Chapter Six: Unleashing the Troops

The second year of Chongzhen’s reign, the seventh day of the second month.

In the afternoon, He Renlong, the garrison commander of Yuhe Fort, issued orders throughout the fortress: one hundred seventy-four border troops stationed at the fort were to prepare, each carrying three days’ worth of dry rations, and, in full military array with horses and armor, assemble outside the fort on the banks of the Uncertain River.

He Renlong led his horse along the riverbank at the front, his steps slow and heavy.

This river was also known as the Yin Chuan, from which the Yinchuan postal station took its name. Sometimes, due to the severe destruction of vegetation, its flow, depth, and clarity were unpredictable, and people called it the “Muddy River.”

Now, he felt just like this muddled river—unsure whether his decision was right or wrong, but with matters deteriorating to this point, there was no other way.

He stopped and turned to look again and again at the ranks of soldiers before him. At last, pressing a hand to his sword, he walked to the front of the line, clasped his fists, and bowed silently to all.

“By now, word must have spread, and you brothers all know what it means to leave the fort.”

In truth, he had much to say. For a garrison commander to make such a decision was a bitter humiliation—so bitter it was hard to speak.

He was a military graduate from the final years of the Wanli reign, and his first appointment was as a garrison commander. In those days, the court struck north against the Hu, east against the Wokou, west crushed the rebel Bo, and pacified the south—winning every battle, defeating all foes.

Even when army pay was delayed and they received only seventy percent of their salaries, officers and soldiers alike accepted this as normal. The court had many expenses; everyone understood the hardships and tightened their belts, gritting their teeth through it.

At the beginning of the Tianqi era, the court repaid two years’ back wages, and by Tianqi four, after several years of arrears, the border troops received their full pay. Training was rigorous, discipline strict.

The court compiled military manuals—Qi Jiguang’s drill regulations, Li Chengliang’s hunting tactics, Xu Guangqi’s ordinances—and distributed them to commanders across the land, ensuring soldiers were always ready for war.

At least for He Renlong, he never imagined things would worsen so quickly.

By Tianqi five, the situation deteriorated sharply. The Yan’an garrison received barely twenty-seven and a half percent of their pay; the next year, thirty-eight percent. The army’s morale faltered, and desertions began, reminiscent of the time before Zhang Juzheng rose to power.

He’d sent men to hunt down the deserters—locking down the passes, scouring the mountains, and punishing those caught with the full force of military law.

The next year, he tried persuasion—sending men to southern towns like Mizhi and Suide to reason with and appeal to the runaways’ emotions.

By Tianqi seven, he had to go himself, deep into Hengshan and Lüliang Mountains. The soldiers he found would kneel and kowtow, begging not to return. What could he do if they refused?

After all, everyone is human—no one wants to starve.

For those who went home to farm, he tried to obtain oxen and donkeys for them. For those who joined mountain bandits, he negotiated with gang leaders to get his men back.

He also recruited refugees to fill the depleted ranks.

To prevent further desertion, he swallowed his pride and seized the military farmland outside Yuhe Fort, and to cultivate these lands, he secured additional troops from Yansui Garrison.

In the first year of Chongzhen’s reign, there were few deserters. The new emperor had just ascended the throne, issued a general amnesty, and paid out most of the year’s military salary. He even spent his own savings to buy over fifty sets of winter clothing for the soldiers, urging them not to pawn their weapons—there would still be battles to fight.

He told them things could improve, and they had, in fact, suffered three years of drought in northern Shaanxi. Even if they ran, there was nowhere to survive. In Yuhe Fort, though food was scant, at least no one starved—perhaps next year things would get better.

But by the second year of Chongzhen, nothing had improved—not in the least.

This year, he could not bring himself to urge his men to stay. He truly could not find more food for his troops. The court provided only half rations—enough for just three hundred men at Yuhe Fort.

At this moment, when Shaanxi needed troops most, it was better for Yuhe Fort to have three hundred soldiers who could still fight than five hundred starving, feeble men.

“It is I, He Renlong, who have let you down. The roads are long and the mountains high, and as you go out into the world, I have nothing to give you for your journey but a few arrows. Fill your quivers.

If you cannot survive outside, whether we are parted for a month, two months, five or ten years—as long as I live, even if I am no longer an officer but have returned home to farm, if you come looking for me, as long as I have food, you will have a meal with me.”

With that, He Renlong took a wine bowl from his saddle, stooped to scoop a bowl of water from the river, and, with bitter self-mockery, said, “The fort is so poor now there isn’t even any wine. Let this river water stand in its place—I offer it as my apology to you all!”

Across from him, the border troops stood, hearts in turmoil, speechless. Some clenched their jaws and stared, some returned his bow in silence. Their emotions, though countless, boiled down to a single word: “General!”

He Renlong’s eyes reddened as well. After showing the empty bowl to the men, he put it away, pursed his lips, nodded slowly, and then forced a laugh: “No more sentimental words from me, lest I be ridiculed.

You have your squad leaders and captains—outside the fort is not like within it; be careful in all things. Those of you leading men, send word back now and then. Perhaps one year the court will pay the owed salaries, and I can serve with you again.”

He Renlong bowed once more: “Our fate together ends here, brothers... take care!”

Liu Chengzong stood in the crowd, holding his horse, just behind his elder brother. As the only household retainer chosen to leave Yuhe Fort with the border troops, his appearance was rather different from the others.

He held a red banner, knowing he would follow his brother away—this horse was a gift from He Renlong. While others had a dozen arrows in their quivers, he had two quivers on his horse, with thirty-three arrows, six of them the finest eagle-feathered swift arrows.

He was accompanied by his hunting dog, Little Whirlwind, and the fort’s rodent control chief, the cat named Mei.

The cat sat in a wooden basket on the horse, clearly displeased with the drafty little house, huffing indignantly at its surroundings.

While others traveled as lightly as possible—some even without armor—he brought quite an entourage: man, horse, cat, and dog—four mouths to feed; a Northern Army helmet on his head, red border armor on his back, a wild-goose-feather saber at his waist, and a seven-foot spear in hand, as if heading to war.

On the walls of Yuhe Fort, people gathered to watch. Nearly two hundred border troops, under He Renlong’s farewell, formed into teams and marched south along the river. No one on the walls knew what to feel.

For those leaving, the mood was even heavier. Only a few had clear goals; most did not know where to go.

After walking some distance, Liu Chengzong drew alongside his brother. Gazing at the mountains stretching along both banks, he sighed, “General He has not treated his men poorly.”

Liu Chengzu, deep in thought, nodded, “The general has always believed that a commander who only enforces discipline is mediocre; to lead soldiers, one must share their heart. But now—we are at the end of our rope.”

“Compassion cannot match the hunger in a man’s belly.”

Liu Chengzu then regained his composure. “We twenty-four have only three days’ rations; even at a quick pace, it’s just enough to reach Ansai.

It’s forty li south to Mizhi, and the road to Yan’an Prefecture is rough. We’ll have to find food along the way—your Little Whirlwind will be essential.

I plan to return home first; once there, we can make other plans.”

Notes:
1. Data on unpaid salaries from the late Wanli period to the seventh year of Tianqi is drawn from the “Finance Memorials: Official Drafts.”
2. Figures for military pay in the Yan’an Garrison from Tianqi six to Chongzhen two are from the “Finance Memorials: Border Pay Office.”