Volume One: In a World of Chaos, Is There a Path for Mortals? Chapter 27: The Fall of the City (III)

Deng She was greatly surprised. The notice had only just been posted for half a day, and he hadn’t expected anyone to respond so soon—yet someone had indeed come to offer their service. He hurriedly invited the visitor in. At a glance, the face was familiar: it was the last of the three men who, the night before, had stood rather than knelt. Accompanying him were two Red Turban soldiers who had been guarding him.

One reported, “General, this fellow, upon hearing of your call for talent, has been clamoring incessantly. He’s been making a scene for half the day. We had no choice but to bring him in.”

Deng She’s hopes fell. He certainly sought talent rather than virtue, but he despised the hypocrite who switched from arrogance to supplication even more than a straightforward villain like He Guangxiu. Throughout history, death has always been the greatest trial; such men, who appear to be of unyielding character and always speak of loyalty and virtue, reveal their true selves before the executioner’s blade.

Those who had gathered to watch for amusement, like Wen Huaguo and the others, lost all curiosity. The more tolerant among them ignored the scene; the irritable ones mocked a few words, then summoned their attendants, took their chosen women, and went off to enjoy themselves.

Deng She forced himself to keep up his spirits, deciding to treat this as merely a second “horse bone”—a reference to the story of buying a horse’s bones as a sign of seeking talent. Rising to greet the newcomer, he said, “I saw you last night, sir; you struck me as a man of learning and refinement. Now that you’ve come to join me, you are like wings to a tiger. May I have the honor of your full name?”

At these words, the man blushed, looking somewhat ashamed. He dipped his head, then gathered his courage and raised it again. The deaths of Manager Liu and the three thousand surrendered soldiers had shaken him deeply. Upon entering, seeing the grisly bones of the Daluhuachi still hanging from the pillar, his legs almost gave out beneath him.

He had thought dying would be easy. Yet when the blade was at his neck, he realized that living was preferable to anything.

Moreover, Deng She’s words from the previous night made sense: the Young King of Ming was a scion of the Song imperial line and, in a certain sense, truly bore the mandate of heaven. Even the imperial court recognized the legitimacy of Song, Jin, and Yuan. With this excuse, he felt emboldened.

“I dare not claim honor; my humble surname is Wu, with the given name Henián,” he said, kneeling as he spoke.

“What post did you hold?”

“I was the Assistant Administrator of this circuit under the false Yuan.”

The Assistant Administrator was a deputy, ranking just below the chief administrator, helping to manage affairs—in other words, the third most important person in Yongping Circuit. According to Yuan dynasty regulations, this post was usually held by a Hui; exceptions were rare and only occurred if a person had either deep family roots or outstanding talent.

From all appearances, a man who would proactively defect and refer to the Yuan as ‘false Yuan’ was unlikely to possess powerful family connections. The only other possibility was that he was exceptionally talented. Deng She’s interest was piqued, and he ordered his attendants: “Please have Mr. Wu sit.”

Wu Henián hesitated, not daring to take a seat. Yet standing might anger Deng She. No matter how gentle Deng She’s words seemed now, had he not, only last night, killed Manager Liu with chilling calm? He was capable of killing without warning, of turning on people in an instant, and he did so with ruthless efficiency—stripping and exposing the bodies of those he deemed outsiders.

Wu Henián, trembling, managed to climb onto the chair, perching on its edge. He murmured, “A gift from my elder—I dare not decline.”

To be called ‘elder’ by a man in his forties nearly made Deng She burst out laughing, but he stifled it with a cough and asked Wu Henián, “For a Han to rise to the position of Assistant Administrator, you must have great talent. Tell me, sir, what guidance can you offer me?” He was exhausted from a sleepless night, disinclined for small talk, and went straight to the point.

The question was broad as a mountain mist. Most would be left speechless by such an open-ended request. But Wu Henián was indeed clever. Moreover, he had spent the morning pondering just what to say to impress Deng She and save his own life.

Prepared, he replied, “I am but dull-witted and can only guess at your concerns, sir. First, to pacify the people; second, to gather grain; third, to recruit soldiers.”

To have guessed these three was proof enough of his intelligence. Deng She nodded for him to continue.

“Gathering grain is of little import—Yongping is prosperous, and there is enough stored for your needs. As for pacifying the people, Manager Liu, though he served the false Yuan and failed to recognize the times, was widely known among the common folk as a just official.” Wu Henián paused, sneaking a look at Deng She, and seeing no sign of displeasure, dared continue, “You executed him and displayed his corpse atop the city wall. In my humble opinion, this was—this was…” He bit his lip, unwilling to say ‘a death,’ for perhaps saying it might yet save him, “In my humble opinion, that was a mistake.”

“Oh?” Deng She, ever perceptive, immediately grasped Wu Henián’s meaning. He could not help but regret it—could this be why none of the commoners had joined the army? His drowsiness vanished, and he pressed, “So what do you suggest as a remedy?” He added, “I’ll have his body taken down and buried with honors at once.”

