Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Imperial Army

Strictly speaking, Cao Yao and the bandits entrenched in Old Temple Village were of entirely different breeds. The former aspired to become local bandits, while the latter were mere vagabond marauders.

Though neither group engaged in honest labor, and their sole means of survival lay in pillage and plunder, making it seem as though they could easily unite, the reality was far more complicated.

Herein lay the world’s cruelty: both groups rose in defiance for the same reason—the fierce class conflict that raged within the Ming Empire. Their common enemies were clear: the imperial relatives who hoarded land and wealth and squeezed out the peasantry; the emperor in the Forbidden City who ceaselessly raised taxes; the local corrupt officials and tyrannical landowners who abused their power and seized the fields.

Yet those enemies remained forever out of reach. Though they breathed the same air and even dwelled upon the very land beneath the bandits’ feet, their worlds never intersected, as if separated by a vast and impenetrable divide.

The great families had walled compounds, the landlords resided in the cities; how could a ragtag force just emerged from the wastelands hope to breach such defenses? To survive, they could only prey upon the rural poor—or turn upon each other.

It was as though their entire world was but a chessboard, the hand that moved the pieces looming ever near, yet they could only clash with other pawns, locked in endless, bloody struggle. They were not necessarily foes by nature, but could only raise their blades against one another.

For they were all weak; and in this world, only by devouring other weaklings and growing strong could one even dream of facing the mighty.

Master Liu was just such a weakling. Despite possessing the rank of a licentiate, which could have allowed him to wander the world, he was instead trapped in the Black Dragon Mountain, fighting a hopeless battle for survival.

It seemed as if there were many choices, but in truth, there were none.

The recent calamity at Old Temple Village was a warning not soon forgotten. Restlessness spread among the people of Xingpingli; terror hung over every woman and child, for none knew when the bandits might come, only that they would be hard to resist.

After that day, Liu Chengzu set up seven sentry posts on Black Dragon King Temple Mountain, each guarded by seasoned veterans and householders. The furthest post overlooked Panlong Valley from atop the ridge.

Faced with the threat to their very existence, the entire village of Xingpingli was transformed into a bastion. Aside from a handful of families who resolved to flee, disappearing with their loved ones into the night, nearly a hundred households remained, laboring daily to transport timber and stone to the Liu family’s earthen fortifications.

Even those who went to fetch water from Panlong Valley had to go in groups of three, bows and arrows in hand, before daring to descend the mountain.

On the seventeenth day of the fourth month, Liu Chengzong stood on a hillside, digging himself a sleeping pit. He had chosen his sentry post well, piling the loose earth beneath an ancient tree, making it nearly impossible for anyone to spot him day or night.

Given the era’s technical limitations, military duties were not as clearly defined as in later times; earthworks, an essential skill, were expected of both foot and mounted soldiers on the frontier. Now that the weather was mild, Liu Chengzong planned to dig a single-person trench on the mountain, so that he might keep watch during the day and sleep at night, always within earshot of the mountain path.

Xingpingli’s sentry system required three men per post, and with seven posts—plus messengers and those delivering food and water—nearly thirty men were occupied. With Liu Chengzong that day were tenant farmer Shi Wanzhong and Guo Zhasi, whose wounded leg had not yet healed.

The timing was fortunate: two worked while Guo Zhasi kept lookout, seated on a small stool atop the hill.

Just as Liu Chengzong was about to lay down his spade and take a rest, Guo Zhasi’s voice came in a hushed, urgent whisper: "Master, soldiers are coming from the south!"

At once, Liu Chengzong’s heart leapt. He hastily parted the dry grass and crawled onto the low slope, peering southward.

Dust swirled along the official road by the river. First appeared five mounted scouts bearing military banners, and soon after, a seemingly endless line of troops marched north, some carrying weapons, others not, trudging behind their officers, weary and travel-stained.

Shi Wanzhong, shading his brow, had barely made sense of the scene when Liu Chengzong yanked him down behind the slope. "Keep your head down!"

"Young Master, are those Yan’an government troops? There are so many of them."

Both Shi Wanzhong and Guo Zhasi addressed him differently—one called him Young Master, the other simply Master. Neither could read or grasp military regulations, but even they could tell the government troops were numerous.

Yet to Liu Chengzong, the reality of this force marching north was clear at a glance.

"Don’t make a sound. They’re too far away. Let’s wait till they come closer so I can see better... Hm, the numbers don’t add up."

The scouts were known as Tangqi—cavalry tasked with reconnaissance and communication, the army’s eyes and ears. In the north, each unit had five riders, each bearing a banner. In the mountainous south, combined infantry and cavalry units were larger.

Liu Chengzong had once briefly served as a Tangqi commander under He Renlong, and understood their duties and capabilities intimately. By his reckoning, these scouts should have spread out rather than clustering together with their five banners.

The size of the scouting party often reflected the size of the main force. In past border expeditions, each division had twenty-four scouting units, fanning out as far as twenty li ahead to ensure nothing was amiss.

Yet here, only one group of scouts accompanied the column. These were clearly not the elite, daring Tangqi of old; their hesitance and lack of training meant they could not fulfill their mission as military regulations required.

Even to Liu Chengzong’s practiced eye, their intervals were never more than a li apart.

The main body of troops behind looked even less convincing, filling Liu Chengzong with suspicion.

These men, marching in formation and clad in padded jackets, did not look like real soldiers. It was a vague impression, but his first instinct upon seeing them.

A closer look revealed many wore studded armor and bore various weapons—matchlocks, triple-barreled guns, bows and arrows. They marched in a rectangular formation beneath their banners.

Yet the soldiers hunched their shoulders and stooped as if carrying invisible baskets of stones; their steps were unsteady, their frames frail, each one seeming as if he might collapse under the burden at any moment.

The officers on horseback, whom he had just counted, appeared somewhat better equipped—a thousand-household commander’s armor showed no signs of shoddy workmanship, and brandished his whip loudly along the road, sometimes lashing not his horse but the passing soldiers, as if he were a foreman overseeing forced labor.

The ranks of the local garrison could be distinguished by their helmet crests and back banners. Liu Chengzong tallied them: three thousand-household and vice-thousand-household officers, twenty-six hundred-household and vice-hundred-household officers, thirty-seven banner officers of the main standard, and seventy sub-banner officers.

By the number of mid-level officers, this unit should have had between one thousand and three thousand three hundred sixty men. By the number of junior officers, at the very least, seven hundred seventy-six.

Yet no matter how he looked, Liu Chengzong could not see even seven hundred men.

At most, two hundred and fifty.

He watched the government troops advance northward, his face showing not the slightest joy. Instead, his worry deepened. Rising, he began to unbuckle his armor and told Shi Wanzhong, "Go inform my brother: the thousand-household commander is leading over two hundred troops northward."

"Have him alert the clan—hide the horses, cattle, donkeys, mules, armor, valuables, and the village’s prettiest women. And start preparing provisions."