Eighty-seven

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On the surface, it seemed that he and his so-called unscrupulous uncle still maintained a close relationship. Li Miao couldn’t say outright that this black mark should only be borne by Yang Hong. Rolling his eyes, Yang Hong stepped forward and said, “Your Majesty, I have already dispatched scouts. Prince Fu has secured the provisions from atop Mount Tianzhu and is now marching toward Jiangting! They should arrive soon, please rest assured, Your Majesty!”

“Brother-in-law, I told you, Uncle Li Yin isn’t that kind of person, so you can relax!” Following Yang Hong’s lead, Li Miao calmed the crowd, while also covering up the fact that he had secretly placed spies on Li Yin.

“Hmph, that’s because General Zhang Xun is here. Without him, who knows what trouble Li Yin might stir!” Huang Yi still wasn’t convinced.

Li Miao didn’t care how much mischief Li Yin had in store—as long as the provisions arrived, that was enough. Ten thousand shi of grain could buy another day of survival; better to live in hardship than to die honorably.

“Brother-in-law, you should go and clear out the granaries in Jiangting!” Li Miao was preparing in advance. Jiangting was just a small county town, and its original granary was cramped even for a thousand shi of grain. Now with ten thousand shi, the granary needed to be expanded.

“Huh? You mean the granary in Jiangting can’t hold the provisions Li Yin brought back?” Huang Yi scoffed.

“Of course not! It’s a full ten thousand shi of grain!” Li Miao blurted out, exposing the secret.

“Ten thousand shi of grain?” Huang Yi was taken aback. This Li Yin was impressive. Huang Yi had expected at most a thousand shi, but it turned out to be ten times that amount.

Wait a minute! Huang Yi asked sharply, “Your Majesty, how do you know this?” Li Yin hadn’t returned yet, and Yang Hong had just sent scouts, barely receiving news that Li Yin was already on the way. How could his own brother-in-law know already?

“I knew it all along. Minister Yang told me earlier!” Li Miao was inwardly exasperated. This was the classic example of a useless teammate. The surveillance of Li Yin was supposed to be discreet, but Huang Yi was prying deeper.

“Oh yes, I told Your Majesty earlier!” Yang Hong hastily took the blame.

“Enough. Go quickly and tidy up the granaries, or there won’t be any place to store Uncle Li Yin’s provisions when they arrive!” Li Miao waved toward Huang Yi. At this moment, he didn’t want to see that useless teammate for even a second.

“Report! Your Majesty! Thirty li away, large-scale troop movements have been spotted!” a scout rushed in to report to Li Miao.

“Thirty li away? Troop movements?” Li Miao was stunned. Could it be that Uncle Li Yin and his men had returned?

“That shouldn’t be. Prince Fu wouldn’t have come back so soon,” Yang Hong frowned and said to Li Miao.

Li Miao nodded. He was more familiar with Li Yin’s route than Yang Hong. Despite their haste, it should take at least two more days to reach Jiangting. It was impossible to arrive so quickly.

This era had no highways; roads were carved through mountains and built over rivers. Even official roads were full of potholes and mud, especially after rain. Two days was already a tight estimate.

If those weren’t Li Yin’s troops, then who could it be?

“Your Majesty, judging from the banners and the campsites left behind, there must be at least several thousand men!” the scout shattered Li Miao’s last hope. A few thousand soldiers, while the Imperial Guard numbered only about three hundred—where would these thousands come from?

“Your Majesty, could it be those displaced refugees returning again?” Yang Hong suggested.

“Them?” Li Miao was actually welcoming if that were true. Now that he had wealth, he could afford generosity. “Send for Commander Chen at once!”

Chen Dao was stationed at the Jiangting militia camp.

Soon Chen Dao arrived. Li Miao asked if these were the refugees. Chen Dao shook his head. The refugees were starving, unlikely to have established campsites; they mostly ate raw food washed down with cold water.

Not Li Yin, not the refugees—then who were they?

At the foot of Mount Song, near a once-ruined village, life had returned. Yet these newcomers bore faces pale as ashes, mixed with a bittersweet relief.

These were Chen Dao’s fellow villagers. This ruin was their original home: Chenjia Village. Once a large settlement known as Chenjiawu, it was famous in Huainan, rivaling Xujia Fort. The village was bigger than many county towns, with over a thousand able-bodied men. But during the Yellow Turban Rebellion and the subsequent coalition against Dong Zhuo, the strong men were conscripted into the army—especially when Sun Jian passed through and took many, including Chen Dao’s father.

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Later, Sun Jian was defeated and killed by Huang Zu of Jingzhou. His army collapsed, and few from Chenjia returned. Most perished on the battlefield or were scattered and lost.

Chenjia Village fell into ruin. To survive, the people became wandering refugees. Now they no longer moved—they had returned home.

They could hardly have reached the foot of Mount Song from Jiangting without the last batch of grain Li Miao had sent them, which sustained them until now. Yet even on this journey, hundreds were lost.

Old Uncle Chen labored over the remnants of the ancestral hall, clearing away dust and overgrown straw. “Thank you,” someone said.

But Old Uncle Chen didn’t mind. After days of effort, he unearthed a small black plaque from the ruins, and a smile briefly crossed his face.

Yet tears soon flowed again—it was a token inscribed with his son’s name. The sorrow of a parent burying a child was indescribable.

He continued rummaging through the hall, finding tokens not only of his son but also of his wife and the little grandson who had starved to death in his arms.

