Chapter Nine: Mizhi

Liu Chengzong was witnessing a great collapse.

He had always understood the normal world as one where, under social rules, a person’s ability determined how well they could manage their life—the more capable, the more smoothly things went. But once that system of rules fell apart, the opposite became true: people found themselves on a dead-end path before they even had a chance to prove their worth.

Farmers, once accustomed to being compliant subjects, now couldn’t even borrow grain to pay their taxes and were unable to farm. Scholars, who had once advanced their knowledge and aspired to become officials through the imperial examination, now went hungry at home and could no longer study. The border troops, who used to receive rations for guarding the frontier and could gain merit through training and battle, now faced starvation if they remained in the army. Even his father, an official, could no longer serve simply because he had spoken a harsh truth: “If we do not lift taxes, disaster will follow.”

When Shi Chief Gao Xian, who had gone to a neighboring village to seek a wife, returned in the late night, he wore a sullen expression and ignored everyone, as one of the night guards told. Later, some heard suppressed sobbing during Gao Xian’s night watch. Liu Chengzong heard about it the next day and was reluctant to ask what had happened—why touch on such painful matters? He guessed that most likely the villagers had already fled, or how else would Gao Xian have returned empty-handed?

Still, Liu Chengzong went to see him, without saying much. There was little point in talking: no words could conjure a wife for Gao Xian. He first went to seek out Cao Yao, from whom he obtained a small clay jar containing four taels of spirits. Then, he pleaded with his elder brother for leave, offering to take Gao Xian’s night watch so the man could drink.

Liu’s squad was not like Cao’s. Cao’s men were loose as bandits, forgetting all military discipline once they left Yuhe Fort, posting no sentries; instead, they would set up four small saplings around the camp, string cords between them with bells attached as alarms. Liu Chengzong’s squad, under the command of his brother Liu Chengzu, was as Cao Yao often said, led by a true military enthusiast. He was meticulous, ensuring the officers were always busy, thoroughly surveying the camp’s terrain, the dimensions and positions of buildings, cave dwellings, wells, and roads, and arranging sentries and fallback routes each night.

He was strict and methodical, never tiring of details. As for a squad chief wanting to drink on duty at night? There was not only no wine, but even the thought was forbidden. But this time, there were special circumstances, and Liu Chengzu, wishing to train his younger brother in command, allowed him to cover the watch for Gao Xian.

Once all this was settled, Liu Chengzong handed over the spirits he had bartered for twelve goose-feather arrows to Gao Xian. As he expected, there were still five families in Qiyan Cave with some grain; they had divided the village lands among themselves and resolved to hold on for another year, refusing to believe that heaven would bring a fourth year of drought. But the family that had taken in Gao Xian’s bride had already finished their stores before the New Year, packed up their belongings, and led their ox across the Yellow River to seek relatives in Shanxi.

The journey was perilous, and who could say where those relatives were? Besides, if Shanxi, just across the river from famine-stricken Shaanxi, was faring much better? In a sea of people, they were unlikely ever to meet again.

As they marched farther from Yuhe Fort, the road became busier. Groups of destitute farmers, knife-wielding horsemen in sheepskin cloaks, and southern merchants with their goods appeared along the way.

Except for a few bodyguards with the merchant caravans, Liu Chengzong hardly saw any of these passersby—his brother Liu Chengzu had sent two mounted scouts two miles ahead of the column, armed to the teeth, which frightened off most travelers.

The scouts signaled to all that a military unit was on the move. In these times, almost no government troops refrained from harassing civilians; the only difference was whether they robbed grain or slaughtered villages. Anyone who saw them from a distance would head for the hills.

Even when they were just a dozen miles from Sui Gold Town, a roadside tavern’s lame old innkeeper, spotting the two cavalrymen, immediately gathered his young daughter and their few valuables and fled across the river. By the time Liu Chengzong and the others arrived, the innkeeper and his daughter had waded across and were still hurrying farther into the hills, fearful that these government troops, infamous for their brutality, would harm his girl.

It was at this desolate tavern on the official road that Liu Chengzong encountered the leader of the merchant bodyguards—a familiar face, an old retainer of General Ai Wannian from Shenmu.

There is a saying: the world breeds heroes not because of their character, but because turbulent times give rise to men of action. In the loess plateau, no wandering hero was as reliable as the armed retainers of the great landlords.

