Chapter Eighty-Seven: Nine and a Half Jin

“Too dangerous, far too dangerous—you’re a madman!” Cao Yao said, even as he gestured for his men to brace their tall shields and nail a row of small cannons before the earthen walls of Jinming Post.

“Haven’t you always wanted to go up against the court? Well, here you go—I’m making your wish come true.”

Liu Chengzong straightened in his saddle and called out toward the post, “Brothers inside, listen up! I’m Liu Chengzong, the one who broke into the prefectural city and killed the magistrate. I’m only here for horses. If you know what’s good for you, open the gates!”

Frontier posts were like small fortresses; some had even been reinforced with brick during the Longqing years. This Jinming Post had strong defenses and could serve as an outpost if the city of Yan’an came under siege.

Liu Chengzong had brought three hundred soldiers on this venture, divided into Feng Rang’s left flank, Gao Xian’s right, and Cao Yao’s artillery detachment. His plan was to destroy the post, thus crippling Shaanxi’s intelligence network, and to seize provisions and horses in the process.

These post-forts were not easy to storm—square earthen bastions a thousand paces on a side didn’t yield readily. But Liu Chengzong had two advantages.

First, the artillery detachment had managed to scrounge up a number of cannons from the garrison. They couldn’t bring the larger pieces, but they had ten small cannons, each weighing thirty to sixty catties, enough to shell the defenders atop the walls.

Second, the august Emperor Chongzhen had recently dismissed a portion of the post’s staff, leaving over ten thousand postmen in Shaanxi out of work. Liu Chengzong reckoned the post must be thinly manned, with few left possessing the courage to fight.

But he was wrong.

No sooner had he finished speaking than a postman on the wall shouted down, “It took everything I had not to be sacked by the emperor, and now you, you little bastard, come to attack the post! Brothers, let’s fight these wretches who want to smash our livelihood to the bitter end!”

A chorus of curses erupted from the earthen rampart, at least twenty postmen nocking arrows to their bows. Liu Chengzong and Cao Yao were both stunned into silence.

Why wasn’t this going as expected?

Liu Chengzong tried reasoning, calling up to the postmen on the wall, “Six qian a month in wages—is dying here really worth it?”

“Six qian my ass, it’s only three!” came the retort.

Disgusted, Liu Chengzong thought, “Damn it! You’ve had your pay stolen and you still have the nerve to correct my figures.”

Cao Yao was less diplomatic. “The official rate is six qian—your overseer’s been skimming off your pay! Throw him down and I’ll deal with him for you!”

Another round of curses, then silence.

A moment later, the silhouettes atop the wall withdrew en masse. Soon after, sounds of fighting and shouting came from within.

Liu Chengzong immediately raised his hand in signal.

Feng Rang led his men forward, grappling hooks swinging as they began to scale the wall. Gao Xian’s right detachment, bows and crossbows at the ready, moved in to provide cover, then joined the ascent once Feng Rang’s group was underway.

Before long, the gates of Jinming Post swung open.

The same postman who had been cursing earlier was now being marched out, head clamped under Gao Xian’s arm. He looked like a terracotta warrior sprung to life and was still swearing, “Was I wrong to curse you? Damn this world—it won’t let good men live!”

Liu Chengzong rode forward, saw the man’s robe stained with blood, and told Cao Yao to go in and gather the spoils, preparing to dismantle the fort. “Let him go, Brother Gao. If this is no world for good men, what can you do? Can you ride?”

Gao Xian gave the man a shove and let go.

The postman staggered but kept his temper. He rolled his neck, shot Liu Chengzong a glare, and snapped, “What, you think a postman can’t ride a horse? I can shoot, too, and wield a red-tasseled spear. Don’t kill me yet—come down here and fight me yourself, let’s see if I can’t knock your teeth out!”

At this, the artillery soldiers erupted in laughter, especially those who had recently served under Zhang Xiong and recalled the sight of their commander’s head flying from Liu Chengzong’s blade. In all their lives, they’d never seen a man demand a fight on the eve of his death.

Their smiles were hard to read—and the postman’s heart thudded with unease. What kind of people were these, to be so cheerful at their leader being challenged?

“Hell with that, who has time to brawl with you?” Liu Chengzong chuckled, lifting his chin in the saddle and addressing the postmen brought out as prisoners. “In a drought year, for three qian a month, your parents and children at home go hungry. Each of you is the pillar of your family—I won’t kill you. If you want to go home, take as much grain from the fort as you can carry. I only want the donkeys and horses. If anyone asks, tell them Liu Chengzong took it.”

As he spoke, he’d been sitting too long and his red banner horse shifted, breaking his train of thought. Liu Chengzong circled his mount at a walk, body rising and falling with its gait, then gestured broadly.

“You—yes, you. Anyone who can ride and shoot, if you’re willing to come with me, I can’t promise you’ll die a natural death. But I swear, as long as you live, your parents will eat their fill and your children won’t go hungry.”

He waved toward the inside of the post. “Don’t just stand there—carry out the grain and lead out the horses!”

A moment ago, these postmen had been foes. Now, released, with the artillery soldiers remaining outside, both flanking detachments filed back into the fort.

For a moment, the postmen hesitated—until one, his eyes red and body trembling with fury, knelt on the ground and kowtowed three times to the east.

To Beijing, to the Forbidden City.

He lifted his tear-streaked face and said to the others, “There’s no future for our house. Before I go, I’ll see my family eat their fill. I don’t care anymore.”

He rose and ran into the post, never looking back.

Then another followed, and another. Some kowtowed, some did not. Some wept, some did not. At first, men explained their reasons to one another—then no one needed reasons anymore.

Liu Chengzong did not wish to witness these scenes. He forced himself to hold his head high atop his horse, watching the soldiers lead out the horses from within the post.

Three qian of silver, rolled into a ball, was no bigger than a fingernail. On the day they raided the granary, the posted price outside the shop would have bought nine and a half catties of millet.

He understood.

Men do not only cry in sorrow.

There was shame.

When disaster strikes and one’s family starves, it matters little how kind, diligent, or hardworking a man is—if he comes home at dusk with no grain, he is nothing but a failure, no man at all.

But whether they kowtowed or not, this official road they once galloped along bore witness to their loyal service to the Ming.

Someone tugged gently at his reins.

Liu Chengzong looked down—it was the postman who had cursed so fiercely from the wall. The man seemed uneasy. “If I sell you my life, will my parents eat their fill, and my children go hungry no more?”

Liu Chengzong smiled. “Why not?”

The postman studied his face, searching for any trace of deceit, but found nothing worth suspecting—he had nothing left to be schemed against anyway.

He squared his shoulders and asked, “You’re a bandit, and after all the insults I hurled at you from the wall, you’re not angry? You won’t kill me?”

“What’s your name?”

“Wei Qian’er.”

Liu Chengzong nodded slowly. After a pause, he said, “I am a little angry, but you weren’t wrong. I am here to smash your rice bowl, and I’ve done just that. But do you think your suffering is unique? I’m a bandit now, but I was a scholar once, nearly a military graduate—so what? Can anyone still make a living like this?”

He turned away, pointing toward the post.

“Go carry your grain, take up your weapons, lead out a horse, and follow me to the next post—let’s go and smash their rice bowls too!”