plumnovel Chapter 39: The Third Line is in Crisis
Chapter 39: The Third Line is in Crisis
February 1st, the sixteenth year of Chongzhen's reign, in Huai'an.
The canal died on this day.
From Qingjiang Sluice Gate to Huaiyin Wharf, a full five miles of waterway, three hundred cargo boats were crammed together like rotting fish carcasses.
The mast was tilted, the sails were drooping, and the bow and stern were tied together with thick hemp ropes, completely blocking the waterway.
On the shore, thousands of canal workers were either squatting or standing, most with their heads down and their eyes darting around.
The dozens of leaders in the front row, dressed in silk robes, stood tall with their chests puffed out and bellies protruding. The leader was a dark-skinned man with a face full of scars. His surname was Wang, and he was the fourth in his family. Everyone called him Fourth Master Wang.
Wang Si, hands on his hips, shouted at the bluestone steps of the Grand Canal Governor's Office: "Li Qingtian! We've seen the monument you erected! But if the words 'Head of the Canal' are erased from it, what will our hundreds of brothers eat from now on?!"
The government office was tightly shut. Through the crack in the door, one could see the figures of soldiers standing solemnly with swords at their sides.
The rain started last night; it wasn't heavy, but it was dense, like a gray veil covering the entire city of Huai'an.
Rainwater flowed down the newly carved "Ten New Rules for the Grand Canal Transport" on the stone tablet, blurring the vermilion characters, but the rules about "direct payment of wages" and "removal of the headman" were still very glaring.
In the west wing of the yamen, Li Ruolian was wiping his knife.
The embroidered spring knife was drawn from its sheath, its blade gleaming. He used a piece of fine velvet cloth to wipe it from the guard to the tip, his movements slow and meticulous.
Three secret reports were spread out on the table: one from Nanjing, with His Majesty's edict: "Officials of the fifth rank or below involved in the matter may be executed on the spot."
One document came from an undercover agent of the Embroidered Uniform Guard, detailing the names, addresses, and relatives of the leaders of the five major canal transport gangs; the other was a secret letter intercepted last night—sent by Wang Si to Yangzhou, addressed to Wang Youcai, a member of a collateral branch of the salt merchant Wang family.
"Sir," a guard pushed open the door and came in, "Wang Si is shouting again. He also said... if he doesn't see you in an hour, he's going to burn the ships."
Li Ruolian didn't look up: "Which one to burn?"
"They say...it started from Qingjiang Sluice Gate, burning one after another, until it reached the government office."
"Oh." Li Ruolian nodded and continued wiping the knife.
He finished cleaning the knife. He sheathed it, stood up, and walked to the window. Outside, he could see the canal, the dark mass of boats, and the tattered flags fluttering at their bows.
You can also see the shacks in the distance—those low roofs blend into a gray-yellow expanse in the rain and mist, like scars on the earth.
"Where's Zhao Da?" he suddenly asked.
"Wait in the side courtyard. As you instructed, don't let him show himself."
"Bring him here."
A moment later, the old canal worker Zhao Da came in, his back hunched over, his cotton-padded jacket patched upon patched, his trouser legs covered in mud. He didn't dare look at Li Ruolian, only staring at his straw sandals with exposed toes.
"Zhao Da," Li Ruolian turned around, "Wang Si said that without the foreman, the canal workers will have no food. What do you think?"
Zhao Da trembled all over, his lips quivering for a long time before he finally managed to squeeze out, "The...the sir is paying me wages directly, three taels a month, more than before."
"Then why are they striking?"
"Because..." Zhao Da raised his head, tears welling in his eyes, "Because Master Wang said that anyone who dares to go to work will have their legs broken. He also said... Lord Li is from the capital and won't be staying long. Once he leaves, he'll settle scores later..."
Li Ruolian remained silent. He walked to the table, picked up the list of leaders, opened it, and found the page with "Zhao Da"—the name was circled in vermilion, with a note in small print next to it: "He has an elderly mother of seventy years old and a young grandson of eight years old, and rents half a shack."
"Are you afraid Wang Si will settle scores later?" Li Ruolian closed the booklet, "but aren't you afraid I'll kill you right now?"
Zhao Da fell to his knees with a thud, banging his head on the ground: "My lord! This old man...this old man..."
"Get up." Li Ruolian reached out to help him up, her hand steady. "I won't kill you. I need you to do something for me."
"What are your orders, sir..."
"Go ashore and repeat what you just said to all the canal workers." Li Ruolian stared into his eyes. "Say that Lord Li will pay you wages directly, that Wang Si threatened you, and that you'd rather earn three taels a month or continue to have your share of the profits taken."
Zhao Da's face turned deathly pale: "But...but Fourth Master Wang, he..."
"Wang Si won't live past today," Li Ruolian said calmly. "Are you going or not?"
Zhao Da looked into Li Ruolian's eyes. Those eyes were like two deep wells, bottomless, but the water was clear and not murky.
"Old man...go!"
On the same day, at Jianmen Pass in Sichuan.
