Han Ji

Chapter 170 Horse Nightmare

Chapter 170 Horse Nightmare

Ma Xiang sat alone in the hall.

The candlelight flickered, illuminating the scar on his face. The scar seemed to be laughing, crying, and twisting.

He picked up a scroll of silk from the table; it had been delivered this morning.

"Liu Bei of Hanzhong gathered more than 10,000 soldiers and trained them day and night."

Liu Bei.

He had heard of that name. The Commandant of Hanzhong, a disciple of Lu Zhi, who had quelled the Yellow Turban Rebellion.

Are you coming?

It's good that you're here.

Ma Xiang twitched the corner of his mouth.

Being an emperor must be exhausting.

Let's fight a war instead.

If you win, sit tight. If you lose, die a quick death.

He grabbed the wine jug and took a swig. The wine was strong, making him cough and bring tears to his eyes.

Outside the window, the night in Chengdu is deep.

There is no moon.

Only a few scattered lights and faint cries could be heard.

Zhao Zhi's report of victory was delivered to Chengdu on the third day of the third month.

A blood-stained silk scroll lay open on a rosewood table. The handwriting was messy, but the meaning was clear: Jiangzhou had fallen, Prefect Zhao had been beheaded, 800 soldiers had been captured, and 30,000 shi of grain had been seized.

The messenger was a young clerk who knelt before the palace, his head bowed low.

Ma Xiang stared at the line "30,000 shi of grain" for a long time.

"Where is Prime Minister Zhao?" he asked.

"The Prime Minister left two thousand men to guard Jiangzhou and led three thousand men eastward, saying he wanted to strike the chest and cheeks." The clerk's voice trembled. "Before leaving, he asked me to report to Your Majesty: Ba Commandery has been pacified. Please send officials to take over and count the population as soon as possible."

Ma Xiang nodded in agreement.

He waved for the clerks to leave. The palace doors closed, dimming the light by half. He sat alone at his desk, his fingers tracing the thirty thousand bushels of grain.

Thirty thousand bushels.

Enough to feed 10,000 people for three months.

But how many people are there in Chengdu now? His Great Cheng army, supposedly numbering fifty thousand, is actually... He dared not calculate it precisely. The number reported by Wang Rao changes daily, three thousand more today, two thousand less tomorrow. Those refugees and local ruffians, once they receive grain, claim to be soldiers, and after looting, they run out of the city.

And the common people.

Chengdu originally had a population of 100,000. Now? Every day, people are running out of the city with their families. The guards can't stop them, nor do they dare to. Wang Rao's soldiers are also looting, and once they've looted enough, they pack their bags and try to escape.

Ma Xiang stood up and walked to the window.

Outside the window was the palace's rear garden. There should have been artificial hills and flowing water, but the hills had been demolished, the stones used to build barricades. The pond was dry, with dead rats floating in it. Several palace maids were digging for wild vegetables in a corner, their sleeves rolled up to their elbows, their arms so thin they were almost bony.

Upon seeing Ma Xiang, they hurriedly knelt down.

Ma Xiang waved his hand, telling them to continue digging.

He turned around and pulled a scroll of bamboo slips from under the table. It contained the new policy that had started ten days earlier: imitating the tax collection methods of the Hanzhong government, levying 40% of the tax per mu.

The numbers reported below were shocking.

On the first day, they collected 800 shi (a unit of dry measure). On the second day, 300 shi. On the third day, 50 shi. On the fourth day, nothing.

It's not that there's no food. It's that no one is paying.

The local strongmen locked the manor gates and set up crossbows on the walls. The common people were even more direct, abandoning their fields and fleeing into the mountains. Of the soldiers sent to collect taxes, three groups went, but two returned. The third group was ambushed by the manor's servants, their bodies left on the main road.

"His Majesty."

The door was pushed open, and Wang Rao barged in without announcing himself.

He was wearing armor, which was covered in mud and blood. There was a fresh scar on his face, running from his brow bone to the corner of his mouth, the skin turned inside out and unbandaged.

Ma Xiang frowned: "Another fight?"

"Zhao Zhi's men!" Wang Rao gritted his teeth. "At the granary south of the city, they insisted on counting the grain. My men were moving the grain, but they stopped them, saying they couldn't move without the Prime Minister's order!"

"and then?"

"And then?" Wang Rao grinned, his scar contorting. "I killed three of them. The rest ran away."

Ma Xiang closed his eyes.

"Wang Rao," he said wearily, "that's military rations."

