Xu Yanbing had not yet returned, but meals still needed to be eaten. Zhou Junchen, who had narrowly escaped calamity, dared not flaunt extravagance with delicacies and meats. Instead, he had the imperial kitchen carefully prepare a vegetarian feast. Queen Yu Rourou accompanied him, holding a bottle to pour rice wine. Zhou Junchen had already sensibly removed his dragon robe, replacing it with the attire of a wealthy commoner. Yu Rourou naturally followed his lead. Though she no longer wore her phoenix crown and flowing silks, she had still made clever efforts to adorn herself with a yellow gourd-shaped cap made of red and green velvet brocade, embellished with pearls and jade rising a foot high, resembling a straight-necked goose’s head. This accentuated her slender, fair neck, making it even more enticing, and gave her a touch of the elegance of a refined Jiangnan lady. Huang Man’er devoured her food voraciously, then dragged an influential general from Qingcang City to arrange accommodations for the traveling monks from the west. Zhou Junchen cautiously glanced at Bei Liang Wang, who was eating slowly and delicately. He resolved to accompany him in eating, drinking, and smiling, though when it came to sleeping companionship, he, being a man, was willing but physically unable. That was the specialty of Qingcang City’s queen.
Xu Fengnian paid no heed to Yu Rourou’s flirtatious glances and asked Zhou Junchen to speak of the situations of the two feudal lords, Fengxiang and Linyao. The Bei Liang spies were no immortals and could not attend to every detail. As one of the four leaders of the refugees, the information Zhou Junchen provided was fairly credible. Fengxiang Wang Makelu had once been an obscure goldsmith from Yangzhou. His rise to power was somewhat similar to Zhou Junchen’s—he had first served other powerful factions as a strategist. When his former lord was assassinated, the nominal ruler of Fengxiang was too young and ignorant, so Makelu took control, manipulating the young ruler like a puppet, gradually amassing great wealth. According to Zhou Junchen, Makelu had some connection with Lantuo Mountain in the Western Regions. Since last year, he had harbored hundreds of warrior monks, known for their ferocity and combat prowess. According to Bei Liang intelligence, Linyao Wang Cai Anshan, born into a noble Bei Liang family, was known for his stinginess and lack of gratitude, a man who could endure hardship but not prosperity. Yet, in Zhou Junchen’s account, he was portrayed as an old man of considerable spirit. For Zhou Junchen, a true cynic, to speak so highly of him, Xu Fengnian suspected there must be some merit to his reputation. As for the gang between Linyao and Fengxiang, they were bandits who lived by plundering, known for betrayal and double-crossing. For years, the three military garrisons had suffered greatly at their hands. These horse bandits often grew bold enough to cross the border into the southern territories of Beiman to pillage. Once, this drew the attention of Beiman’s general Liu Gui, who personally led troops to suppress them and specifically instructed a fat man surnamed Dong to monitor the area. After that, the horse banditry along the border of Gusai Province diminished significantly. This lawless gang was based in Shike Mountain. Zhou Junchen revealed that the gang leader was a young and seductive woman. He hinted that, despite the gang’s apparent hostility toward Beiman, both he and Cai Anshan privately suspected it was a ruse—a ploy by Beiman to infiltrate the refugee lands with spies. Otherwise, how could they have so many fine horses at their disposal?
Xu Fengnian carefully sorted through Zhou Junchen’s words, finding no major inconsistencies. He then asked, “The three former military garrisons, along with that gang of horse bandits, total around 170,000 criminals. About half are in their prime, capable of fighting on horseback and farming off it. They are a source of manpower that both Bei Liang and Beiman covet. I don’t expect to bring them all under my control at once. In your opinion, among Fengxiang, Linyao, and Shike Mountain, with about twenty people in power across the three regions, how many would be willing to accept pacification and surrender?”
Zhou Junchen hesitated for a moment, then gritted his teeth and said, “With all due respect, unless it’s absolutely necessary, given the hatred between the refugees and Bei Liang, they would rather starve than accept Bei Liang’s scraps. Take my Qingcang City, for example. It’s easy to guess that Shen Congwu and his 1,600 men will either declare independence or defect to Cai Anshan of Linyao City. They’d rather die than return to Qingcang, no matter how high a title you offer them. That man witnessed the execution of his entire clan when he was only six years old, then was driven to this godforsaken refugee land. He dreams of revenge against Bei Liang every night. Fengxiang and Linyao also have many such men in positions of military power who harbor deep hatred for Bei Liang. As for me, I wasn’t one of the Bei Liang clans destroyed back then, so I have no personal vendetta. Plus, I genuinely admire the young lord’s abilities, which is why I’m willing to serve Bei Liang without hesitation, even at the cost of my life.”