The last "Qin" flag on the fortress fluttered weakly in the morning breeze. The flag was white, with a white shaft and plain banner, but the edges were tattered and stained with black and red blood.
Qin Liangyu stood under the banner, holding a ceramic bowl in her hand. The bowl contained soup, a clear broth so clear that one could see their reflection in it. At the bottom of the broth were several pieces of boiled leather belt and a few pieces of unknown grass roots.
She drank slowly, sip by sip. Her sixty-five-year-old throat made swallowing difficult, but she finished it, even chewing the broth thoroughly.
Behind them, five thousand White-Spear Soldiers stood in formation. No one spoke; only the whistling of the wind through the pass and the rumbling of the soldiers' stomachs—they were hungry.
The grain ran out three days ago. The last three horses were slaughtered yesterday. Leather belts, bowstrings, straw mats... everything that could be boiled was boiled.
Qin Liangyu put down her bowl and turned around. She scanned the entire army, her gaze sweeping over their gaunt faces.
These soldiers, some of whom had served her for thirty years and others for only a few months, all had the same look in their eyes at this moment: exhausted, desperate, but still with a glimmer of light—the light they had when they looked at her.
"Brothers," she began, her voice hoarse but cutting through the wind, "the food stored in the granary is gone."
A dead silence.
"Reinforcements," she paused, "Zuo Menggeng's 30,000 troops are in Kuizhou, about 200 li away. But he's not coming."
Some soldiers gritted their teeth.
"The imperial decree should have arrived five days ago. But it hasn't," Qin Liangyu continued. "Why? Because it takes seven days for the 800-li express courier to travel from Nanjing to Jianmen Pass. And we only have today left."
She walked down the steps, went to the front of the line, and took a rifle from a young soldier.
The gun had a white waxwood shaft and a gleaming tip, but there were cracks on the shaft—the result of days of bloody battle.
"I, Qin Liangyu, took over my husband's army at the age of twenty-six, guarded Shizhu, quelled She'an, and resisted the Eastern barbarians. Today marks thirty-nine years."
She stroked the gun barrel. "Thirty-nine years, twenty-seven scars on my body, the worst one was in Liaodong, when a Tartar arrow pierced my back, just an inch from my heart. The army doctor said I wouldn't survive, but I did."
She looked up, gazing towards the pass. Below the pass, Zhang Xianzhong's campfires spread from the foot of the mountain to the mountainside, like a coiled giant python, its scarlet tongue flicking.
"Today, we might really die here," she said calmly. "So, I'm giving you two choices."
The entire army stood at attention.
"First rule: At midnight tonight, retreat via the Golden Ox Path behind the mountain. That path is treacherous, but it's the way out. Once out, head east to Kuizhou to find Zuo Menggeng, or south to find the imperial court. Every life saved is a life saved."
"Second rule: Stay and fight with me to the very end. If we run out of food, we still have our swords; if our swords break, we still have our teeth; if we lose our teeth, we still have our lives."
She paused, took a deep breath, and said, "Those who wish to leave, step forward now. I don't blame you; the Qin family army doesn't stop deserters—just don't forget that there are still five thousand comrades at Jianmen Pass today."
The wind picked up. The flagpole creaked and groaned.
No one moved.
Five thousand people, like five thousand stakes driven into the ground.
Qin Liangyu's eyes reddened. She turned her back, her shoulders trembling slightly, but quickly turned back, her face now free of tears.
"Okay," she said, offering only one word.
Then she took off her white cloak and draped it over a soldier who looked about fifteen or sixteen years old. The soldier was so frightened that he tried to kneel, but she held him down.
"What's your name?"
"Replying to...replying to the old lady, my name is Shizhu, Shi as in stone, Zhu as in pillar."
"Shizhu, what a good name." Qin Liangyu smiled, and the smile on her weathered face had a strange radiance. "After the war is over, go to Shizhu and see if my Qin family's ancestral hall is still there."
The soldier cried, his tears falling onto the cold city bricks.
Qin Liangyu stopped looking at him. She walked towards the gate tower and stood before the worn-out wooden table. On the table were a brush, ink, and paper. She bit her right index finger, and blood gushed out, dripping into the inkstone.
She dipped her brush in blood, picked up her pen, and wrote on the plain paper:
"Your subject, Qin Liangyu, defended the pass for forty days, killing over ten thousand enemy soldiers. Now, with food and reinforcements exhausted, death is the only option left. I pray that Your Majesty will soon recover our lost territories, so that I may rest in peace in the afterlife."
After writing the blood-written letter, she summoned her nephew, Qin Yiming.
"Break through the siege," she folded the blood-written letter and stuffed it into his arms, "and deliver it to Nanjing, to His Majesty personally."
"Aunt, I..."
"This is a military order." Qin Liangyu interrupted him, then took out a jade pendant from her bosom and stuffed it into his hand. "This was given to me by your uncle when I married you. If I die, keep it as a memento."
Qin Yiming knelt down, kowtowed three times, and then turned and rushed down the city gate.
Qin Liangyu watched him disappear into the night, then looked up and gazed southeast.
That's the direction of Nanjing.