Chapter Ninety-Nine: Yonghe County

Shanxi, Xizhou Prefecture, Yonghe County, Yatou Mountain.

At the mountain ridge, Liu Chengzong looked westward and saw Wei Qian’er riding a small mule along the mountain path, swaying as he approached.

He leaned forward and called down the slope, “How’s it going? Didn’t report us to the authorities, right? If not, come up quickly and have some stuffed skin noodles.”

Wei Qian’er chuckled from below and urged the mule forward, motioning to those nearby to hurry up.

The mule, burdened with two baskets of pottery bowls and carrying a grown man, couldn’t move fast. In frustration, Wei Qian’er dismounted and pulled the mule up the winding path to the ridge.

Hearing the clatter of the mule, Cao Yao dashed out from a dilapidated cave dwelling: “Quick, quick, share the bowls! Damn, finally we’ve got some bowls!”

A group of men, resembling bandits—or rather, former bandits who had just emerged from a den—burst into laughter.

They had been in Shanxi for four days, eating fried noodles for two, steamed buns for one, and today they could finally eat from a bowl.

Their current resting place was a vast mountain ridge, inhabited by only one household; the villagers had fled during the last drought, and the bandits had seized the place to use as a temporary camp.

To the north was the Yonghe Pass Patrol Office, while to the south lay the Xingde Pass and Tieluo Pass ferry crossings, all guarded by imperial troops and local militia.

Though the forces were few, intelligence gathered over recent days revealed that Shanxi’s situation was indeed better than Shaanxi’s, even better than Yan’an.

Last year’s drought had hit Shanxi less severely than Shaanxi.

This year, Yan’an had seen some rain; though Yonghe County remained dry, Xizhou had experienced rainfall.

In the lawless north of Shaanxi, Liu Chengzong, known for never disturbing the villagers or looting, could boldly call the Lion Battalion a righteous army.

But here, they were nothing but thieves.

Otherwise, why would the last remaining household in the village flee at their approach?

The family of two, brought back by Wei Qian’er, had run away twice already.

They fled once late the night before; Cao Yao had chased them for four miles before bringing them back; today they fled again and were found by Wei Qian’er, who had gone to buy bowls.

“Old Man Qian, why do you keep running? Didn’t I tell you…” Liu Chengzong squatted on the stone mill in the courtyard. Wei Qian’er served him a bowl of stuffed skin noodles, which he handed over casually. “Eat while you talk.”

The fleeing villagers were a father and son—the father nearing fifty, the son just over thirty.

Once brought back, they squatted by the stone mill, heads lowered like two suspects.

They squatted because Liu Chengzong forbade them from kneeling.

“That’s enough. Quit playing the scared quail. You did the same last time when we brought you back—kneeling in the house as if you’d suffered some great injustice.”

Liu Chengzong handed over the stuffed skin noodles again. Old Qian glanced cautiously before accepting.

“I just don’t understand why you two run off. I’ve explained before—I’m only borrowing the place to stay a while, not harming anyone. Besides, your house has only five walls left; you’ve sold even the tile roof. You had to break into your neighbors’ houses to patch together doors for three rooms. What could I possibly want to rob from you?”

The father and son glanced up with wronged expressions, then lowered their heads to slurp the noodles, silent.

Liu Chengzong found them truly amusing—three hits with a stick couldn’t draw a sound out of them, and he couldn’t guess what they were thinking.

They were genuinely timid; anyone going out would simply stay put when seen and obediently come back without drawing a knife.

Yet, this meek father and son dared to run twice.

Seeing their despondent faces, Liu Chengzong grew impatient. “There’s a great drought; everyone else fled but you stayed. I’ve done you no harm and even feed you, yet you run off. Today you must tell me straight—why did you run? Were you really thinking of reporting us?”

The father and son’s life was truly hard. With the villagers gone, their survival depended on digging up un-sprouted seeds from others’ fields.

Day after day, they harvested one seed at a time, eating one meal and then digging again the next day.

They had lived like this until Liu Chengzong’s arrival.

He was not afraid of being reported but wanted to understand the source of the villagers’ resistance.

Old Qian never wasted food—whatever was given, he ate quickly, and never spoke while eating.

This habit had passed on to his son. Watching them eat, one could feel how precious food was to them, a blessing from the heavens.

After finishing, Old Qian cautiously glanced at Liu Chengzong, slowly pushing the bowl away from the dirt-streaked ground, and whispered, “We’re just afraid.”

There was no clear dialect boundary between northern Shaanxi and Shanxi; only minor tonal differences existed, so communication was smooth.

Liu Chengzong sighed, “Afraid of what? You’ve run twice now. If I were a villain, I’d have buried you both on this ridge long ago.”

Cao Yao clicked his tongue nearby, glaring at Liu Chengzong.

He had made this suggestion twice.

“Two years ago, I just found a wife for my son, life was good, then the Shaanxi refugees crossed the river. The drought came, and my son lost his wife.”

Old Qian was not afraid of being buried on the ridge; he said, “If you hadn’t come, the great drought wouldn’t have come. With the hungry refugees from Shaanxi, the drought is near. You are not the hungry ones.”

Old Qian from Shanxi had his own way of forecasting the weather of Shaanxi’s disaster.

Liu Chengzong’s arrival shattered the last hope of Yatou Mountain’s watchers.

He looked at Liu Chengzong, then at the soldiers of the Lion Battalion sitting or squatting in the yard eating, and with a determined, serious, and cautious tone whispered, “Shaanxi is in deep trouble.”

Different people live by their own philosophies.

People benefit from them, but they also bring limitations.

“We’re not starving, but we’re not bad people. We’re fed—where else in the world would you find such a thing?”

“The big leader isn’t bad, but if you don’t stay long, when you leave, others will come. I dare to bet against the heavens, but can’t afford to offend others. We can’t stay on Yatou Mountain.”

Liu Chengzong finished his meal and set the bowl aside. “Then what if I ask you to come with me?”

“We don’t want to go to Shaanxi, nor do we want to bring trouble to Shanxi.”

After saying this, Old Qian grew frightened, lowering his head, hiding it in his knees, afraid to look up.

“All right, I understand. You should have said so earlier.”

Liu Chengzong waved his hand. “You two go home. Stay a few more days. It’s raining in Yan’an now; no thieves will come recently. Wait until I leave, then you can go. I’ll leave some grain for you.”

Old Qian and his son felt relieved and slowly walked out of the courtyard back to their home.

After they left, Cao Yao stepped forward. “Hey, Lion, what’s wrong with you? Killing those two would be safer. If not, at least keep an eye on them. But you want to leave them grain after we leave?”

Cao Yao looked around, leaned close, and whispered, “Our supplies will only last another twenty days.”

“I don’t mind a few days of food. I want them to help us buy medicine, but I don’t trust them.”

Liu Chengzong shook his head in frustration. “Fortunately, it got cold early this year. If the wounded brothers don’t get treatment soon, their arms and legs will be useless. In the next few days, I must find someone familiar to go with them to the county to buy medicine—and we need a doctor.”

With that, he waved and stood up from the millstone. “Everyone, finish your meals and come inside. Let’s discuss morale, training, and reorganization.”