“Xiong’er, your father failed you. He couldn’t save Da Bao. Hate me if you must, resent me!” Old Uncle Chen wept bitterly. He had personally sent his son to war, never imagining he wouldn’t return. He cried long and hard, overwhelmed by the memories of his village.

“But Xiong’er, though Da Bao didn’t survive, Er Bao did. He’s now in Jiangting, with Brother Dao, serving under His Majesty. That’s his blessing, and ours. This Emperor… he’s a good man!” Old Uncle Chen began rambling about the past.

“Uncle, eat something!” one of the Chen family brought a broken bowl filled with wild vegetables and tree bark—the only food available. The old man hadn’t eaten all day.

“It’s Chen Bang!” Old Uncle Chen recognized the newcomer—a poor soul whose wife had died on the road, with several children injured or dead. Luckily, one remained in Jiangting to continue the family line. He shook his head, “I won’t eat. You keep it.”

“Uncle, you can’t not eat—you’ll starve!” Chen Bang swallowed hard.

“If I starve, I’ll be reunited with them. To die in Chen’s ancestral hall is enough for me,” Old Uncle Chen said with resignation.

Chen Bang couldn’t persuade him and left with the bowl.

Old Uncle Chen sat among the ruins, talking to the memorial tablets, laughing and crying like a madman. No one stopped him—they all understood his grief.

“Uncle! Uncle!” Chen Bang returned, shouting.

“Chen Bang, don’t waste your grain on this old bone. Keep it for yourselves!” Old Uncle Chen had given up on himself; whether he ate or not mattered little. Better to save the food for the younger generation to survive.

“No, Uncle! That… that…” Chen Bang stammered, catching his breath. “Uncle, the Mount Song bandits—they’ve mobilized again!”

“Mount Song bandits?” Old Uncle Chen’s eyes widened in disbelief. “What do they want?”

The decline of Chenjia was inseparable from these bandits. Hearing of their return, Old Uncle Chen was filled with hatred and anger. The village was already ruins—why would the bandits leave it be?

“Uncle, it’s not us, it’s not us!” Chen Bang gasped, finally calming.

“They’re not coming toward Chenjia, but heading to Huainan!” Chen Bang finally spoke clearly.

“Huainan?” Old Uncle Chen was stunned, lost in thought. “Quick! Take me there!”

“Yes!” Chen Bang hurriedly lifted Old Uncle Chen onto his back and set off.

Looking at the trampled ground, the scale was thousands strong. How many people lived on Mount Song? Had the bandits truly mobilized their entire force?

“There!” Old Uncle Chen’s expression darkened as they reached a small hill, gazing at the distant bandits heading toward Huainan—coming from their direction.

Old Uncle Chen and Chen Bang’s eyes widened. “They’re heading for Jiangting!”

“Quick! Quick!” Old Uncle Chen shouted, leaping off Chen Bang’s back and charging down toward Chenjia Village.

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“Uncle, wait for me! Wait!” Chen Bang shouted, chasing after him.

“Everyone! Everyone, gather!” Old Uncle Chen called out in a voice surprisingly loud for his age.

“What’s the matter, Uncle?” someone asked, puzzled. Most were resigned to death or reminiscing about lost loved ones. Here, among the ruins, people had come to accept their fate—sharing what little they had with the weak and elderly.

“Jiangting! Jiangting!” Old Uncle Chen panted heavily.

“The wolf is coming!” The warning had finally become reality.

Li Miao was dumbfounded. Chen Dao’s arrival with refugees had already nearly cost him his life; now this. But this time, it was much more real.

Bandits, in broad daylight. Li Miao wasn’t blind; he could see the banners clearly.

A huge banner bearing the character “Mei,” led by a dozen cavalry, followed by dense ranks of men. None wore matching clothing, but their shouts filled the air.

Li Miao looked closely—healthy men, not refugees. These were genuine bandits. He wanted to weep. Just as things were about to improve, this gang of bandits arrived. Could a poor place like Jiangting really resist such a raid?

“Mei Qian?!” Chen Dao’s expression turned grave as he spoke to Li Miao.

“Mei Qian?” Li Miao frowned, puzzled.

“Your Majesty, our trouble has come!” Chen Dao said. “If I’m not mistaken, these are Mei Qian’s men!”

“You mean the Mount Song bandits?” Huang Yi suddenly spoke up.

“Yes!” Chen Dao nodded. When he fled with his villagers, it was to avoid these Mount Song bandits. Their Chenjia Village lay at the foot of Mount Song.

“Brother-in-law, you know them?” Li Miao noticed Huang Yi’s strange expression and asked.

Huang Yi nodded. “More than that, Miao, Mei Qian once did business with us!”

“Business?” Li Miao was stunned but didn’t grasp the meaning. How could he have any dealings with these mountain bandits? Formerly the youngest scion of the Li family, now ruler of a nation—no way he’d have trade with mere bandits.

Yet these were rebel leaders, after all.

Huang Yi leaned close and whispered into Li Miao’s ear.

Li Miao twitched involuntarily. He felt an urge to kill Huang Yi. The weapons and armor the bandits carried were better than some regular troops’. Initially, he had thought they were just skillful robbers, elite among mountain bandits. But hearing Huang Yi’s words, Li Miao realized—

Those bandits’ armor and weapons came from dealings between his old comrades Huang Yi and himself back in the day.

Li Miao was a profligate heir; Huang Yi likewise. They lived for pleasure, and when funds ran dry, Huang Yi—then a commander of thousands—embezzled pay and sold off grain and supplies. Eventually, they even considered selling weapons and armor, and the Mount Song bandits were among the buyers.