Chapter Eighteen: Returning Home

The valley stretched southward, its desolate landscape unchanged. The greatest trouble the troubled times brought to travelers was a constant sense of unease. That unease drove people to take precautions against every possible threat.

For Liu Chengzong, this meant that every time he encountered a stranger on the road, he had to forcibly suppress the reckless urge to loose an arrow at them. There were few souls on the ancient, barren road. At one point, a wolf tried to pick a fight with Xiao Zuanfeng, but fled in terror at the twang of his bow. Wolves traveled in packs; he dared not pursue too far, so he and Xiao Zuanfeng pressed swiftly south.

The presence of wolves, paradoxically, was not a bad sign. It meant the situation at the border of the three counties was better than farther north, for at least here, as humans retreated, beasts advanced. Drought affected all living things; if the grass and trees survived, people could still harvest something, however meager; if the wild animals survived, there was still food to be found in the mountains. Thus, people clung to what little chance at life remained.

As for packs of wolves or fierce tigers, they did not approach the killing efficiency of famine or disaster. Liu Chengzong carried weapons but wore no armor, and thus could ride far faster alone. He galloped for a time after fending off the wolves, paused to loosen the saddle and wipe down Hongqi’s sweating flanks, and then, because the cracked yellow earth threatened to damage the horseshoes, stopped several times to check and adjust them—but all told, lost only a short while.

Otherwise, the journey was smooth. He set out at dawn, and the farther he traveled, the more familiar the road became. Passing several villages, even when all he saw were idle figures sunning themselves in patched coats on the hillsides, the mere sight of people lent a trace of human warmth to the bitter landscape.

Less than an hour had passed when he glimpsed Panlong River.

The Panlong River was a small stream rising from the northern hills; when it was not in flood, its waters ran shallow. Seeing the river, he could also see Black Dragon King Temple Mountain—home was near.

Liu Chengzong rode his horse along the mountain path, gazing at the fields. His eyes were full of wonder—for four days, they had traveled over three hundred li, through nothing but wild, deserted countryside, everywhere devoid of life. Yet as he neared his homeland, he saw, beside endless cracked fields, farmers and children picking stones from the irrigation ditches and working to clear them.

These people were gaunt with hunger, dark-skinned and with skin clinging tightly to bone, not an ounce of spare flesh in sight, yet their spirit surpassed that of anyone he had seen in recent days. They were repairing the ditches, although, by Liu Chengzong’s reckoning, there was no longer any need for such work—everyone was heading south in search of survival, so why stay behind to mend irrigation channels?

He had returned early; many people were in the fields but not yet at work. Some squatted by the roadside with bowls of porridge, wives standing by with battered lunch boxes, waiting for the farmers to finish eating so they could take the bowls home.

Most of the people at the field’s edge were strangers to Liu Chengzong, who had gone with Scholar Liu to Yan’an at four and then to Mizhi at twelve. He did not recognize them, nor did they recognize him, so there was no eager reunion for the returning wanderer.

Instead, the farmers, seeing him ride slowly out of the country path with a saber at his waist, all set down their tools and regarded him in silent curiosity.

Even if Liu Chengzong wanted to greet them, he did not know their names. This awkwardness did not last long—he soon reached his family’s fields.

There were two kinds of fields in Xingpingli: private and clan lands. Scholar Liu had once distinguished himself at the clan school, receiving aid from the clan to pursue his studies until he passed the imperial exams. He had held two hundred eighty mu of land, only to donate it all to the clan in gratitude. When Scholar Liu failed to pay taxes and offended his superiors, ending up in prison, the clan divided a hundred mu between Liu Chengzong and his brother. Liu Chengzong had once come to mark the boundaries himself and was very familiar with the land.

There were a few people working compost in the field. Seeing someone riding up with a saber, they stopped and watched from a distance.

He reined in and called out, “Brothers, do you know where the third branch’s family is?”

A sturdy man, working in the water channel, looked up at him, eyes lingering on his saber as he climbed up the bank. “Who are you, and what business do you have with the master?”

Hearing the respectful address, Liu Chengzong thought hard, realizing he had never seen this man in the clan before. From horseback, he cupped his fists, “I am a member of the family, Chengzong.”

If it had been someone else, he might have thought he had simply forgotten them, but this man was so powerfully built that one could never forget a face like his.

“Chengzong?” The name was unfamiliar to the man. He pondered for a moment, then his impassive face suddenly lit up, expression shifting dramatically. “Little benefactor?”

With a thump, the giant fell to his knees and knocked his head three times against the yellow earth before standing up and calling out, “The young master has returned! Everyone, come here!”

Startled, Liu Chengzong swung off his horse and hurriedly helped him up. “Brother, what are you doing? Please get up—let’s talk.”

“Let me explain, young master. I am Shi Wanzhong, a simple farmer from Shijiawan in Suide. Last year, in the drought, I could not pay the summer grain, so I fled south with my mother and wife. We were saved by the master and owe him for saving my wife and unborn child. Such a great debt, I would gladly be a beast of burden in return!”

Shi Wanzhong’s eyes reddened and he made to kneel again, but Liu Chengzong held him fast. The others in the field gathered around, each wanting to kneel and tell their stories—all had fled disaster to Longwang Temple Mountain and been taken in by Scholar Liu.

As he could not stop them all, and the babble of voices left him unable to understand, Liu Chengzong simply raised his hands and said, “Brothers, just call me Chengzong, and please, do not kneel. Since you are here, stay and make a life. Even in a year of disaster, there is always a way.”

Having said this, Liu Chengzong turned back to Shi Wanzhong and asked, “Brother Shi, where is my father?”

“The master is on Liu Family Hill drilling the militia. Come, you all keep working on the channel, I’ll take the young master to see the master.”

With that, Shi Wanzhong took the reins and crossed his hands at the horse’s belly. “Please mount, young master.”

Liu Chengzong’s mind was in a whirl; faced with Shi Wanzhong’s enthusiasm, he felt even more at a loss and waved his hand. “No need, let’s walk together. I’ve been away serving in the army for over a year, and there’s much I wish to ask you. Shall we talk as we go? Just call me Lion, that’s my childhood name.”

Shi Wanzhong did not insist and fell half a step behind, leading the horse. “Very well, Master Lion, what would you like to ask?”

What to ask? Where did Scholar Liu find grain to support all these people?

In truth, this was what he most wanted to know. Along the way, whether in Mizhi, Suide, or Qingjian, the situation grew ever worse. Many still clung to the land, but in every place, vast numbers had become refugees.

The land was all but deserted, and even those who remained did not have the strength to repair irrigation works. Yet, when the words came to his lips, Liu Chengzong asked instead, “Why is my father drilling the militia? Is he the leader?”

Shi Wanzhong shook his head. “I don’t know. When we arrived, the master was already the militia leader. Some of those who fled were thugs, but the master led the militia and killed them; only then did he take us in to live here in Xingpingli.”

The more Liu Chengzong heard, the more confused he became. His father had always been a scholar, never trained in martial arts or military affairs—how had he turned so formidable after coming out of prison?

He knew he could get no more answers from Shi Wanzhong. Looking up at Liu Family Hill, he suppressed his doubts and set off at a brisk pace.

—

Note:

“Master”: An old-fashioned term used by servants, tenant farmers, and retainers to address their employer, landowner, or superior.

For example: “Thank you, elder brother, for these three letters. I take my leave of my master and set out east.” — Ma Zhiyuan, Yuan Dynasty, “A Thunderclap at Midnight: The Stele of Auspicious Fortune”