The big rocky mountain hadn't been blasted open yet. Fang Zichen was eager to go back and improve the gunpowder, so Zhao Ger stayed behind.
The blasted rocks on the mountain needed to be cleared away. Before Zhao Ger could even give orders, Tieda and a crowd of villagers charged up the mountain in a frenzy.
When they got there, everyone stood dumbfounded, rooted to the spot.
At the foot of the big rocky mountain, there had been a smaller hill.
It wasn't exactly small—just shorter than the big one. It had stood there, rugged and steep, looking almost indestructible. But now...
After the shock and bewilderment came wild, unbridled joy.
The prefect had done it! The prefect had taken only twenty-some men up the mountain, and in just two shichen (4 hours), he had... this man was more formidable than beasts!
The prefect truly had ability. He'd demolished the mountain that had trapped generations of them, leveled it flat. He really could bring water! The canals weren't dug in vain.
They'd cursed the prefect before. Tieda's daughter had married out of the village a few years back—to a peddler who used to sell goods here, from the neighboring Anping County. Still a villager, but better off than them; they could manage to eat meat two or three times a year. She hadn't come back to visit her parents for years, but this year she'd finally returned, bringing a little piglet. The whole village came to gawk. Last month, that pig got a name—Fang Zichen. Whenever the villagers had free time, they'd go to Tieda's pigsty and curse at the pig—calling it by that very name.
But for the past month, no one had said a word.
Now, recalling what they'd done, every villager was overcome with shame. Some who'd cursed the loudest were even slapping their own faces.
They hadn't realized the prefect had already left. If he came back tomorrow or the day after, they'd have to kneel and kowtow to apologize.
There would be water now. The fields would no longer suffer drought. They could grow crops, till the land, and finally have enough to eat.
Golden rice stalks, lush green vegetable plots, rich fertile soil...
In that moment, everyone's hearts swelled with joy and hope.
Some of the elderly folk even broke down in tears on the spot. They had toiled their entire lives, thinking their children and grandchildren would suffer the same fate—but now, finally, there was something to look forward to.
Xiaping Village was under Li Yisheng's charge. Earlier, he hadn't recruited the elderly or children, but now they came charging down the mountain, carrying baskets and hoes. "The able-bodied men go repair the canal—we'll take care of things here," they said.
"How can that be!"
Before Li Yisheng or Zhao Ger could speak, an old woman with only a few teeth left spoke up first.
"Why can't it be?"
"Around here, kids start learning to work by the time they're two or three, and by five or six they can already tend the fields. Sure, we old folks are getting on in years, but we're still tough as nails. As long as we're not dead, we'll keep working ourselves to the bone. That's just how farmers are — as long as we're breathing, we can still work."
"Besides, who could sit still at home right now? The sooner the water comes, the sooner it reaches the fields. Sure, some plots already have sweet potatoes planted, and we don't have rice seedlings anyway, so we didn't build the paddy ridges for holding water — planting grain might be out of the question this season. But with water, this year's sweet potato crop is bound to be good."
Everyone threw themselves into the work as if they had endless energy.
Villagers who usually complained about aching feet and backs miraculously felt none of it today—their legs were nimble, their backs straightened out, and their chests felt light and clear.
Even the children knew what to do. Without any prompting from the adults, they worked with serious focus.
Seeing this, Li Yisheng didn't bother stopping them. Not that it would have done any good—he'd only get glared at: "What, Master Li, you think us old folks are useless? Let me tell you, I'm not bragging, but if I threw a punch at you, you'd be seeing ghosts!"
After nearly a month of working alongside them, Li Yisheng was no longer someone they feared. They knew he wasn't the type to yell or strike people, so they felt comfortable joking with him.
Still, every "Master Li" made him a little embarrassed.
But then he thought of how the villagers had looked at Fang Zichen when he came down the mountain—their eyes full of admiration and reverence. Li Yisheng figured his brother truly had remarkable abilities. Quite the impressive figure.
Over in Ronghe Village and Xiaping Village, both close to Stone Mountain, the people now had full trust in Fang Zichen. They were busy finishing up the canal digging and helping with the "mountain-moving" work, and in the rush, they completely forgot to notify the villages further downstream.
Fang Zichen was busy making explosives, while the deputy prefect kept sending him memorials for approval.
With so much on his plate, Fang Zichen had originally planned to put some matters aside for now, finish up in Anhe County first. But when he received the reports from Shunan, he flew into a rage and slammed his fist on the table.
Outrageous.
Absolutely outrageous.
These people actually had the gall to spout such arrogant nonsense at him—the highest official of an entire prefecture. They were utterly clueless, probably so full of themselves they'd forgotten their own parents' names.