Xu Fengnian set down his chopsticks and said calmly, “If you were in my position, how would you win over the refugees? No matter how difficult the task, it still needs to be done. If you can give me a detailed plan, I’ll count it as a great achievement, and Qingcang will still be yours.”
Zhou Junchen was about to feign nervousness when Yu Rourou, holding the wine bottle, gave a slight cough. Zhou Junchen quickly regained his composure. He had already figured out the young feudal lord’s habits when discussing serious matters—he preferred directness over beating around the bush. Zhou Junchen took a sip of wine to bolster his courage before speaking. “We refugees are like wandering souls without roots. We don’t even know where to go during the Qingming Festival to pay respects to our ancestors. We believe that if a place won’t have us, there’s always another place that will. We don’t believe in long-term investments or patience. We only care about what you have in your pocket right now. Give us silver and grain, and we’ll be yours from head to toe. If you reward us with good wine and food every day, we’ll fight for you. However, Bei Liang is an exception—‘outsiders’—because we’ve suffered too much over the years. Your scouts have been coming here every few days to kill us. We fear and hate you deeply, right down to our bones. So, this pot of refugee porridge—stir it too quickly and you’ll burn your mouth. It needs to be done slowly. I heard that you brought over a thousand monks into the refugee lands. That was a brilliant move I could never have thought of. There are barely any books in the entire refugee region, so Confucian teachings are a joke here. As for Daoist ideas like ‘one person attaining the Dao benefits even his dogs and chickens,’ no one cares. When you can’t even get enough to eat, who has time for cultivation? Only the Buddhist monks’ teachings resonate with many people. After all, this life is just suffering from the moment you’re born. So, they might as well give up and accept it. They can only hope for a better next life. As for people, I’ve seen through them. As long as there’s the slightest hope, they start fearing death. Take me, Zhou Junchen, for example. When I first heard that you were letting me live and stay in Qingcang, my heart and mind immediately opened up. The arrival of the monks, preaching and blessing the refugees day after day, won’t necessarily make them grateful, but at least it gives them hope. They won’t be so self-destructive, won’t think that killing one Bei Liang soldier is breaking even or that killing two is a profit. However, in my humble opinion, just having monks provide hope isn’t enough. We need something real, especially something that fills our stomachs. In the past, Qingcang City was barely scraping by under the Dragon Prince’s Mansion, with no resources to attract people. But now that we have Bei Liang’s backing, you don’t need much—just set up ten or so large pots at each of the three city gates every day. I’m sure someone will eventually take the bait. If no one comes the first day, maybe someone will come in ten or fifteen days. Once someone leads the way, the floodgates will open, and the refugees will pour in… As for pride and dignity, everyone has some, but the weight varies. Some value it more than life itself, but most don’t value it much.”
Yu Rourou, looking timid and lowering her eyes, softly interrupted Zhou Junchen: “If truly no one dares to come, we could have the weaker Qingcang soldiers pretend to be refugees.”
Zhou Junchen glared and snapped, “Woman, hold your tongue!”
Xu Fengnian waved a hand, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with Yu Rourou’s suggestion, and gestured for Zhou Junchen to continue. The latter, now thoroughly warmed up after drinking to moisten his throat and his face flushed with excitement, continued, “Crushing the three garrisons with Bei Liang’s iron cavalry won’t work. The refugees can’t fight, but they can run—off to the Western Regions or even to Beiman. They’ll scatter like birds and beasts, ruining your grand plans. The Jie Jie Ling… no, that old man Murong once said that the refugees caught between Liang and Man are worth double in both gains and losses, showing how valuable they are to you. If Bei Liang’s iron cavalry pushes too hard, some will inevitably flee to the southern court of Beiman. I’ve heard that in the southern court’s Xijing, there are indeed high-ranking officials who want to absorb the refugees for their own use. However, many of their policies are all thunder and no rain, likely due to internal resistance in Xijing. Besides, the refugees may be poor, but they’re not stupid. They fear Beiman’s ulterior motives. Once they board the southern court’s pirate ship, they’ll be forced to fight against Bei Liang’s invincible iron cavalry. The southern court’s Spring and Autumn remnants are full of schemes, even more so than me, Zhou Junchen. When it comes to infighting and betraying their own, these two-faced servants who have defected to Beiman are experts, drawing on centuries of ancestral experience. One book after another—aren’t they just teaching future generations how to kill without spilling blood?”
