Yanchuan—even with a little supply along the way, by the time they arrive, they will be exhausted and starving."

"As long as they are hungry, and we have over a thousand well-fed, armored men, we will have the strength to fight and win a battle."

He raised his hand. "Whether we have territory doesn't matter. If we destroy the elite troops of the imperial army, then across the vast northern Shaanxi, we can sleep wherever we want this winter—even the Emperor can't stop us!"