Suddenly recalling something, Deng She stood up and called for Zhao Guo. “Quick, go ask Centurion Wen to return Manager Liu’s wife. Go personally and escort her home. Who is living in her house now?”

“Centurion Huang.”

“Ask him to move elsewhere, to another large residence,” Deng She called back to Zhao Guo, who had already started off. “First, have Manager Liu’s corpse taken down and inform the people that his body was displayed as punishment for forgetting his roots as a Han, but the punishment is now sufficient. Now, in gratitude for his years of care for the people of Yongping, I will bury him with honor. And how many of Manager Liu’s concubines and maids are there? Bring them all back and return them to his household.” Having finished, Deng She resumed his seat and asked Wu Henián, “Is that enough?”

Wu Henián had brought up Manager Liu not only out of concern for Deng She’s plans, but for personal reasons as well. They had worked together for many years; now, with Liu fallen upon hard times, Wu could not bear to see a good and upright official disgraced after death and his family scattered. Thus, under the guise of public service, he achieved a private goal.

After hearing Deng She’s arrangements, Wu Henián secretly admired him. In an instant, Deng She had thought up a reason, linking the display and honorable burial of the body in a way that was seamless. It served as a warning to others while also giving the impression of compassion for the people—a true feat of quick thinking.

With his first suggestion well received, Wu’s confidence grew. “Sir, you are far wiser than I. This arrangement is excellent for pacifying the people. As for recruiting soldiers, however, it may still fall a bit short.”

“Please, go on,” Deng She said, fully attentive.

“The natives within and around Yongping mostly own land. The false Yuan set up military farms in Qian’an, several dozen miles north of the city. Though there has been war, the forty or fifty thousand people in the circuit have never suffered from hunger or chaos. When you call for soldiers, not a soul will come,” Wu Henián explained, his analysis clear and logical. Deng She was enlightened and immediately thought of a solution.

The answer came from the Koreans. “How many refugees are in Yongping?” he asked.

“At present, the circuit has fifty-four thousand three hundred and twenty-four people; only twenty-two thousand one hundred and thirty are natives.” Wu Henián, with twenty years in office, knew exactly when to speak his mind and when to let his superior take the lead.

Refugees had no land—their food, clothing, and all necessities depended on the natives. If one could find a way to deprive them of food and supplies, the problem of military recruitment would resolve itself. Finding a method was not hard; finding one the refugees would not suspect, however, was more difficult. Deng She pondered for a while, then ventured, “Rumors?”

“Exactly!”

This conversation was going so smoothly—it was as if they were kindred spirits. Wu Henián sighed inwardly: “You were destined for greatness, and yet you chose the rebel’s path?” The thought flashed, and he realized he had already changed allegiances. He quickly reminded himself: Remember your role—‘false Yuan,’ it is the Yuan who are the traitors.

The rumor would spread among the neighborhoods: the Song had selected Yongping as a military stronghold; in a few days, a million troops would arrive, ready to launch an attack on the capital from here. The rumor was easily disproved, and anyone with sense would not believe it. But the more it was repeated, the more it would be believed.

Whether people believed it or only half believed, it made no difference.

Better to be prepared than caught unaware. Prepared for what? Grain. Every household would hoard grain, but the Red Turbans controlled the storehouses. Thus, the refugees would soon have nothing left to eat and nowhere else to go but the army. If they refused, chaos would leave them nowhere to run; it would be nearly impossible to find another city like Yongping that had escaped the ravages of war.

In troubled times, such rumors were common. No one would suspect the Red Turbans themselves of spreading them.

This solved the most vexing problem. Deng She was delighted, and his opinion of Wu Henián changed—there was a great difference between a useless hypocrite and a useful one. He stretched, sent for Chen Hu—whose caution made him the ideal man for such a task—and assigned him to carry out the plan.

With nothing further to do, Deng She noticed Wu Henián’s awkward, horse-riding posture on the chair and chuckled. “No need to be so tense, sir. Now that you have joined me, you are one of our own—make yourself comfortable. If you always sit like that, I fear for your health.”

Wu Henián, embarrassed, tried to sit up straighter but only slid down further. To hide his discomfort, he made conversation: “This city cannot be held. Sir, what is your next move—to Shandong, or Korea?”

Deng She was startled. “Korea?”

Wu Henián sprang up, frightened by Deng She’s tone, and threw himself to the ground. “I deserve death! As a surrendered official, I should not ask such questions of military import. Heaven and earth bear witness; after our brief conversation, I already regret not having met you sooner. You are wise and heroic, and I am loyal to the core—never could I harbor a second thought.”

Deng She cut off his rambling. “Get up and speak from your seat.”

Wu Henián, trembling, sat back down, sliding even lower than before.