Xu Fengnian looked at him with newfound respect and smiled kindly, “Enough with the reflections—get back to the point.”
Zhou Junchen nodded like a chicken pecking rice, saying, “I have a strategy—four words: divide and conquer. The first ‘divide’ refers to geography. Excluding me, the pitiful Qingcang King, you can promise the other three factions the status of local kings, but they must nominally submit to Bei Liang. You can establish a new province in the refugee lands, offering two significant titles—prefect and general. Cai Anshan will certainly scoff, but Ma Liuke, who cares only for his own comfort and doesn’t mind others’ fates, might be tempted. Even if Cai Anshan refuses, his subordinates might grow restless. In this way, the military leaders of the two garrisons will inevitably harbor different ambitions. After all, if they surrender to Bei Liang, when the time comes to fight on the battlefield, it’ll be their soldiers who die, not the officers themselves. However, this matter still needs you, the young lord, to personally explain to them.
The second ‘divide and conquer’ targets the refugees themselves. Some are soldiers who committed serious crimes in the Bei Liang army—these men can be pardoned. Others are powerful families from Bei Liang who were driven here in the past decade. You can restore their properties and official titles in Bei Liang. If you want to show restraint, you can halve their assets and reduce their ranks. As for the earliest refugees, the locals who gathered around them, they are stubborn and numerous, but not necessarily completely unreformable. Their ancestral homes and graves are still in Bei Liang. Allowing them to return for ancestral worship might make some willing to return home after seeing the prosperity of their hometowns. The remaining refugees are fugitives who fled to the refugee lands—some are martial artists from Zhongyuan, others are descendants of officials who hate the Liyang court. They’ll be the easiest to deal with. With a single decree, you can open Bei Liang’s doors to them. They’ll be the first to leave the refugee lands.
I have one more thing to say, daring to speak it. Your ambitions are vast, and wherever your sword points, none can resist. So Bei Liang can certainly absorb the ten thousand refugees like a piece of fatty meat. But the way of eating must be better. How to do it better? Once the three garrisons are pacified, don’t rush to integrate them into the border army. Instead, send them to the relatively peaceful Lingzhou, but pay them very low wages—much lower than the border troops or even the Lingzhou army. As they integrate into Bei Liang, these fierce and restless men, mostly without attachments, will naturally seek military glory on the border.
Heh, I’ve gone too far. Your Highness, please don’t blame me. Let me talk about something closer. To make the divide and conquer strategy succeed, it’s nothing more than the age-old method of combining kindness and authority. The kindness I’ve already mentioned—restoring titles to those who once held them, giving food to the hungry, and removing the crimes of the guilty—are all great kindnesses from Your Highness. As for authority, it doesn’t necessarily require Your Highness to personally intervene like today. A few thousand elite cavalry led by the young prince will suffice. The young prince has already built a formidable reputation, a peerless warrior who cuts down Beiman’s elite like wheat. With Your Highness showing kindness first and the young prince’s cavalry patrolling behind, the refugees, though tough, won’t be that tough. They’ll naturally submit, reasoning that losing to such a hero isn’t shameful. As for the stubborn ones who insist on dying, let them die. The thirty thousand iron cavalry passed down from the old lord to Your Highness—have they ever hesitated to kill anyone?”
Yu Rourou subtly smiled, carefully observing the young feudal lord’s expression. It seemed that her husband’s “nonsense” might not secure his position as Qingcang’s ruler, but at least it wasn’t worsening the situation.
Xu Fengnian smiled, “Your strategy for managing the refugees somewhat aligns with someone else’s. You have about five or six tenths of his skill. But that person has never even been to the refugee lands, unlike you.”
Zhou Junchen instinctively bowed even while sitting, his face full of flattery, “All I said was nonsense. I can’t compare to the high-level people around Your Highness. If I have even a tenth of their insight, it’s because I’ve stepped on dog shit.”
Xu Fengnian stood up, and Zhou Junchen quickly followed suit.