"What's wrong with military rations?" Wang Rao patted his chest. "I risked my life to fight them! Can't I even have a few bites?"

"Not just a few mouths." Ma Xiang opened his eyes and stared at him. "The scouts report that Liu Bei in Hanzhong is mustering troops. More than ten thousand men are heading towards Jinniu Road."

Wang Rao was stunned.

"Liu... Liu Bei?"

"Lu Zhi's disciple." Ma Xiang walked back to the desk. "He quelled the Yellow Turban Rebellion and trained troops in Hanzhong for a year. Now the court has issued an edict appointing him General of the Southern Pacification Army and Military Governor of Yizhou."

The hall fell silent.

Only Wang Rao's heavy breathing could be heard.

"How much...how much?" His throat was dry.

"Ten thousand," Ma Xiang said. "The actual number might be more."

Wang Rao's legs went weak, and he grabbed the door frame for support.

"Then...then let's..."

""

"We claim to have 50,000," Ma Xiang said with a smirk. "The actual number? Can you even muster 20,000 to fight?"

Wang Rao fell silent.

He looked down at his hands. His hands were trembling.

"Starting tomorrow," Ma Xiang sat down again, "your men are not allowed to leave the camp. All looted goods must be handed over to the treasury. Anyone who commits murder will be executed."

Wang Rao looked up, his eyes reddening.

"Your Majesty!" he roared, "What do our brothers follow you for? Just for food and a bit of fun? Now you're setting rules, putting away your knives, and our brothers are disheartened!"

"Disheartened?" Ma Xiang roared back, "Wait until Liu Bei attacks, with a knife to their throats, then let's see if they're still disheartened!"

The two looked at each other.

Wang Rao's chest heaved as he placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. He held it there for a long time before finally releasing it.

"My lord... I obey your order."

He turned and went out, his steps heavy, as if he wanted to crush the bluestone slabs.

Ma Xiang slumped in his chair.

He felt tired. Tired that seeped into his very bones.

The sky outside the window is overcast. It's going to rain again.

That night, Ma Xiang had a dream.

I dreamt of a dilapidated temple in Mianzhu, with a hearth burning ash. The fire blazed brightly, illuminating excited yet filthy faces. Wu Si was boasting that once Chengdu was captured, everyone would have meat to eat and wine to drink.

Then the fire went out.

The temple was pitch black. He groped his way out, pushed open the temple door, and outside stood the city wall of Luo County. Xi Jian stood atop the wall, dressed in a purple official robe, his belly bulging like a pot. Xi Jian was laughing, laughing until his mouth was full of blood.

"You're finished," Xi Jian said.

Ma Xiang tried to draw his sword, but couldn't. Looking down, he realized he wasn't holding a sword, but the yellow flag. The flag was soaked, dripping water that turned into blood on the ground.

"His Majesty!"

Someone pushed him.

Ma Xiang awoke with a start, his undergarments soaked with cold sweat. The captain of the personal guards knelt before the bed, his face pale.

"The Prime Minister reports urgently."

Ma Xiang grabbed the silk book and read it by candlelight.

The handwriting was even more illegible, almost unrecognizable: "The powerful clans of Ba Commandery have all rebelled, building fortified villages to defend themselves. After three days of attack on the chest and cheek, they have not been able to take the city, suffering three hundred casualties. Their supply lines have been attacked, and the grain reserves in Jiangzhou are only enough for half a month."

Below that was a line of smaller characters, the ink very dark, as if forcefully carved: "Rumors are circulating in the army that His Majesty's ascension to the throne was illegitimate, that he received outside assistance. Morale has already plummeted."

Ma Xiang's hand trembled, and the silk book fell to the ground.

He stared at the line of small print.

Funding from outsiders.

Liu Yong.

The accountant delivered the money and the message, then vanished without a trace. The jade pendant, the bronze talisman, the code—they were all genuine. But the man was gone.

Ma Xiang never dared to think too deeply about it.

Thinking about it now, I break out in a cold sweat again.

Whose man is Liu Yong, really?

Who would want Yizhou to descend into chaos? Who would want Xi Jian to die? Who would want... Ma Xiang to be the one to stick his neck out and cause a major upheaval?

"Your Majesty," the captain of the personal guards whispered, "there is one more thing."

"explain."

"South of the city... a crowd of people gathered, saying they wanted to flee the city. The guards at the gate tried to stop them, and a conflict broke out, resulting in the deaths of more than a dozen people."

Ma Xiang closed his eyes.

"Let them go."

"ah?

'