The two hundred soldiers he'd dispatched had failed to capture that group of bandits. Those men were all villagers who'd been driven up the mountain by poverty—simple farming folk with no real martial skills, just a bit handy with hoes and sickles. In theory, they should have been no match for Hezhou's troops, who at least knew some basic combat. Yet his soldiers had been driven back, with two of them ending up in the medical hall.
The bandits knew the terrain around Shunan's West Mountain and Longhu (Dragon-Tiger) Mountain like the backs of their hands. The moment troops arrived, they'd vanish into the hills—like fish slipping into water or monkeys disappearing into the forest—their hideouts so well concealed that they were impossible to find. As soon as the soldiers left, they'd reappear to raid and plunder. The troops would rush back, only to find the bandits had already retreated into the mountains again.
Fang Zichen gave a direct order, leaving Yang Chengfeng no choice but to personally lead the troops on an ambush around Longhu Mountain, lying in wait day and night. They finally caught the bandits coming down the mountain and engaged them head-on. But after just a few exchanges, the bandits fled back uphill. When the soldiers gave chase, they walked right into a trap.
These bandits had started out as villagers, taking up this dangerous trade just to put food on the table. They'd been terrified during their very first robbery.
The traveling merchants they targeted were all wealthy masters—men they wouldn't have dared to look at twice before. Though the social order ranked scholars first, farmers second, artisans third, and merchants lowest, in Hezhou, money made anyone the boss — those with silver called the shots. Those merchants traveled with armed guards and loaded wagons. The villagers hadn't dared make a move at first, but with their parents, wives, and children starving at home, they gritted their teeth and charged.
Their desperate ferocity was too much for the lightly trained attendants and the guards who were big in size but lacking in skill—they fled in panic under a rain of hoes.
And then the bandits realized: their opponents weren't all that tough! These were the same people who usually strutted about with their noses in the air, but now they were scurrying away, crying for their mothers under the bandits' wooden clubs.
Once they tasted success, the first robbery led to a second, and soon they got cocky. Their conscience faded too—looting goods wasn't enough anymore. They started dragging pretty young women and gers up the mountain by force.
They claimed the land as their own, and as their gang grew larger, ordinary folks no longer dared to provoke them. The authorities kept sending troops, but failed time and again. The bandits grew more convinced of their own invincibility—so much so that they figured they could stand shoulder to shoulder with the sun and lock lips with turtles at the bottom of the sea.
Some merchants, left with no choice, brought gifts to "pay respects" at the bandits' hideout. The bandits had been riding high for over a decade with no one daring to touch them. So when Fang Zichen sent troops to suppress them, they figured he was just asking for a beating. They sent back a harsh message: "The Prefect? Bah! A mere Prefect dares provoke us? While we're still feeling merciful, he'd better pull his troops back and leave us alone — we stay out of each other's way. Otherwise, don't blame us for showing up at his door and wiping out his entire family."
"In Hezhou City, they might respect you as Prefect. But Shunan is our turf. Prefect or not—dragon or tiger—once you're on our ground, you damn well crouch and obey."
The actual words were even cruder and more arrogant—the soldier who reported back didn't dare repeat them verbatim and had "polished" them significantly.
Fang Zichen didn't care much about the insults directed at him personally. But one line sent him into a rage.
Wipe out his entire family!
That enraged him even more than cursing his ancestors or calling him a fool.
A surge of fury, nearly impossible to contain, welled up inside him.
In all his life, no one had ever dared threaten him like this. These bandits were the first.
The soldier reporting back saw Fang Zichen's blazing anger, his face dark and cold as if he might choke on his own rage, and felt a genuine chill of fear.
This prefect was more terrifying and intimidating than any official who'd come before.
"My lord, should we send more troops for reinforcement? We—"
CRACK —the sound cut him off. The soldier flinched, looking up cautiously and warily to see Fang Zichen had broken off a corner of the desk with his bare hands.
Where was this desk bought? Was it made of rotten old wood or what?!
"Send word: put this matter on hold for now." Fang Zichen leaned back in his chair, his voice low and cold, his teeth almost clenched. "Let them have their moment of arrogance. In a few days, I'll personally go over there. I want to see exactly who wipes out whose family. On my turf, I will not tolerate such insolence."
Right now, two hundred men against a hundred couldn't even gain the upper hand. Sending more troops—if several hundred men did capture the bandits, it wouldn't sound impressive. And if they failed, he'd lose face too—after all, a weak commander breeds weak soldiers; if the prefect's men are useless, the orefect himself can't be much good either.
The soldier had just come out of the yamen and was about to head to Shunan with the orders—he hadn't even mounted his horse yet—when a squad of imperial guards came pouring out of the yamen in a flurry. They mounted up and hurried off to every village, delivering the same message:
All villages and teams must accelerate their work. Everything must be completed within four days—no delays.
No comments:
Post a Comment