Chapter Fifty-Five: Seize Late, Die Early

The coffin maker did not cry; he was simply incredulous. Having crafted coffins his entire life, his skills were ultimately used for his own son.

At dusk, Du Lao Wu, a man with a horse-like face, was summoned back from Old Temple Village by Cao Yao. He accepted three handfuls of millet from the coffin maker, lit an oil lamp, and worked so diligently he skipped supper, doing his utmost with scarce materials to ensure the young man in his twenties was laid out with dignity.

Liu Chengzong had little impression of the youth, recalling only that he once lowered his head and spoke softly, asking about military service and saying he didn’t wish to be a coffin maker. Yet he was not timid; quite the opposite—he valued the land more than life itself and ultimately died bravely.

The refugees sent by the county office found their purpose; those who played the suona, those who read fortunes or chose burial sites, those who carved tomb inscriptions—all found work. Elders in the clan pulled out ice stored for their own use from mountain cellars, placing it beneath the funeral hall, covering it with quilts.

The wailing drowned out the anxious whispers of uncertain futures among the clan. Liu Chengzong, impatient with the scene, changed into ragged clothes, took a lantern, and went out to the wilds of North Mountain.

The lantern flickered; there was no one around. Corpses lay everywhere, the wind was cold, and blood chilled. His hands, once supple, became rougher with each task, as the wrist-cutting knife went from sharp to dull, blade after blade.

Breathless, he dragged the last headless body into the pit, stepping through the mud toward the river outside the mountain.

The moonlight on the ground made him want to cry for no reason.

He felt guilt, grievance. To feed fifty mouths and improve life, he spent all his wealth to buy land. Having bought it, he had eighty more mouths to care for, and attracted thieves.

The land the clan had painstakingly cultivated was ruined in less than half a day.

The thieves had no prior grievance or connection to them, nor even basic skills with weapons; they were ordinary folk, as ordinary as could be. Yet they had to be slaughtered, bodies strewn everywhere, and even in death, their heads taken.

In another memory, nothing could be used for reference; no matter how much was known, it was useless.

What kind of world was this?

Black Dragon Mountain at night was more frightening than ever; even Guo Zhashi’s shouts echoing through the valley carried trembling fear.

The pig butcher, mustering courage, brought clean clothes.

Liu Chengzong said nothing, washed himself clean in the shallow river, changed, and went back to sleep.

Over the next two days, Liu En the Donkey ran off to report to the county office and never returned, leaving people to wonder if another clansman had died outside Black Dragon Mountain.

Liu Chengzu was constantly busy, feet never touching the ground; after the first battle, the militia was sharply divided. Some refused to ever fight again, some trained harder than before, some demanded daily drills.

The fields were ruined; they had plenty of time now.

Master Liu called it rest, but there was no real respite. First, a tenant farmer, unable to pay rent, grew desperate; one night, his entire family hanged themselves from the beams.

Then more clansmen fled; six households ran away the next night.

When the clan gathered in the ancestral hall to discuss, they learned two families had tried to run the night before, but at the mountain pass met a wild, fierce ghost. Thinking it was the ancestors’ spirit forbidding their escape, they returned.

The tales were exaggerated.

Liu Chengzong suspected it was himself, naked and bathing in the river, that they'd seen.

The fields of Black Dragon Mountain suffered severe damage. Crops that were already struggling would now yield sixty percent less.

Little was actually taken by the starving bandits; what they carried off, at least, was eaten. The most painful loss was that most of the fields were trampled by fleeing hungry folk collecting millet between the ridges.

People stayed only in hopes that Liu En would return from the county with good news—some money, to help them escape.

Master Liu returned all borrowed grain; it was meaningless now.

There was not enough seed for summer tax or autumn grain; Black Dragon Mountain would run out of food sooner or later.

Many young clansmen trained hard for this reason, to learn skills for highway robbery.

If there was any benefit from the battle, it was this: the backbone of the starving bandits was destroyed, their followers scattered, leaving behind a trove of weapons.

Previously, they couldn't even muster enough blades and spears for the vanguard; now, they had over a hundred spears and short guns, not to mention the leader’s equipment.

The mountain was in chaos these days; seasoned elders and seniors debated endlessly in the ancestral hall, but no one offered a reliable solution.

Every household’s rice and flour bins would be empty before July; selling the new grain would barely cover the summer tax, but wheat sown around White Dew would have to be borrowed from elsewhere.

Even if it didn’t die of drought, it wouldn’t mature until May next year.

Excluding the few who fled, with two border troops and eighty tenant households, Black Dragon Mountain held over five hundred people.

Even at the bare minimum to avoid starvation, they needed a hundred bushels of grain per month.

Even with high-interest loans, it was hard to find any household near Yan’an able to lend them a thousand bushels.

Few options remained: either flee toward Guanzhong, or stay and find their own food, clinging to life.

Liu Chengzong dismantled the blue cloth armor from the bandit leader for his own armor, nailing on the plates.

The bandit leader’s helmet was excellent; after cleaning, he gave it to Guo Zhashi.

The armor plates were also good quality, but as always, there weren’t enough for a full military coat.

Combined with Liu Chengzong’s old cotton armor, he managed to gather three hundred and eighty plates.

His mother offered to help by dismantling the cotton lining, but he refused, only washing the inner and outer fabrics.

It was easy to take apart armor now; he just feared that when winter came, in such turbulent times, he wouldn’t have the chance to restore the cotton lining.

It was only on the fifth day that Liu En finally brought news from the provincial city.

Because a large bandit force was spotted in the region, Yan’an was under martial law for three days, allowing exit but not entry; only yesterday did they reopen the city.

Outside the city had become chaotic; starving bandits from the south rampaged everywhere, giving the refugees outside the city dangerous ideas.

Many refugees survived on the meager watery gruel from soup kitchens, and when the gates closed for three days, the kitchens shut as well; just outside the north gate, dozens starved to death.

Those still able formed gangs to loot; rumors spread among the refugees that some outside the gates banded together to eat corpses.

Citizens living outside the city walls were terrified; even children carried hatchets when leaving home, and if their family members starved to death, they dared not bury them, keeping the bodies at home or, if necessary, entombing them in large jars.

As for the matter of the severed heads, the county office brought no good news.

The clerks refused to leave the city; the heads needed to be sent to the provincial capital for verification, and the county would report to Xi’an. But with trade routes still closed, whether they'd receive any reward remained uncertain.

"The county has no money. The officials say if the heads are correct, the county can, as usual, promote thirteen men by one rank," Liu En sighed in the ancestral hall. "Fourth Master and the two scholars will be granted ninth-rank insignia for honor; the other ten will be recognized as righteous citizens and exempted from miscellaneous labor for five years. If they wish to become officials, Yan'an Guard can formally appoint three standard bearers, ten sub-bearers—the county can arrange that."

Liu Chengzong’s expression was beyond mere distress.

At this point, the court’s title of Outstanding Youth was utterly useless.

To become an official was a joke; whether standard bearers or sub-bearers even counted as officials was questionable. In Yan'an Guard, with so many vacancies and soldiers fleeing for their lives, would they really enter as heroes for killing bandits?

He and his companion clapped their hands and looked to Liu Xiangyu. "Brother, in times like these, late robbing means early death, early robbing means late death. We can’t escape it; we’ll have to choose one."