“You mentioned Korea just now?”

“Last month, I heard that Chancellor Guan had sent a proclamation to Korea. I spoke without thinking. It was not my intention—I was presumptuous, daring to guess at state secrets. I deserve death, I deserve death!”

Guan Duo had indeed sent a proclamation to Korea, before heading to Fengzhou. Back then, in Shangdu, Deng She had also known of it. Now, it was as if a weight lifted—a major concern that had plagued him for over ten days was suddenly resolved.

The lands of Shandong had long been managed by Mao Gui and Tian Feng. With only eight hundred men, passing through would be easy. But now, with tens of thousands able to be recruited in a flash, how could he willingly become a subordinate, especially after thinking of the deaths of his own father and Deng San in this life? Besides, before his journey through time, he hadn’t even heard of Mao Gui and Tian Feng—proof enough that their enterprises would ultimately end in ruin.

How was that any better than going to Shangdu and marching to his death? The same could be said of surrendering to Zhu Yuanzhang; with eight hundred men, perhaps, but not with tens of thousands. Mao Gui and Tian Feng would never let so many pass.

Why entrust one’s fate to others? Better to gamble it all, to strive in this chaotic, cannibalistic age—to battle heaven, earth, and man alike, and taste the thrill of it all.

Shangdu was out of the question. Shandong was impossible. The south could not be reached.

Nor could he stay in Liaodong.

Beyond the northern kings and those of the eastern and western circuits, Liaodong bordered the heartland, with a thousand-mile border between two provinces, and a network of postal stations stretching in all directions. Heavy troops massed in the interior could cross the border at any moment. Within the province, there were no natural barriers; the north and south were connected, and Yuan forces held the important towns, able to move at will. This was the reason why Guan Duo’s northern expedition army was forced into constant movement, rarely able to capture and hold cities. Even after taking places like Liaoyang, they could only defend with concentrated force and could never break the stalemate.

It was not for lack of desire or understanding—the reality was that, without a true foothold, they were nothing but wandering bandits with little room for growth. The moment they held a city, Yuan reinforcements would come from all sides. Too few soldiers, and the city could not be held; too many, and there was not enough grain. Once besieged, how could an isolated city withstand? Thus, the only option was to keep the army together and fight in constant motion.

It was under such circumstances that the proclamation to Korea had been sent. Had it not been for the need to rescue Henan and march to Fengzhou, Deng She might already have followed the army into Korea by now.

Korea, since the Liao dynasty, had been invaded repeatedly for two or three centuries. Royal authority had long been usurped by powerful ministers; since the founding of the Yuan, there had been multiple invasions and mass abductions. During the two Mongol invasions of Japan, Korea had been forced to contribute money, resources, and ships, and had suffered the Sambeolcho Rebellion, leaving the country hollow and powerless, like a rotting tree. Even so, they had, at the Yuan’s request, conscripted tens of thousands of troops to help suppress the Red Turbans in China. The internal situation in Korea could be imagined.

Geographically, Korea hung over the sea, separated from Liaodong by the natural barrier of the Yalu River. Across the sea, it faced Shandong and northern Henan—both strongholds of the Red Turbans—with direct sea routes and unobstructed passage. By conquering Korea, these territories could be connected for future plans.

But Deng She, thinking thus, felt anxiety rather than joy. Without an army, all else was empty talk.

He summoned his attendant, adopting a solemn tone. “Serve tea to the gentleman.”

—
1. Family Roots.

In the Yuan dynasty, official appointments were based first and foremost on family roots—meaning the depth of a family’s relationship with the Mongol regime. The deeper the roots, the greater the opportunities for office and advancement. The highest-ranking posts were monopolized by a few dozen great families, including Mongols, Semu, and a handful of Han military clans. The government’s personnel changes were little more than a game of musical chairs within these families. Southern Chinese had no such powerful clans, making it difficult to enter government, and even harder to attain high rank.

The most deeply rooted families were descended from Genghis Khan’s “Four Heroes,” known as “Old Servant Roots”—direct descendants of Genghis Khan’s personal servants, who occupied most of the top posts.

“Alas, in the Yuan, official appointments were determined by family roots. All those who aimed for high office were men of deep roots. Southerners ‘competed year after year for imperial favor, and grew old in their scholar’s caps,’ while sons of Mongol and Semu families ‘need not even know how to read, yet hold high office at twenty.’”

2. The Proclamation to Korea.

In the second month, a proclamation was sent to Korea: “Moved by the suffering of the people, long oppressed by the barbarians, I raise the banner of righteousness to restore the Central Plains. East, I cross Qi and Lu; west, I go beyond Hangu and Qin; south, I pass through the two Guang; north, I reach Youyan—all submit to our cause, as the starving to food, the sick to medicine. Now, I command all generals to strictly forbid the troops from disturbing the people; those who willingly submit shall be protected, those who stubbornly resist shall be punished.”