Xu Fengnian said, “Zhou Junchen, I’ll give you two choices: either stay in Qingcang City to assist that person, or go to Lingzhou and become a well-fed prefect. But I think the second option is safer for you. With your level of integrity, when faced with life-or-death decisions in the future, you’ll surely betray Bei Liang. And when that happens, I’ll definitely kill you. People like you can barely counts as a capable official in times of peace. Bei Liang lacks officials, but it certainly doesn’t need idle, so-called virtuous officials. You can be corrupt, and I don’t mind, but never forget to serve Bei Liang and its people. As for how much you steal—how much can one mouth and two hands take? Besides, the real valuable things can’t be taken into the coffin anyway. Your wealth will remain behind. If we use that as a reason to punish you, Bei Liang’s border forces could be strengthened. But the Xu family hasn’t fallen into such dire straits yet.”
Zhou Junchen, kneeling to express his gratitude, exchanged a glance with Yu Rourou. Both saw genuine fear in each other’s eyes.
Xu Fengnian said indifferently, “Get up. You can probably stay in Qingcang for another month or so.”
As Zhou Junchen and Yu Rourou stood side by side after rising, Xu Fengnian suddenly smiled at Yu Rourou and said, “I’ve given Zhou Junchen a prefecture, but I have nothing for you. Your story is already recorded in Bei Liang’s intelligence. At the very least, as long as you refuse, no one will ever force you to undress again. If someone tries, and Zhou Junchen shamelessly agrees, come to Qingliang Mountain, and I’ll help you stop them.”
After Xu Fengnian left, a loud slap echoed behind him, followed by wailing—both Yu Rourou’s and Zhou Junchen’s.
Xu Fengnian walked directly out of the northern gate of the Dragon Prince’s Mansion, which was effectively leaving the city. There was a small lake north of the city, its water shallow enough to reach only the knees. He squatted by the lakeshore, grabbed a handful of sand, and gently threw it into the lake, lost in thought.
In fact, according to Chen Xiliang’s original plan, the first act of authority was to send 20,000 cavalry to massacre Qingcang City, leaving no grass growing in the surrounding area, before discussing acts of kindness.
Ma Liuke’s warrior monks were actually part of a deal between Xu Fengnian and the Six-Pearl Bodhisattva of Lantuo Mountain. Naturally, Ma Liuke was unaware of the secret. The female Dharma King of the Esoteric Sect needed to become the ruler of Lantuo Mountain, so she had to ally with the Bei Liang Xu family, who commanded the cavalry. In return, Xu Fengnian would gain control over the vast Western Regions. Additionally, this would create a military pincer movement from east and west to contain the ten thousand refugees. Then, by sending several thousand light cavalry to patrol the northern and southern borders, the refugees would be prevented from scattering. In this large bag, the refugees had only two choices: surrender or die. The southern court of Beiman deliberately spread rumors that Xu Shao’s dying wish was for the refugees to accompany him in death. By coincidence, this was half correct. Before his death, Li Yishan left a concise scroll, and Chen Xiliang’s ruthless strategy aligned with it.
But in Xu Fengnian’s understanding, his master felt guilt toward these refugees who had been displaced because of him. He never expressed it in words, but he wrote it down.
His master’s ashes, with no tomb to rest in, were scattered at the border.
To live with sustenance, to grow old with support, and to die with a proper burial.
These were the three great blessings the gaunt man spoke of.
The ten thousand refugees wandering in this land seemed to have enjoyed none of them.
Li Yishan, who wrote the twenty-year history of the refugees in “Zhiqiu Lu,” took the pen name Shuihu Shangu in his later years.
Shuihu means “by the water,” and “Shangu” means “ghost of the marsh.”
Perhaps in his master’s view, unlike Zhao Changling, who brought thousands of servants to join the Xu family, or unlike the Spring and Autumn Yangcai, who aspired to unify the world, Li Yishan had never entered the imperial court, had never knelt to anyone. Ultimately, he was just like these homeless, graveless refugees—a wandering soul by the Tingchao Lake, a wild ghost on Qingliang Mountain.
Xu Fengnian leaned back, closed his eyes, and lay on the sandy ground, his hands resting behind his head.
He had eaten the Purple Thunder from Liu Haoshi and later consumed the steamed bun from the Qilin Taoist Yuan Qingshan.
He felt a little full.
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