The tradition of escort guards began in the Zhengde era and flourished in the big cities, but in increasingly chaotic northern Shaanxi, especially near the border in Mizhi County, merchants could not trust hired muscle and instead sought the protection of the Ai clan.

The Ai family was a major clan in Mizhi—an old branch since the Ming mid-period, another branch later arrived, both wealthy and educated. They once bought fifteen thousand acres of land in one go. Over two hundred years of Ming rule, only eight hundred Jinshi (advanced scholars) came from Shaanxi, which had ninety-six counties; the Ai clan alone produced six. Many villages and places bore their name: Ai East Village, Ai Good Bay, Ai Family Slope, Ai Family Cliff, West Ai Canal, and so on.

By now the clan was populous; Jia Yingjia, a retired magistrate from Jiangxi, was at home, and his third son, Ai Wannian, was a general in Shenmu, with thousands of tenant families. Yet in these hard times, even they could not guarantee their caravans’ safety—only to do their best to minimize losses.

The old retainer saw what was happening, realized it was He Renlong who had dismissed the border troops, exchanged a few words, and left. Shortly after, two aides in sheepskin arrived with a sheep and two sacks of dry rations, tethered them in silence, and departed.

Then, under the guidance of the old retainer and several young men, six fully loaded wagons passed safely down the official road.

Still, the soldiers who busied themselves butchering and stewing sheep outside the tavern eyed the merchant caravan like a pack of wolves, sending chills down anyone’s spine.

“No more staring. Those wagons are loaded with tea for trade outside the border. We can’t eat it or use it. In a bit, we’ll feast on meat gifted by Ai the scholar. This sheep weighs seventy jin—once boned, each man gets nearly a jin and a half.”

Liu Chengzu, seated under the tavern sign, cheerfully addressed his men: “The Ai family has already informed the inspector at Sui Gold Town. We needn’t detour—the road to Sui De will be safe today.”

Squatting and making calculations, Liu Chengzong saw how his elder brother’s words shifted the men’s attention from the caravan to the mutton stew. He shook his head and smiled, tossing a branch and telling the fire-tender to give two bones to the camp dog to gnaw.

As for the rat-catcher’s supervisor, he would have to wait his turn.

He had just been figuring out how to sustain this force.

During these days on the road, Liu Chengzong had made a thorough assessment of their environment and his own future.

If he wanted enough to eat, he would have to return home to Yan’an, but home was not safe: bandits and rebels roamed everywhere, with traces of their activity in all the surrounding counties—Yanchuan, Yanchang, Ganquan. There was no telling when the whole village might be looted or overrun.

To protect the family, he needed military strength. These border troops had been handed to him. The only problem was, he could not afford to feed them.

To support fifty border soldiers would require, at minimum, two hundred dan of grain per month. A dan equaled ten dou, a dou ten sheng. In drought-stricken northern Shaanxi, wheat yielded nothing; only drought-resistant millet produced four or five dou per mu at best. Liu’s family had only his parents and no strong laborers; all the fields were let out to tenants.

The grain paid by tenants was mostly used to cover taxes; what remained could feed seven or eight people. If the brothers returned home to eat, there would be nothing left for others.

Liu Chengzong calculated carefully—it was unsustainable.

Another solution was needed.

While the mutton stewed, Liu Chengzu, unable to sit idle, summoned his brother and the two squad leaders, Tian Shoujing and Gao Xian, to survey the area, teaching them the art of leading troops through hands-on example.

His central message was simple: an officer must never be lazy or indulge in comfort.

Liu Chengzong noted the many lessons, quietly marveling at his brother’s genuine passion for the art of war.

A true commander must scrutinize every detail—ancient military texts make this clear, and after Qi Jiguang’s military manuals were compiled and distributed by the court, even the minutiae of provisioning soldiers were written out in detail. But how many could actually implement them? Not even their mentor, He Renlong, could have followed everything, yet Liu Chengzu did so strictly.

When they returned, the mutton was ready, but before they could eat, a dust-covered traveler appeared on the road, heading south on a donkey.

This man was bold—riding up to the tavern, unafraid of the government troops, he dismounted, greeted them politely, and continued on.

But after only a few steps, he was called back.

Both Liu brothers had recognized the young man with the donkey and staff as an old acquaintance, Li Hongji, a courier from Yinchuang Station who had once taught them horsemanship.

To Liu Chengzong, this was even more intriguing, for in his mind, this man was not Li Hongji, but the future rebel emperor who would overthrow the Ming and capture Beijing—Li Zicheng.